#most of your guys's accounts are worth more than both of these skins

[pranabefall]

⠀⠀QINGXIN IN THE MOUNTAIN.⠀⠀⸺ ⠀⠀zhongli.

syn. while the divine war rages on, you find yourself entangled in the company of a wounded god and reservations or not, you don't have the heart to let someone die on your watch.

TW. ⸺ beta read, long oneshot like seriously it's over 14k, mentions of war and past death, seclusion and wounds. this work contains 18+ contents so minors, you know the drill, unprotected sex, half-dragon zhongli, reader has no gendered pronouns but has female parts, 4k words worth of smut guys get ready.

LOG. ⸺ this is another repost of this fic after my old account got deleted on accident. taken from my old blog lol, a buffer as i work on my current wip XD. this work has been marked mature for containing smut. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs and antis, do not interact.

“i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

— PABLO NERUDA.

Curiosity , you learned, was a reckless maverick in every right. Your mother told you of its consequences, of the people who wandered too far from the safety of your village and the watchful eye of your deity, and she told you of their death and the disaster they reaped alongside it.

Curiosity was what cost you — and you knew , you knew better than to indulge in its traitorous little tug when you wake, the scent of petrichor in abundance and the chill of a rainstorm’s aftermath prickling your skin. 

“Forget about it.” you tell yourself when you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Forget about it.” you tell the reflection staring up at you, her brows furrowed with a familiar sternness. It scatters when you dip your hands into the basin, the icy water stinging your fingertips.

“Forget about it.” you breathe out as you lean against the doorframe of your small home, staring out at the expanse of green and the fog that had settled a few feet below.

Yet here you were , scaling down a mossy slope, your bare feet damp from the dew it trod over and your hair still messy from your sleep. You could dimly recall something the previous night between the rains, between the crash of thunder and the crackle of lightning. It was a sound too distinct and out of place in a storm, something akin to the beginnings of an earthquake before an unknown force cuts its life short.

Your head swivels to the side. You couldn’t see much past the mist save for what was in front of you and you clamber down with a little more prudence till the ground evens out a bit more and the screen before you dissipates. You could see nothing out of place, save for a few upturned trees and your shoulders slump. It was all for nothing , you realize and a tinier voice dares to whisper a spiteful little ‘dammit’ .

You turn, casting one last glance over the clearing, then make your way back uphill. It was a wasted attempt and as you stew in your own self-berating and disappointment, you almost miss the faint crackle behind you. It was just the wind , you reason. There was little cause for it to be anything else. What could possibly make its way up here ?

When you hear it a second time, you freeze, something cold jolting at your bones.

Well shit .

It doesn’t take too long to find the source, save for trudging through the mud and a few of the murkier parts past the tree line — but you find it by the time the sun shifts the barest fraction to the west..

“ Ah — ” was the most your throat could choke out as shock swallowed you whole, like ice water.

There is a trail of gold on the earth, and it leads up to the slumped form of a man, his robes stained with the same gilted shade and his breath leaving shallow puffs of air where he lay, motionless and seemingly dead.

Well — fucking — shit . You mind shudders, your thoughts screaming and splitting up against your head like some panicked beast. It was chaos at its core, it was the frenzied scrape of control.

You were no fool. The man before you, both massive in frame and presence, was one amongst the hundreds of those touched by divinity — god or not — whose names were uttered and praised amidst this war. There was nothing distinctly human about him; not his clothes, not the horns that curled atop his skull and the brown scales smattered across, not the ichor he bled out — nothing .

For a moment, or maybe more, you stare down at him, long and hard as you try to wrangle your rationality back and think of what move to make. You could not afford the trouble that comes with aiding a foreign being and the land you settled on could house any force hostile to the man at your feet. A shaky breath escapes, then another. You were trembling now, just a little, daring to take a step back, then one more.

Kill him , another voice snaps. It was twisted and its words breathed acrid revulsion. Get it over with, he’s not worth the pain.

You consider it, for the tiniest bit of a second till he lets out a shudder and shifts with tense shoulders, his grunts labored and streaked with muted agony — those darker thoughts quickly flatline to scattered anxiety and the hand that brushes the blade at your hip falls limp. Not now, perhaps . You could just leave him here, let nature run its course.

You could do that , you decide with a semblance of confidence.

Of course you could.

Of course .

Your shuffling comes to a stop and you're backtracking immediately, your pace holding an urgent bounce with every step. There is a feverish jerk to your movements when you settle beside him, and a storm of emotions raging in your chest. It does little to ease you — little does, these days — and you press up on his shoulders in an attempt to roll him over onto his back.

It happens so swiftly, a blur of gold and black that shadowed your periphery before you were slammed down with eyes like uncut cor lapis glaring down at you. You scramble, clawing at your neck, at the digits pressed up against your windpipe and your pulse and it beats faster and faster and faster . One tiny move and you’d be left for dead.

( A part of you is stunned — for even wounded and weakened from some unknown, unspoken battle, the quavering power within him seemed to beat strong. You feel a mix of thrilled awe and terror turn in your stomach. )

His gaze hardly falters, roving at your form before his grasp on you releases and he mutters something akin to an apology, collapsing again. His eyes were still open, watching you beneath a haze of pain and deliriousness, stiffening now and then when you so much as move. The strength he showed, no matter how small it was, is gone and there is the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath the stripped layers of stone.

Your instincts scream at you to run yet you stay rooted in place, coming to sit up and hover by his side. In the end, your own concern and pity won out. “Y-you’re wounded.” you try to reason, only to be met with a grunt. You find yourself wincing as you stutter over your words, your voice hoarse from months of disuse. “Please, l-let me help. My h-home is c-close b-by.” 

Feeble , you chide yourself amidst it all, old, old regrets tearing at your mind and clawing at your thoughts. You shut your eyes, letting your muscles relax and you try again.

Tugging at his arm serves to be fruitless. He was too large for you to carry over and your first attempt gives that away well enough. The gold in his veins seems to dim with the passage of time and you fear his life slipping away under your watch. “I n-need you to w-walk…” your plea is almost caught in your throat and you have to wrench it out to let it be heard. He tilts his head your way. “You’re too h-heavy…” you try to reason.

Another grunt sounds out and thankfully , his form rises. You’re quick to move to his side, supporting him against your shoulder, the thrum of elemental energy strong beneath your hold. He practically oozed it and it feels like what the storm felt like — the trembling earth itself.

You don’t say much after that, leading him back to your home, your hand and clothes staining a bright gold.

Perhaps your house would have been a little cleaner had you known you’d have a guest over. When you lead the the being inside, you scan the small space with a sense of perplexity, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize the sight too much ( your mother always seemed to emphasize the need for a well kept living space — should she see you now, you know she’d be rolling in her grave with indignity ).

He stumbles a little, letting out a guttural snarl and you flinch, almost dropping his weight onto the floor when you feel claws close down on your arm and press against your scarred skin. You hiss softly and he gives a little jolt, his hold on you releasing, leaving little but the crumpled sleeve of your tunic behind. 

“How much — ” he cannot finish the sentence, his nose wrinkling up and he almost looks a little feral underneath the light. 

“Just a l-little more.” you assure, cracking the barest of smiles as you cross the room and lay him down on your bedroll. He was tall enough as is, and you think his horns would scrape up against the ceiling of this house should he stand upright. 

The bedroll itself was pathetically small beneath him, but you couldn’t throw a fuss about it, working away at his clothes in relative silence, steeling yourself up in preparation for the worst. 

The clasps and the belts and sashes are undone by nimble fingers and as the layers peel away, you come to a stop. It was not a pretty sight, his wounds, the clawed lacerations criss crossing across his torso like patchwork. You doubt you could salvage much and you almost give up at the spot, pulling away the rest of his clothing. The worst one splits across his chest and you look to the side, battling out the vertigo and the nausea threatening to creep up. 

He’d have been dead at this point, had the blood in his veins be that of a mortal’s and not something inhuman. In some convoluted sense, he was lucky.

Stop cowering , you hiss internally. Pull yourself together .

The sound of rustling clothes is all you could hear after, followed by the clinking of metal and the sharp tang of alcohol. Your movements are almost robotic — and you had done this plenty of times before, cleaning the wounds of children and soldiers. But this wasn’t home and you doubt any soothing words would stoke at the feelings of a god. 

When you return to his side, his forehead is damp with sweat.

“ Shit — ”

His skin was warm . Could an immortal being fall ill? Was that even a possibility?

“I will be fine.” he rasps out and you jump, snapping his way as you hold the clothes closer to your chest in defense. He turns his head, peering at you and you think you see a stubborn glimmer beneath the usual masked strain and impassivity. “My wounds will heal in time…I…only seek shelter till they do…”

“Absolutely n-not.” you reply, splaying your palm out on his stomach to keep him still as you clean away the dirt and dried blood. The shallower wounds were slowly closing up again. “You’re in no state to argue right now.”

His mouth twitches and there is a momentary flash of teeth. You try not to let it frazzle you as much despite his initial protest, your movements slowing to a more delicate pace as you bathe the worst of his lesions till you were satisfied with the lack of dirt caking his body. “It seems choice no longer holds to be a luxury.” he utters under his breath.

“No.” you agree. “It does not.”

He falls silent, a petulant turn on his lips. “Are you a healer?” he asks. You bow down, unwinding the linen wraps you had stored away.

“My mother was.” you finally admit, your posture straightening. “I learned what I could from her to aid the people in my village. I never studied medicine formally, however…” you trail off. Talking seems to grow a little easier the more you speak. The hoarseness was slowly giving way and your stuttering grew less frequent.

“And I take it you shall try to help me as you do with any other human?” there was a sardonic sort of amusement in his tone that has you bristling. “Your medicines and methods will not work on an Adeptus. Put your tools away, you only waste your time.

“Adeptus…so you hail from the settlement south of Mt. Tianheng?”

“You’re ignoring my words,” he accuses. You bat your lashes at him innocently.

“Small talk.” you shrug. “You can tell me everything you want after I’m done tending to you.” you meet his gaze, tumultuous gold melded with an orange-red. He narrows his eyes, his unfocused vision scanning you, then the house, then at the bandages you held before he leans his head back with a defeated sigh.

By the time you conclude your task, he has fallen unconscious, his breathing deep and his heartbeat unnaturally slow for a human. You look down at your ruined clothing, at the stains at the hem of your tunic and at the sleeves and you hope you can salvage what you can from this, moving on to change out of them and fish out a cleaner pair of clothes. 

The smell of petrichor still persists through the day, the sky brewing with the makings of a new storm. Perhaps you had lost track of time and the monsoons were sitting in sooner than expected and you move on to salvage whatever you’d left outside to dry and board your windows up for the incoming onslaught.

The man wakes when night falls, form set aglow against the dim lamp light. 

“Let’s change your bandages.” you offer. He doesn’t protest this time, painfully sitting himself up with gritted teeth as you get back to work. His skin still radiates that uncomfortable temperature as you press up against it. You might need to get a wet rag ready lest he overheats

He speaks after the silence persists. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” it comes out as a whisper so soft, you almost miss it. His face however holds a distant look, with a hint of disappointment lurking within and you tug at the linen a little harder. You’ve heard that before, from the lips of men and women who had too much to hold and little weakness to show. You wonder what it would entail for a warrior, or a being whose years spanned farther than yours, to sink as low before a stranger.

It must be hard.

“We all get hurt sometimes.” you smile, hoping to lighten the air with a bit of humor ( it was getting too heavy, the air in the room ). “I’ve lost count of the number of times I've hit my head…and you think I'd be a little more cautious given my studies…”

A poor joke stays a poor joke no matter the delivery ( and yours was weak to begin with ). He does not say or do much, save for a slight twitch in his jaw and an unamused tilt in his head. You shrink back, skittishly throwing his used bandages aside in favor of new ones with a hasty “Nevermind.” on your tongue. 

“Do you truely not know who I am?” he asks, his touch skimming the sheets absently. You shake your head, confusion and that damned curiosity slowly lurking and clawing its way to the light. You want to stamp the ugly feeling down and out of sight. You try to. It does not disappear. He continues, “What of the civilization south of Tianheng?”

A shrug was the most you could manage. You guess that was where he hails from. “I know it’s the domain of a geo god, and that beings touched by longevity, ally beside him. “My old home is far, however, and our god hid us away from the world…my knowledge on this is sparse.” 

You’re almost ashamed to admit it, to acknowledge the bubble you had grown within, accepting the suffering of the men and women who ventured out and returned with broken bodies you and your mother had to fix. You weren’t sure what sort of terrible dichotomy it was, to live in ignorance amidst blatant horror and blood, and you don’t wish to return to it.

He seems to take this in, his eyes training up at the ceiling, then upon you with a lidded stare. “Who was your god?”

The icy set to your jaw was a hint he picks up on and he does not further the topic.

“...I am from there…from Liyue.” he says instead, in recollection of your previous question. The settlement was a distance from here, a few days worth of journeying by cart and hardly worth the risk of the travel with the demons that lurk and the gods that warred.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

His lips curl again, but it’s less of a grimace and more of a smile, his fangs tucked away to show a visage less feral, less dangerous. You find yourself relaxing a bit more unconsciously, seemingly charmed by this simple action ( and the thought almost scares you ). “What is your name, mortal?”

Ah, he wasn’t going to make this easy. You’re tempted to tug on his bandages a little harder if only to spite him.

You don’t reply till you are done with your chore and you lean back, massaging your stiff fingers. Your name slips out of your lips then, the action feeling natural in defiance of the years spent hardly having a friendly face within your home, save the occasional traveler. The adeptus seems satisfied. “You may call me Zhongli.” he replies, his voice softer, raspier.

“Zhongli.” you repeat. Zhongli .

There is a rustle of fabric and his fingertips brush against yours, the touch nearly having your arm lurch back in muted shock. He seems unphased but you — you watch a soft light shimmer through the dimness of your walls. When it fades, a single visage of gold stares back.

“It’s your reward. For aiding me.” there is a medley of pride and contentment and you liken it to that of a child offering a messily put together gift. Gold is coveted by most, but has little use here, and you have little use for it. But the gift is still cupped within your hands and you hold it as if it is something precious.

( Oh, your heart trembled just a bit and you feel a lump grow in your throat, bigger and bigger till you dip your head down out of his line of sight. )

His eyes bear down on you harder, set aglow and unyielding.

You smile to hide your trembling frame, thoughts revolting within your mind like the beat of war drums with a mix of unease and appreciation. Yet, who were you to question Zhongli’s secrets?

Maybe hypocrisy runs deeper in your blood than you initially assumed.

Mist dances at your fingertips.

It weaves and spreads and obscures the light and the woods around you and you run through blindly as the skin beneath your feet tears and the chill of the night clings to your skin and leaves behind dew and sweat.

You could see nothing; nothing save the pale glow of the moon above you as it tries to break through the barrier and light your way. It cannot, for Balam’s magic conjures obscurity, and obscurity was worshiped.

But you were human and you were curious and the voice that called your name was so familiar and warm and you wanted to weep and run towards it. The mist will not stop your folly and you will keep running to appease that growing thirst. In the end it will cost you.

The sound of your footsteps cease. The mist thins out and at the end of the veil, you poke your head out for the first time to witness the world outside. A set of teeth, white and sharp greet you. Then another and another, till the darkness itself glows as it does beneath the moonlight.

You hear her voice. It comes from the open maw.

The demons spot you and you run again, feeling their jaws clamp down and tear through muscle and bone and you scream and scream and scream at the white hot agony and the very feeling of your nerves set aflame before they numb.

Your curiosity cost you.

You wake to your fingers clawing at your shoulder with labored gasps and Zhongli panting, his fingers gripping at the sheets of the bedroll and his brow furrowed. You blink away the sleep in your eyes and tug the blanket off of your shoulders, shakily making your way to his side. His skin was hot again and panic lights in your chest, like the incoming winter.

“Fuck — it’s gotten worse.” you mumble a few more expletives as you stumble out to collect some more water and the few mistflower corollas you had stored away within your cabinets, hoping the elemental energy in them hadn’t dissipated completely. Setting the bucket down by his bedside with the corollas nestled within, you hiss at the cold pricking your palms and the frostbite coming to form.

Never mind that! The fucking adeptus is going to melt .

Oh my, thank you for pointing out the obvious! 

The cloth bath was set to a near feverish pace as you feel him twitch and convulse through the chills wracking his body. “Hot — ” he groans.

“It’s the fever.” you mutter, tugging his pants down, your eyes unconsciously trailing down the slope of his waist and dip of pelvis, then avert your eyes before you could see any more, face flushed whilst a cloth was thrown onto his hips to spare him some decency. “You need to cool down…please, stay still.”

His hand comes to grip your arm and the dormant strength within it, one etched into his very being, was frightening. The adeptus’ sights were set upon you, the fever-addled state of his blowing his pupils out till only a thin ring of gold remains, shining through the light of the oil lamp, brighter and brighter. You pull away and rest your free hand on his with a soothing squeeze. 

“You will be okay.” you assure. “It will come to pass soon enough. Let me take care of you for now.” You coax him to stay still as you continue the cloth bath, wiping away at his clammy skin while fatigue continues to weigh down on your shoulders and tug at your eyes. “I know you’re hiding something…and if you…if you’re one of the gods, then you must live. You’ll have people waiting for you…they need you, at a time like this.”

He lets out a weak exhale, shakily sitting himself up with sudden urgency. “ Liyue… ” he whispers, gait faltering and you steady him as he leans into you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You struggle to push him back down atop the bedroll, his breaths growing pained with the passing seconds. 

“Liyue.” you nod and repeat. “You need to go back soon, don’t you? You’ll have to heal first, and for that, you must rest.” The cloth is pressed against his temple now, wiping away sweat all while the smell of petrichor grows stronger. The searing temperature hasn’t subsided and hopelessness stirs inside, an ugly feeling, a familiar feeling ( it was worse than your curiosity — it always was ).

Zhongli leans into your touch, his fingers tangling against yours. “ Stay… ” he whispers. You cease your movement as his body shifts and presses against your lap. “Stay….” he repeats.

“I…I’ll stay.” you slump in defeat, resting his head on your lap. Lightning flashes outside your window and the walls seem to shake as the rain comes pelting down. You continue the bath, listening to a leaky spot in your roof and the incessant downpour rattling against the tiles. Zhongli seems to still, his breaths still weighed down by that terrible heaviness.

The rain continues. His fever grows worse.

Then the pattering slows down, and the flush on his skin comes to cool. By the time the rains stop, his fever breaks and you lean against the wall of your home, shutting your eyes as you nearly weep, your worries allayed.

Morax was the first to wake in the early hours of the morning, the scent of petrichor pervading his senses followed by the faint lull of jasmine. Then comes the warmth and the softness, one his claws unconsciously dig into with a groan shuddering out of his chest.

It was you , slumped against the wall, lost in your own dreams and too tired to notice and the sight makes him swell with a conflicting mess of emotion. Then comes the pain, the aftermath of his fever coming to tear at him, at his limbs and his tendons till he ceases his stubborn movement and lets his body fall slack.

He does not understand your intent, but the faint memory of that familiar care against a muddled haze stills his tongue and his suspicion. Your muffled words, your hand in his, everything, blurred away yet so clear.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

You come to realize how much you hated it, the loneliness.

Your home was far removed from civilization, settled between regions  and away from main travel ways that weren’t blocked or destroyed. The quiet of your house was nothing like the bustle of the town you hailed from and the chaos that accompanies the stalls in the early mornings. The most noise that encloses your small plot of land were the local wildlife, the creaks and groans of wood born against strong winds and the weight of snow and the distant battles fought over the horizon.

During arbitrary moments of your routine, you question why Zhongli landed here of all places, in the midst of nowhere. You wonder if this is some grand scheme or punishment for your past mistakes and when you feel your curiosity dare to skitter forth and poke more holes into your blind acceptance, you drive it away with an angry hiss.

He is not an unwelcome guest, even if he holds a sense of urgency at times and a well kept secret whose nature you suspect . It’s almost comforting, no matter how contrived it seems, listening to him speak of an obscure plant or hearing his heavy footfalls a few days after his arrival. 

How desperate are you? The bitter pride in your heart speaks up, and it’s seedy and unhappy as you straighten out the drying sheets over the heated slab. Where is your self preservation? Your brain cells? You’re smarter than this you fool —

“Is something wrong?”

Zhongli’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and you start, nearly dropping your laundry on the grass.

“Nothing!” and it is a weak save on your part as you straighten the worn down basket to move to an empty patch of stone, ducking under to check the state of the flaming flowers underneath. His hands come to rest on the surface and he lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping shut in a seeming moment of peace. “You should be resting.” you remind him.

“I believe I'm past the need for excessive bedrest.” he intones with an amused lilt. “Do you need help? It is partly my fault you have far more work to sort through.” He wasn’t lying. What little linen you had was used up to change the sheets on your bedroll before his fever broke. You had little clue how illness amongst higher beings were treated, but simply washing the contaminated cloth was the best option you had on your for now.

Ah, sometimes you regret not moving closer to a town.

Your reply was short, when you notice the silence being drawn out for a little too long. “That does not mean you should strain yourself. The less of a load you place on yourself, the faster you will heal. I’m sure you are needed back at your colony. The war is far from over.”

The comment seems to tug at his emotions, a stern moroseness settling on his face. “That is true…but I trust my fellow adepti to hold the lines in my absence.” you bend over to collect another sheet from the basket, the hair at the back of your neck prickling when he moves behind you. “Even so, I should hasten my return.”

“Then — ” The sheet is snatched from your hands and you watch Zhongli step beside an unused slab to lay it across the surface, a mischievous smile touching his lips. “Oi!” you snap, reaching out to grab it.

“However,” he continues, ignoring your protest with a look of innocent serenity. You want to squawk, to stamp your foot down childishly and you almost do, your movements stilled by you clenching your fist to curb it. “I’ve fought battles with wounds far worse and won. Menial chores are hardly a labor and if it means aiding you then I shall take it.”

You let out a groan in defeat and push the basket between the two of you. Zhongli was preening in his small victory, setting the clothes out to dry with relative ease. “Guests shouldn’t partake in chores like these.” you repeat the line your mother had uttered so many times, one amongst many of her favorite maxims. 

He watches you from his spot behind the stone slab, a contemplative haze clouding his hues. “I simply return the favor. It is the nature of a contract, to balance out what is given with due compensation.” 

He isn’t going to let up, is he?

“Fine, fine…you can help me collect a few mist flowers later.” you concede.

“What do you need them for?” he asks, collecting your laundry basket as you kneel upon the grass, blowing some air into a patch. One of the flowers is set alight and you sigh, letting them burn awhile as you feel your fingers retain a little more warmth in them. 

“Preservation…I use them to make my herbs and food last a little longer…it’s not easy, coming across certain ingredients for a decent meal…” You let out a dry chuckle at that, which melts away into a mildly sheepish one. Even if you bear a slight annoyance to your choice of settlement, and even with the debilitating isolation that came with it — it was still home and it was still safer than most.

Zhongli takes this in, a hand resting against his chin. “I see…cooking is not a part of my skill set…unfortunately. But a friend of mine intends on relaying an old recipe of his should the war end soon. Perhaps I could pass it on to you, if you don’t mind it.”

It was an oddly sweet gesture coming from him and you hum, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you consider it. That also meant opening a tiny window of opportunity; a chance that you may see Zhongli again. The thought stirs a clash of emotion, of fear and of excitement and dare you say it, hope and it feels warm and cold and all sorts of things at once. “I’d like that…granted you don’t accidentally poison me.” 

He feigns annoyance as his head tilts to the side, quietly regarding you. “You overestimate my inadequacy. The last time I did partake in the culinary arts, the worst outcome was an offhand crystallize reaction and a burnt stove.” he pauses. “Besides, my skill in brewing tea is decent.”

Oh Gods —

“I’m just being cautious.” you laugh a little louder at that, holding up your hands in defense. “Dear Lords though…I hope that friend of yours is prepared then. You might turn out to be a genius in cuisine or a hopeless case.”

“Then I hope for the former.”

You grin, hanging up the last of your clothes. “If you turn out decent…then I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the recipes passed down to me. I couldn’t indulge myself in them as much, but i hope you may come to like them.”

Something in Zhongli’s eyes softens and he nods. “And I would like that in turn…” he utters slowly, watching you clear away any dry branches and grass close by. His fingers absently brush over his torso, where the bandages stay wrapped around him. You catch the subtle purse of his lips and the twinge in his jaw. “Do not be concerned…” he snaps up to meet your worried face. “I am fine.”

“...Right.” you knew it wasn’t wholly a lie. Zhongli proved to be a quick healer, perhaps a trait passed down by his inhuman lineage. But these displays of vulnerability only played into the damning knowledge you knew before; of the hidden fragility the gods held. “Come on…I think it’s time we get those bandages changed.”

Zhongli smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Another secret , you think sadly, taking his hand as you lead him inside, taking in the momentary warmth he held even if his skin didn’t quite feel like skin or that they glowed a bit too bright between the cracks of your fingers.

You don’t ask him to collect the mist flower corollas again, staying at home with him with some tea set at the table for him to sip on while you inspect his lacerations. There was some idle chatter over dinner and Zhongli spoke a little more about his home.

“You’re going to leave tonight, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft. His words die out and you try to still the sharp edged pain in your chest. It refuses to fade and you accept the growing weight with an unwilling gait.

“Yes.” he whispers, setting his cup down and he looks ashamed.

“Then go.” you mumble. He opens his mouth again but you hold up a hand. “I…I know your name is not really Zhongli…it’s not is it?” His silence was damning and you finally piece it together, the knowledge you learned from your village and from your travels, no matter how meager, painting a slow picture in broad strokes.

The stories depict Morax to be more of a beast and less of a man. You would have glossed over it as well,expecting a dragon instead of the visage of a handsome stranger.

“I take it you’ve come to a conclusion.” he muses, looking a little apologetic, a little ashamed. “I never intended on deceit but the nature of our meeting called for it.”

“You were afraid I was going to kill you?” you guess. Zhongli — Morax laughs and shakes his head.

“Even in my weakened state, you would have been incapable of it.” well damn . “I feared someone of greater power would catch wind of talk of a wounded god…but given your lifestyle, they held no merit. I apologize though…I know you may have suspected a while.”

Morax smiles and you try not to battle the disbelief that a good sat across you, eating your food and drinking your tea. “However, I have a question to ask you.” 

A pause

“What became of your deity?”

Your breath seizes and you meet his gaze. His stare seems to hold so much more weight to it and you look down. Your old god was a memory you sought to bury away well out of sight. Recollecting them only brought in a bitter taste and a dull ache and Morax notices it. “That’s a story for another day.” you finally manage out after some deliberation. Your tea has gone cold by the time you take another sip out of it, the air feeling heavier again. You wrinkle your nose at the taste.

He nods. “Then I will return and pay my debt in whole as well.” he decides. “Your kindness is one I shall remember, little one.” You hate how a part of you melts into this buttery, weak mess and when he smiles, you hate how it’s so easy to feel yourself tear at the seams, to beg him to stay a little longer. “Thank you.”

He was gone the next morning, a fresh batch of mist flower corollas left behind in an earthen pot alongside a delicate flower preserved in amber.  

“Good riddance.” you tell yourself, the words feeling forced.

You will miss him, you think.

He returns three months later, or maybe it was more. Time was easy to lose track of and the seasons were all you had to know of a passing year. By the time he arrived, the last remnants of winter had receded and you found yourself in the midst of spring, restocking your stores and setting soup to boil in the hearth. 

Should I bow? You think when he appears at your doorstep. Extend a greeting? Address him by his title? Your great eminence…no that sounds pretentious… You reminisce about your old customs, of the times you spent watching your mother lay out scented flowers and fruits at the feet of your deity during festivals or during victory feasts. Morax however, steps inside with a smile in greeting, his hand coming to tuck some stray hair out of your face.

Then comes the deja vu. 

You question why his arrivals were always timed on days when your home was a mess.

“Wait! We can talk outside.” saving the last few traces of your dignity is all you had in mind as you blockade the entrance. It would hardly do any good, you realize then; he was tall and he was far bigger and when he stops with a puzzled look and scans the room and the traces of stalks and unswept and unused parts of the herbs you were sifting through, a glint of understanding flashes in his eyes and he steps back.

You want to sink into the ground with the traces and remainders of you. Oblivion seemed a tempting option with the way your face burned and your heart hammers at a pace nearly hard to keep up with.

“My apologies.” he utters, letting you lead him outside. He does not seem as bothered or flustered, thankfully; nor does he pry as he erects a few makeshift seats sculpted from geo and sits himself down alongside you with a soft sigh on his lips. “I wish we could have met sooner,” he admits.

“Is that so? It’s hard to believe you’d bother…” you hum with a shy dip of your head. Morax considers this.

“Did you not ask for it?”

“I did…but I accepted the possibility of you not returning.” you cease for a second, recalling your promise to give him the answer he sought. It felt like a cheap trick, back then and it still does now, of you running away as you always did. “I'm glad you came back though…it was nice having someone around to speak to.”

Moax looks pleased with this. “I simply find your company enjoyable.” you feel a stirring in your stomach when he says that, and it feels like a wonderful sort of sweetness, like honey. “Even if our first few days spent together lacked any delicacy in approach.”

“You were quite stubborn.” you admit.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he agrees. You snicker.

“I wouldn’t blame you though. Even I had a hard time staying still when bedrest was forced upon me…how have you been?” your fingers slot together as you pull your knees closer to your chest, your cheek resting against your thigh as you watch the scenery in the distance. The mist had abated, just a bit and you could see the copse of trees expanding then scattering as the plains began. 

Morax exhales. “As I’ve always been.”

“Stubborn?”

“ Busy .” he corrects, flashing you a look of warning. You grin innocently. “The war has come to a temporary standstill. Only smaller battles seem to keep up…with the weaker gods mostly weeded out, planning our next move is of importance. I only have a few hours to spare now before I leave for Liyue.”

“Oh…” you take this in. Perhaps this was a sign of the war slowly coming to a close. Maybe during your time, if you were lucky enough, or in another hundred years or so. “Then…tell me about Liyue.”

Morax raises a brow but he smiles, humoring your question. “What would you like to know?”

“Plant life? What’s it like there?” you supply, leaning forward in quiet anticipation.

He chuckles. “Not of the people? Or its history?” he asks.

“You can tell me that too!”

He hums, his gaze softening. “It’s not uncommon to see mountains in Liyue,” he admits. “To say our weather has a stark contrast in the plains and the peaks would be an understatement. Juehyun Karst, the realm of the adepti is pleasantly cool most of the time, but the plains are hot and humid. That being said, our flora seems to take on this diversity as well…”

He tells you about the yellow sand bearer and the gold ginkgo trees that spot Liyue’s landscape, of the horsetail that covets the marshes and the reclusive glaze lilies that grow within the terraces. He tells you about the silk flowers nestled amidst the red bushes, always found in pairs and the violet grass sprouting forth off of cliffs. And he tells you of the qingxins that turned away from the warmth of the plains and grew in the distant peaks, looking down upon Liyue as a whole.

There was a sort of magic, listening to Morax speak of his nation with a layer of fondness and sadness. 

“Maybe when the war ends, I’ll visit. I think I'd like to start a garden some time.” you hum, surveying the empty patches of land in front of you. It would be nice to have a few more flowers around to brighten up the monotony you have grown accustomed to. His expression shifts, a brighter shine lighting up his eyes.

“You could stay there if you wish.” Disbelief rattles through your ribs and it steals your breath and pushes against your lungs. You fall silent, ceasing the anxious play with your clothes. “I could find a place for you amidst my people…would you like that?”

There was disbelief, yes, and a stutter in your words, but there is also the pang of appreciation and the tingle at your fingertips. However cold dread settles down ( for it is an old bedmate ) and Morax seems to catch on. “Have I misspoken in any way?” he questions, his hooded gaze appraising. 

You jerk your head. He had it all wrong and the last thing you need is a messy misunderstanding to fall into your pile of terrible mistakes. “No, no…I don’t think I'm ready to return to a land ruled by a god…or even around so many people…not yet…” you couldn’t bring yourself to word it out and it shames you. You are an adult. You needed to speak like one.

There is a faint brush on your cheek, the barest hint of a touch and when you look up, you see the suspicion he holds paired with concern. You want to shrink back, make yourself smaller, unknowable, something you were before he came along and made you care and vie after company and something as simple as touch.

“I assume it has something to do with your old settlement?” he asks.

You nod.

“We were hidden behind our god’s mist and illusions…our people were cut off from the rest of the world save a few soldiers and those who joined our god in battle. My mother would accompany them sometimes…she’d tell me about the world outside and we promised to visit a lake just a short walk from the barrier…” you hold out your hands, trying to grasp the words she had tattered. “She called it starlight on earth…or…something like a mirror clearer than any metal she’d seen. I wanted to go, but we were not allowed to leave.”

“You were not?” Morax asks. He leans in, listening closer.

“We were not.” you affirm softly. “Or god never spoke it…but we knew. They talked about demons lurking out and we were scared. One day…I couldn’t find her amidst the returning line of soldiers she left with…I did later…and I couldn’t even stand to look at the state she was in.” you stare ahead, the weight of his gaze resting even harder now. “I don’t know why…if it was grief or curiosity or a mix of both…but I thought I heard her voice one day…calling out to me. And I knew it was a trap, but I ran towards it, out of the forest, and the mist…”

You swallow hard. You felt cold. Cold all over, like that night, where the silence was unsettling and the sound of your name was a taunting whisper. Your mother, it was your mother, rigid at some times with her own rough edges and flaws, but loving for the most part. Your mother — and it was an old hurt you had locked in a box a long time ago, that time had weathered down till it was the embers scraped to the side of the charcoal pit.

“They were right…my deity warded off those things that attacked me…but they were bleeding everywhere . Balam was strong , but as a god…I doubt they held much in par to some of the others who warred out there…” Like you , you almost add. “They were weakened…unfit to fight in a state like that and we tried what we could. The wounds didn’t heal as we thought they should. I was banished for endangering their life and as I traveled…I heard of Balam’s passing in the hands of an invading god.”

“...and now, I'm here.” you finish, wryness coating every syllable. You wished your apathy was more than a weak front to bury away the stab in your heart; you wish you could be stronger than the coward you are. Morax shuts his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

He looks a little more like the god you were told about; sharp, pragmatic, with a presence that looms over most. “If there was a law that stated so, that forbade stepping out of your deity’s territory, then yes, you have committed a wrong. I have heard tell of Balam, whispers of their whereabouts and they did try to protect your people from a harsher way of life…” 

Ah, so that was his response. You wilt a little, feeling a mix of fury and defeat, at Morax, at the gods, at this war and at your own childish stupidity and audacity to even dare to feel this way. “I see…” you mumble. Morax holds up a hand, cutting you off. The words die in your throat faster than embers in snow.

“But,” he behind and his expression pulls into something gentler, lacking the initial rigid sternness it held. “Demons are still a force to be reckoned with. Even my adepti struggle with stifling down their noxious presence, whether it be the weight of karma or a disparity in power itself.”

Coherency is now a lost subject.

“I doubt you could have resisted its influence and Balam knew of the battle they would throw themselves into. Your god was willing to make that sacrifice, something of a rare sight amongst a few of the divine. Remember this well.”

A lump grows in your throat. It’s not an unwelcome one, quietly easing the nerves that crackled and frazzled beyond possible repair. You look down at your hands and your eyes slip shut as you take his words in, bit by bit. Balam was a god who, while distant within the front lines of battle, still loved their people.

It’s ironic how the gods can be capable of human sentiment and human error. 

“Thank you, Morax.” you mutter. “I needed that.”

“The bitter truth, or the comfort?” he jests softly. “Because while I deal well with the former, my skill with the latter falls abysmally short.” 

You laugh softly.

“For��both .”

( His eyes light with surprise. Then you spot it, the faint flush on his cheeks and a dangerous thought enters your mind. You shake your head. It was best you didn’t raise your paltry hopes . ) 

He does not visit for a few weeks, but you spot a few saplings left behind at your doorstep, of plants and flowers you had never seen before.

You pick one up and a single word echoes in your mind — qingxins .

A smile tugs at your lips.

The distant noise of battle has grown reticent.

You tell it to Morax on one of his visits and he dares to flash a knowing smile in response. “The war is coming to its close. Only a few handfuls remain.” he states, tracing your bandaged hands; a new set of souvenirs from a stray whopperflower. You shiver involuntarily, leaning into him a bit more while longing tears your insides raw. “Hopefully you will come to enjoy an era of peace soon.”

“Will it end soon? The war?” you ask, wincing a little when he presses his fingertips down on the afflicted skin, bathing it in honeyed gold. “Ah! Gently!” you hiss, pulling back on reflex. Morax holds you fast, drawing you back to him with a playful tut and a sheepish glance your way.

“Apologies. Is this alright?” The pressure on your wrist still brings forth a sting, but it’s far more bearable. You nod. “Alright. Now hold still …” The glow returns, as does the tingling warmth and the tense nervousness gives way to a content sigh as the pain ebbs to obscurity. You watch your bandages fall away to skin mostly unblemished, save the faint traces of a scar left behind. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. “Much better…I wonder why you didn’t try healing yourself earlier. You’re not too bad at it.” he wasn't. Only a few humans were ever imbibed with the grace of divine power. You always longed to be gifted with the strength to heal, and you feet the slightest hint of envy as you take in the sight.

Morax blinks. “I was in too weak a state to do so. Healing is not my greatest strength either…I simply learned it, should it come to use amidst battle.” he flexes his fingers, the last flickers of gold falling away. His gaze meets yours with its usual intensity before he reaches for your other hand. 

“Hm…I suppose this means you’ve paid your part of the debt?” you tease. “You’ve healed me as I've healed you, right?” 

“True…” his lips quirk up as he mends the last of the burns, then presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Does this mark the end of our contract?” The gesture only serves to fluster you further, bringing forth the feeling of fluttering warmth and the near lightness in your chest. Morax chuckles, his voice dipped to a teasing whisper as he calls out your name in a low, purring timbre.

“H-hold up!” you choke out, terrified of potentially overheating as you push his face away, stifling away the shy laughter that threatens to burst out. Morax shifts closer, closer still, his close presence having grown familiar through the meetings and the shared conversations and meals ( you missed the gentleness in his touch, you missed so much of him ).

“Hm? Stop what?” he teases, a cheeky glint lighting up in his gaze. “My, your face feels warm.” he adds with a soft simper, tilting your chin his way as he scans your features.

A desperate attempt to shift his attention comes to form. “Look at the qingxins you gifted me! They’re growing nicely, right?” you try to smile, looking at the flowers growing just a small ways from your home. Morax hums.

“They are. Give them a few months and they will come to bloom.” he replies, his wandering touch tracing up your arm, grazing at fragile skin and faint scars and the sensation has you shuddering. The glow in his eyes brightens and he huffs out something unintelligible, then asks you, “Would you like me to stop?”

You fall silent. “No it’s fine…” you sigh, reaching up to grasp his hand gently, ignoring the phantom stings as your finger splays out over Morax’s palm, at the dazzling gold dipped at the edges fading away to a spider web of veins and dark scales. “I like this.” you hum. Morax blinks, his cheeks coloring pink.

The intensity burns brighter in his gaze. It scorches at his touch and in the way he looks upon you now and as acute as it was, you felt blanketed beneath a safe warmth.

Morax speaks up, “I will make sure this war ends soon.” It was a promise, holding the weight of his blood. You feel it in every syllable, every rise and drop in his cadence. He leans in and the spice in his scent pervades your senses.

His lips are softer than you expected, mildly chapped from the heat and the battlefield, and between the buzz slowly beginning to sound off in your head and the feel of his touch brush away at your hair and rest on your cheek, your heart hammers hard in your ribcage. You feel the earth shift and watch the sky sweep away as you fall back on the grass and Morax palms at your hips and kisses you some more.

It feels like a distant dream, something you’d rather not wake from and when he pulls away to look you in the eye, you watch the smirk in his face grow as he dips down and buries his face into your neck, his pace languid, his claws gentle against the softness of your skin. You bite back a stray mewl when his teeth prickle down on sensitive flesh, slowly and deliberately making his way down down down, and his hand pressing flat on your thigh.

A glow flickers within his chest. He stops and tugs away with clear frustration, heaving as he watches you try to recover from the fog clogging up your thoughts, the memory of his touch warming every inch of you. Morax chews at his bottom lip. “I am needed again.”

“...oh…” you croak out, even if you wish to scream at the unfairness, to pull him back down atop of you and finish what he started. You shut your eyes, easing at your frayed nerves at the trembling and the traitorous dampness that was gradually settling in. The god in front of you holds a shadow of amusement and he kisses you again, gentler, with less teeth and tongue and more tenderness.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers. It holds another promise masked beneath the assurance, it’s cheekiness lighting his gaze.

When Morax’s form departs, you let out a shaky sigh, one hand delving into your heat while the other clamps over your mouth. The moment your slick coats your fingers, you moan into the silence, the promise persisting.

Morax thinks about you when the rains fall once more.

He thinks about you on the battlefield, waiting with that patient smile.

He thinks about you when his adepti fall and the last god is slain — when he finds his numbers dwindle, their blood staining his victory. He holds that memory of you close, that cherished warmth. His little flower.

Morax thinks about you. And he longs .

You came to know of patience’s workings through the days and months in between Morax’s visits, and this one is his longest thus far. The war persists still, the sound of the heavens screaming slowly growing quieter as deities were felled and the lands were stitched together by victories and defeats. You wonder where your old home lies now beneath the seven seats, what it would grow into in the near future.

Then one day, you wake to complete and utter silence.

The war is over. The roads had cleared. One day, when the world stills just a little more and the last few scars left behind have healed, you could try to visit the towns and cities beyond your isolated home.

Morax stays absent. You go on with your life. The qingxins he gifted you bloom in your garden. You wait, shedding away the accusatory remarks, the words that dare you to doubt his victory, that take your mind to darker spaces with the image of his still form and cold hands. No, absolutely not, you could not doubt him .

You repeat it over and over, beating down at the cynical whispering. Do not doubt him .

A storm rises again, blustering through the lands with the threat of tearing your home down from its stubborn foundations. You stay inside, the change in weather setting forth a persistent chill that your meager hearth could hardly hold against. Finally, after a few hours of running about, your body hunches over the blocks, feeding the fire with the last of your firewood.

“How much longer…” you mutter, storing away the last of your herbs when the rain refuses to cease and it grows harder to differentiate between night and day. The lightning thunders in response, asserting it’s long stay and you curl up by the warmth you fed, numb fingers gripping at old blankets and watching the rain beat down incessantly on your roof. It would be a long wait, you realize. It’s best if you find a way to pass the time.

There was another clap of thunder, then a crash that felt all too intimate with your memories. Then came the knocking and you scuttle up to let a drenched Morax in, his pupils blown wide and his body hot to the touch as he stumbles in. You’re almost afraid he’s fallen ill once more, but the insistent tug at your wrists has you follow him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, seating him down by the fire, moving to dry his hair after draping a sheet on his shoulder. “Morax, what’s wrong.” Despite the sudden appearance, you feel relief crash down and tug out a lump in your throat. You hold back the tears for his sake. You did not want to startle him in this state.

“A visit.” he shrugs.

“In this weather?” you question every ounce of wisdom he holds. He looks unbothered, pulling you closer to him while you squeeze the water out of his tresses, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Warm breath pools out and hits your neck and a shiver racks at your body. “Morax — ”

“I missed you…” The hoarseness of his voice steals the words in your mouth. You latch onto him tightly, fisting at his robes, uncaring of the silk wrinkling beneath your rough hands. Morax does not stay silent or stay still, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer up against him. “I missed you…” he repeats feverishly. The hunger in his stare is an answer enough.

The fire crackles and lets out a sputter.

Morax lays you on your back with a gentle thump and hooks a hand beneath your knee, pushing it up against your chest as he steals a kiss from you, heated and impatient after weeks of mulling over his affection and lust. “Stay still.” he orders as you squirm a little, wanting more, needing more, trying to bury yourself into him as much as humanly possible. 

Your open mouthed breaths did not help in the slightest as he steals another kiss, then another, the wetness of his tongue delving deep down your throat as he muffles out any sounds of shock from you —

— was it forked ?

You could not ponder over it for long, choking against the invading muscle while his lips caress yours with growing need and intensity. It made sense, for one like Morax — who adored talking about the origins of an obscure tea leaf to the festivities that littered the streets of his city — to fancy the act of kissing you. And he still keeps kissing you, over and over till your head spins and his body is pressed up flush against yours.

He noses at your neck with a noticeable huff, fingers dragging up the side of your hips, slowly, deliberately, till they tug at the hem of your clothes. Molten gold catches the anxious excitement bubbling within you and your eyes and you catch the smirk on Morax’s face.

“I’d like to continue.” he sounds breathless.

“ Go on then .” that threadbare line that held you together had snapped now. You do not think you could wait any longer than you have for him. Morax chuckles, bending down with a narrowed gaze till his nose brushes against yours.

“I haven’t finished my statement.” he chides and you don’t know what is worse, him dragging this out to a near painful pace, or the hand that caresses the inside of your thigh teasingly, drawing out a stray moan from your lips. “If you feel overwhelmed, or you wish to stop, we must establish a safe word.”

He waits expectantly and you scour your mind for the first word that pops into your head. “Squid.” you decide, shifting your hips closer to him. Morax lets out something between a wince and an amused chuckle, his hand leaving your thigh. You wine in protest, grabbing at his wrists to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he lilts. “Are you sure you want this?”

How cruel , you think unhappily, unsure of how to take his consideration; a loosely veiled attempt to drive you further into wanting or a call of sincere concern. You think you know Morax. You think it’s both.

“ Yes !” you cannot wait any more and neither could Morax, his claws curling round to clutch and tangle at the back of your head while he captures you in a devouring kiss. Your own experience hardly held a candle to his own practiced ease, but you do what you can, groaning into the clacking of teeth and the teasing little nips he leaves on your lower lip. 

His thumb traces down the side of your neck and hooks at your clothes, tugging away at the fabric to stroke your now bare shoulder. Morax leaves no trace of skin untouched by his lips and he brushes down the line of your collar bone, his teeth flashing in the candle light till you feel him bite down at the spot with a muffled growl.

The rush of pain and pleasure has you pressing your face down into the mattress with reeling shock, any moan held back in the midst of the hazy shock lighting up inside you. The action was mostly unintentional, but you were glad it could have saved you any further embarrassment in Morax’s eyes.

“Not a sound?” he asks, licking his lips with a predatory tilt to his head, regarding every inch of you with voracity. You stubbornly refuse to respond, lips sealed tight with a set of eyelashes batting up at him. Morax likes a chase and you give it to him, no matter how small it may be. “No matter. We’ll see how silent you are by the end of the night.”

The words hang in the air like an impending omen. You do not doubt him.

His voice dips to a sultry whisper as he undoes your top and lets it slide past your shoulders and down your waist till it was bunched to the side and lay there forgotten. The storm rumbles outside your window, and the wind prickles at your skin. Between Morax eyeing you down, mapping out every detail with his fingertips and the chill in the air, your arms instinctively move to hug yourself. 

“No.” His word was stern, absolute as he tugs at whatever covers your entirety from his gaze. “I’ve never seen you this shy before… adorable .” he purrs, stroking your cheek. 

“ Tease .” you test out.

Morax’s expression lapses to a playful smile in the midst of your indignation, leaning back to watch you with clear intent. He guides your legs around his waist and shifts you partly atop his lap, gently moving your hips to a slow grind against his torso. The sudden stimulation draws out a squeak, your cheeks set aflush.

“ Beautiful… ” his claws linger over your chest before it trails down to stroke your stomach. “You’re so soft , little love…” they stop at your shoulder, raking around the scar settled there, gnarled marks and torn flesh left behind by talons and teeth. You feel the flare of doubt and self consciousness flare back up, but it fizzles out when he bends to leave a kiss atop it.

It was hard to find a spot that he did not touch. Morax was precise, diligent, learning what spots made your squirm and whimper and shake beneath him with white hot pleasure. The rain’s roar was a distant muffle between the pleasant buzz in your head and Morax’s ragged breaths sounding in the otherwise quiet room. He hunches over you, nosing at your neck with near obsessive need, nipping, kissing — anything to cast on some semblance of his scent and essence.

Your chin nestles atop his shoulder, your sight trained upwards, oblivious to where Morax may choose to touch you next. The clinking of metal does draw in a few questions, most quickly answered when you feel his clothes give way and settle on your stomach. Then comes his teeth, sharp fangs sinking into you. You hardly register the moan you let out, or the heat that you sink into, desperate for more, for more skinship, for more of Morax.

“ Beautiful .” he repeats, a growl bleeding into every syllable, down to the rumble in his chest. He still donned his pants, but most of his clothes now lay scattered across the mattress, pushed aside a moment later with an impatient huff. 

You have seen Morax bare chested plenty of times before, when he first arrived wounded on the slope of your little mountain home. There was no denying he was a beautiful man, sharply lined with the faintest of silvered scars scattered beneath stark gold tattoos. “ Morax .” you mutter, lacing your fingers into his, tugging at him instantly. “Keep going.”

He smiles. 

“Patience.” he croons. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold back the swear resting on your tongue. “I have waited for so long…” his teeth don’t hold the old hesitance it did, now wholly marking you with delicious bruises and love bites. “...and I intend on savoring… ” his lips linger on the line of your jaw, tickling your ear. “... each… ” they brush down, down, down. “... bite… ” and true to his words, he sinks his teeth down again.

Your hands tangle at his hair, his hair tie snapping to your insistent tugging till burnt brown strands pool around him. He looked a little wilder, with how his eyes glow beneath the shadow cast on his face. You comb through them with a soft “So pretty.” earning a flattered hum whilst he cups your breasts, chanting your name lovingly.

You gasp at the feel of a soft pinch on your nipples. Morax lights up, a dangerous splay of his fangs flashing in your field of vision before he engulfs one breast within his mouth, suckling, biting, devouring greedily and the other grows sensitive to his slow strokes. “M-Mor–AX!” Your mewls peak and your hands grab at his shoulders, his back, at the sheets — somewhere , trying to ground you to the sensation. 

( He could hear your racing heart beneath his grasp and the sound of it makes Morax purr with an emotion so old and primal and possessive. )

He pulls away with a wet pop. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“H-hot.” you barely manage to blurt out. “Hot everywhere.”

That smile was back again, the one with the barest flash of primality. “Hot?” he repeats. You nod. It was hot, in your cheeks, your chest and your stomach and core — and you could hardly bring yourself to wait. With Morax’s resolve to take his slower pace. You curse his patience. You wish he was just as desperate. 

“I am.” he muses nonchalantly, ducking down to take your other breast in his mouth. “I crave every inch of you. I want to hear you sing, wǒ qīn'ài de .” his hand drags down, teasing the inside of your thighs with circular strokes. You buck your hips into him with a pathetic whimper, and Morax pounces at the lapse, tugging your underwear down with a single fluid motion then pushing his fingers into your drenched heat.

“Oh how obscene.” he lilts, a delighted shine in his eyes, momentarily bringing his slickened digits for you to see. “You’re drenched.”

“ Shut .” you snap, a depraved cry cutting you off as he teases at your entrance with one finger, thumbing up your core till he settles on your clit with a peased grunt. Your hips snap and shudder, tears slowly pricking at your eyes. It was an odd sensation, a buildup of pressure far greater than what you could coax out that tightens in your gut. 

Morax slides a finger in, slowly, gently. “ Ah — ” you bury your face into your mattress, spreading your legs further for him. He continues his slow thrusts, in and out and you revel in the sweet sensation. “Feels — f-feels good — ” 

His scrutiny comes with its merits, stroking your walls with an out of place gentleness as he watches every shift, keen and whine with a deep found appreciation and yearning. “You’re quite tight , little one.” he rumbles. You warble in response, bucking your hips into him as the pressure steadily builds and builds and builds.  

“I’ll be adding another.” he decides and he does, a second finger slipping in. the stretch stung and you fist at the sheets with a groan.

“N-no…t-too much — ah!” The broken whimper does elicit a sympathetic look from him and he kisses away the tears, thankfully easing his movements.

“I know, little love. I know.” you sink into his warmth, melting at the delicacy in how he holds you close. “But we’ll need to prepare you, don’t we? And you’re taking me so well too…” you think you are when the pain slowly subsides and the pleasure returns, your very being trembling when he scissors you. “Ah, witnessing the state you're in…it makes me wonder how well you’ll take something else of mine, hm?”

“M-morax!” you squeak, cheeks flushed. The embarrassing squelch from your core shuts you up immediately. You decide you’re better off muffling out your moans out of petty spite at this point and you seek your refuge in the covers, burying your face into your mattress.

Ha! You think, naively, foolishly, daring to assume that Morax would fold at the face of a challenge. A third finger slips through and the moan is smothered. You think you hear him chuckle and you think you see the excited flash in his eyes as he shifts and twists your body, laying you down on your stomach.

“So stubborn.” The delight is apparent in his cadence. His hand presses down at the small of your back, then his torso presses up against you, continuing his slow and agonizing thrusts with practiced pace. “The vitriol in your silence hardly diminishes how soaked you are. Your body is far more honest, it seems.”

“ MMPH !”

You gasp, feeling his fingertips stroke your g-spot, pulling you apart at the seams and chipping away at your mind. Everything feels distant and muddled and the pleasure was almost too much to bear. “Does it feel good when I touch you here?” you shut your eyes and curl up, bucking up into him uselessly. His weight restricted your movements and you doubt you could wiggle away for a temporary respite ( even if some masochistic part of you liked the deluge of sensations pile up steadily ). “I need words.”

Another thrust. You wail into your hands, whatever dogged decision to stay silent, now shattered. “Yes. Yes — P- please!” you haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re begging for at this point, but the fullness you feel from his fingers alone is enough. “L-like that. Morax please keep going.”

He adds a fourth finger.

“You keep tightening up…” he whispers, as if trapped in a trance of his own, your head lifting to press against his bicep while his movements momentarily slow to ease you in before his pace picks up and that slow, brutal torture begins again. 

You squirm, squeal, bite into his arm with vigor. Morax laughs, kissing your temple with comforting croons. “Good.” he coos, dipping his nose into your hair with a victorious purr. Your thighs squeeze around him and your hips jolt forth. The pressure steadily building up in your stomach seems to crest while you chime out his name. Your orgasm seeps closer and closer and closer —

He pulls his fingers out and you bite back a cry, a protest, tears pooling out as dismay settles fast. Was it something you said? Was it something you’ve done? Why did he stop?

“Why…” you manage out, stroking his hair. Morax raises a brow then slides down, his lips latching onto your inner thigh with a groan. You fist at the sheets again, a vague idea coming to form between the haze and the jumbled confusion and disappointment and it sets a spark of excitement. 

A pause.

Morax meets your gaze.

He smirks.

You stifle back a scream when he bows his head down and laves at your heat, catching the receding traces of your buildup and letting it reel in steadily. His tongue was greedy, warm, devouring you whole as he slicks it through your drenched folds, and — oh gods —

Whatever praise that you cry out turns into a feverish mantra being babbled out over and over, the sharp mountainous air taking on a headier scent. Your validation was enough to spur him on, it seems, every bit of Morax, from the practiced gentleness to his eagerness to undo you coming to shine with the fervor of a starved animal. 

“ Good .” he growls out, claws digging down a little harder into the softness of your thigh, his teeth and tongue grazing and toying at your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth once more, a squeak cut short, only to have them pinned down by him. He flashes you a warning glare before gold light illuminates your wrists and you feel the weight of geo press them down to your chest.

The cuffs were heavy, and they did their job well as you could only grab at air while his licks grow more languid. Your thighs were pushed back with a single fluid movement and a flustered cry escaped with your sudden exposure. 

“Ah — ”

You tug at his hair, drawing out another delicious moan from his throat. Liquid gold appraises you, taking every detail in, between your fucked out expression and your twitching body. Morax presses against your sweet spots, and you could have sworn some strange magic were at play, with every careful thrust and every slow vibration. You could hard;y word out the state you were in, your mind all cotton wool with little thought.

Overwhelming…indescribable…that was a way to put it.

Morax does not complain about your growing insistence, your moans growing louder, your thighs squeezing round his shoulders, your attempts to free yourself from the stone shackles he placed on you.he must be just as far gone with your arousal in his mouth ( and that was true ). You hope he won’t turn to cruelty like the last time and deny you of your orgasm. It was a delirious pitch in the back of your mind, a soft cry.

“I-I think i’m close — ” you gasp, feeling that knot grow tight as the tell tale spill of an incoming release shudders up your spine and fingertips. Morax looks at you, the gold of his eyes wide and his pupils blown out with suppressed mischief. A well-timed thrust from his fingers served your undoing.

“Go on then.” he relents.

You sob into the sheets gratefully, pleasure rippling through as the coil snaps and you crumple and sink into a state of unawareness. You could only just register Morax sitting up, thumb swiping at his lips, licking away at the mess you made, smeared between his thighs and on him. “S-sorry!”

He shuts his eyes, quiet bliss washing over him. “I could devour you here and now…” he mutters in indulgence. He rubs your sore wrists down, pressing kisses against the expanse of skin with an apologetic smile. “You look tired. Shall we stop here?”

Alarm lines your features. “What about you?” you blurt out, bug eyed and still fatigued from your orgasm. Morax doesn’t respond, laying down next to you. You feel a bitterness line your mouth and you find yourself pushing your body up and crawling atop him. Morax opens one eye, amusement quirking at his lips.

“Oh?” he doesnt bother feigning surprise as his clawed grip settles on your hips. You try to hide yourself, embarrassment from your bold move hardly aiding in your focus as you slide his pants down and stare, he bore two of them, standing erect against your stomach. You helplessly glance at him. 

“You’re…you’re big..” you tell him dumbly. “I-I don’t…I don’t think I can take both of them…” Morax chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow then. You only need one.” he decides, helping you up. You steady yourself on his shoulders, carefully laving your entrance with him before you lower yourself onto him, feeling the first telltale sting that has you stop with a whine. “Careful.” he speaks up, rubbing at your sides and you try to be, taking him bit by bit. Morax stretched you out in a way his fingers couldn’t and his second shaft rubs at your sore clit, leaving you jolting with sparks of pleasure.

He was roving every inch of you, biting down at his bottom lip when you clench around him. Every bit of him screamed of his self control hovering a step away from a more viscous beast. You don’t think you’re ready for what Morax tucks away in the corners of his mind, but you hope, hope that you could indulge him some day.

You were soaked enough for him to slip in with ease, a collective of your and his arousal trailing down with an audible squelch every time he dared to grind up a little more against you. “Fuck….” he whispers out, a rare lapse in demeanor. “D-does it hurt?”

“No.” you shake your head, a half lie. It stings, yes, but the slow haze of euphoria was pressing up and you knew he would stop if you showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and you did not want him to stop. Not with this lovely warmth, and with him holding you like you were the most delicate of flowers.

The sound he makes is animalistic and he thrusts, just a little, into you. He could hardly help himself, seemingly just as lost as you were ( and he was, with his parted lips and fluttering lashes ). You curl into him, pressing your face into his neck. “That’s it.” he whispers mindlessly. “Wonderful, y-you’re taking me so well…don’t rush now…”

You take the rest of him, seated snugly on his lap with a shaky mewl, tears pricking at your eyes. Morax bares his teeth, groaning freely as the air itself seems to crackle against you. You open your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he pins you down with a single look. “Little minx .” he rasps.

A laugh bubbles up. You wonder if it’s from amusement, or from the overwhelming rush of dopamine or both. 

He kisses the corner of your lips, gathering his bearings. “You’ve had your moment of fun, little love. Now move .”

“Yes sir…” you sigh, and do just that, lifting your hips just a bit before you rock back down onto him. “S-shit…s-so good…” 

Morax hums, pursing his lips. His face was flushed and the tattoos on his arms were cast in gold and light. He takes matters into his own hands, pounding up into him with sudden force and your teeth chatter and your eyes roll back with a pathetic whimper.

A few marks of your own were delivered, from your nibbling as Morax continues to thrust up into your drenched cunt, and from your nails scratching at his back. His approval was punctuated by a particularly hard one, that made your head spin and had you see stars. You vaguely register the scent of petrichor through everything else.

“ Morax — ” 

The state you were in only behind to sink in. That he was inside you, that he was taking every chance to draw out these obscene sounds from your lips. Even gods could not escape the perversion of mortal desires. Was this even considered blasphemy at this point, when he seemed to be stuck on the same boat as you were, sinking so fast into his lust?

“ — so good for me .” he guides your legs around his abdomen, whispering your name with a weak whine. He bites at your neck, at the marks he inflicted, then soothes them with kisses. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, his tender touch contrasting against his rough movements, grinding into your sweet spots and paired with his second cock rubbing at your clit, you could only lose yourself a second time.

That knot tightens and you feel the onset of your release. It was close, fast coming and you tug at his hair to warn him. Morax growls, his tail winding round your ankle. You try to keep up, try to ride him, but his pace far outmatches yours, stretching you out, pulling you flush against him. You let him use you, your monks reaching a feverish peak, grasping a taste of heaven on your tongue.

“Morax — ah!”

He curls into you, around you with an engulfing embrace with whispered words being uttered into your ear, “Do you want to cum?” You jolt your head. “Then cum… ”

And the bliss washes over you as you finally find it, slumping up into Morax;s patient arms with a near boneless stance. Your eyes met his, the hunger that still rages as he watches with awed fascination at how you come apart and piece back together again with teary eyes and a debauched smile.

“Beautiful.” he mumbles, then presses you face first into the sheets, still sheathed deep inside you. You only just realize he still has reached his own peak yet when he moves, absently reaching out for a pillow for you to grasp.

“God…M- morax — ” you were tired but with overstimulation settling fast and your own desires to see his pleasures being met, you bite into the pillow with a helpless whine. There was a rush in the pain you felt, from feeling all that pleasure wrap into a tight knot while he slicks back and forth into you, hitting your g-spot again with insistent grunts. His pupils were blown wide, like he was trying to take in as much of you as he could.

“M-more!” you blurt out then wince, feeling a hint of shame prick at you for being so greedy. It was about him now; sure you could put your own needs aside.

Morax however, smiles. “ More ?” he coos. “You want more?”

A gasp. You feel his hand settle on your clit, his untouched cock brush against your thigh. “Now who am I to deny you?” He continues his rough thrusts, godly stamina barely denting at his reserves and his pace. Perhaps that came with being an adeptus, this unending virility and endurance. Morax kisses at the back of your neck, laying down more marks to serve as a reminder for the next few days ( that you were, undoubtedly and irrevocably his now ).

Wanton moans pour out easily. Morax delights in them, carefully stimulating spots that were sure to bring the most out of you. The initial phase of searching and mapping out and learning was long gone — he was always quick to pick up on things, and things that make you fall apart into a quivering mess so easily were no exception.

It feels so good. So good —

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. You feel sore in the best of ways and you nod. You don’t want him to stop. You don't ever want him to stop, drunk on the overstimulation, the euphoria, his cock, him —

Morax lets out a shaky exhale and slams even harder into you. “You’ll be my undoing...” he whispers and you turn your head, catching a glimpse of him. His straight faced composure was long gone, what careful parts of him he keeps hidden from sight having fallen over. Claws prickle at your ass, his eyes are trained on you, you you and when he meets your gaze, he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

“What kind of spell have you ensnared me with, little love?”

You could say the same thing. You try to, cut off by a rough grind on your clit. A lump builds up in your throat, vaguely recalling his small gestures of affection, his admissions, through your heat hazed mind and you arch your back into him to catch another kiss. Morax never needed to say the words and you were fine with it. 

“I love you.” you tell him instead, taking everything you had to get your tongue to move. Morax freezes up. He shuts his eyes and strokes your cheeks and buries his face into your neck.

“My Qingxin.” he whispers, tenderly, lovingly. The faltering in his pace, the sloppier jerks of his hips, then undertones of strained control beneath his moans signal his release. You grasp at his free shaft, and the gasp that echoes out was a rewarding one as you stroke him along into his release. “In or out?” he grits out, stuttering for a second. You feel the drag of his cock against your walls. “In.” you blubber.

You blank out after, feeling the rush, the fullness, him spilling out of you, between your legs, onto the mattress, over your stomach. Morax lets out a shudder, his marks glowing a faint gold before he pulls out. His hand does not leave your clit. Coaxing your third peak out with gentle kisses and insistent mumbles. The pain was sharp but you drink it in, pride lining every crevice of you till you jolt, that pressure finally releasing.

“Thank you.” you mumble. Intimacy was always so foreign, and a kind touch was a far away thought. Morax settles down, pulling you to him as he kisses away the drying tears and the sated touch starvation. He kisses you on the lips. Then the tip of your nose. Then at the bites he inflicted. 

“Rest.” he whispers. 

The cadence of his voice made it hard to disagree with and you feel unconsciousness wash over you fast. You could vaguely make out the sheets being changed and a damp cloth washing you down.

Morax’s weight next to you was the last thing you register.

“Are you well?”

Morax could count the number of times you sought refuge beneath his arm, eyes roving the stalls in the harbor with caution and nervousness. Your jumpiness was an expected clause, and a slightly endearing one as he walks you along the streets as a mortal man and his lover. There were no gods in Liyue Harbor today, at least none the people were aware of.

“Zhongli.”

He turns his head. “Yes, love?”

You fall into earnest silence. “I think I'm going to freak out.” you say. As taught as a bowstring against him. You grip at his hanfu tighter. “They’re staring. Why are they staring?”

“I suppose a new face does bring raised brows. That…” he dips his head down, nose brushing against your cheek with a loving chuckle. “...and you look exceptionally beautiful today, love.” You tug at his sleeve. “Ah, would some food ease my flower’s nerves then?” another tug. He takes that as a yes.

Even so, Morax knew you. Qingxins were flowers that know the intimate dangers of the mountain side and the bustle of the harbor below. You will grow, as you do and you will adapt as you do, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. He knows not to rush it along and he contents himself with your company and your curious question and the bliss on your face when you try a skewer.

“Liyue is beautiful.” you admit after a while. “Crowded, but beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not used to this.” you tell him for the umpteenth time, quick, apologetic and Morax has none of that ( why would he ever see it fit to fault you? ). He takes your hand, pressing a fluttering kiss on your palm. 

You shoot him a flustered glare. He smiles. “We’ll take our time. This old man has much to spare.” and he does.

He’ll wait millennia if it is for you. 

📼 — AUTHORS NOTES

reposting done XD.

TAGLIST ノ join the taglist. — @silentmoths @meimeimeirin @sleepynoons @meirvelle @endursent.

@jessamine-rose @ofoceansandtombsanew @chiyoso @4acoffee @loveliluc.

[reservoirreputation]

Teaser for my ResDogs fic, posting on AO3 10/1

Title: 'Birds in the Spider’s Nest' (end of chapter one)

tags for the teaser: canon typical violence, canon typical language, implied child abuse

1974

Vic Vega is led into a nice office, where two men already sit. Spotting him being escorted by the henchman, they both stand. The man behind the desk is the infamous Joe Cabot, and, if Vic plays his cards right, his future boss. The guy is tall, imposing, reminds him a bit of a bulldog. The guy in front of the desk, next to the empty chair meant for Vic, seems to be the complete opposite; he’s quite short, but stocky. Much younger than the big guy, and actually looks quite kind. Vic notes to watch his back around this one; kindness was always an ominous sign, as far as he’s concerned.

Joe gestures for him to sit, then gives his attempt at a smile, “Mr. Vega. You come highly recommended. Your brother has nothing but good things to say.”

“A miracle, really.” is his dry reply, because Vic and his brother rarely get along.

“Maybe he thinks you’re qualified, maybe he just wants you to get some work and fail miserably. Either way,” he looks up and down at Vic’s imposing height, “You’ve got potential. You interested in interning?”

It’s the most exciting thing to happen to Vic in years, “Sure.”

“This here’s Larry Dimmick.” The man to Vic’s left gives a polite nod, a slight smile, like he knows he’s gotta handle him with kid gloves, “He’ll be your mentor.”

The first week of on-the-job training is interesting, to say the least. The first day was nothing but talking and driving, meeting some people in very public places, making small talk while Vic waited in the car with the windows rolled down. The next two days involved even more driving, but with Dimmick going into various buildings; houses, apartments, small businesses. Again, Vic not allowed anywhere near the conversations. Day four of being on his best behavior, Dimmick looks over and says, “If you can keep your mouth shut you can tag along for the next meeting.”

Vic doesn’t respond with anything more than a nod.

‘Meeting’ turned out to be a shake down, with some associate being behind on payments. Three months worth. Vic could feel dread build in the pit of his stomach, but still wears his best poker face. He’s been pretending he doesn’t give a fuck about any awful thing since he was ten, this would be no different. So, when Dimmick and another heavy grab the bastard’s arm, smacking his hand on a flat surface, he’s expecting to see broken fingers. When Dimmick gets out a knife, instead, Vic can’t help but look away.

The sound of steel cutting through flesh and bone will haunt him just as much as the man’s screams.

As the weeks wear on, Vic’s exposed to more of the inner workings of the business. He meets various employees, most of whom are very out of the loop about Joe’s activities. It’s a silent lesson; the people around you only know as much as you allow them to. The debt collectors don’t need to know the same things as the accountants, despite how connected the two are. The wholesalers don’t need to know everything about the dealers, and they’re meeting one such of the latter, right now.

Larry’s a protective sort, despite being much shorter than Vic. Every new face Vic comes across, Larry insists on leading, physically keeping Vic behind him. So, when they meet a pot dealer named Matty, also a short fuck, Vic just feels like an overgrown freak.

Larry doesn’t quite like Matty. That much is obvious. Later on, Larry will say to him that not many people do, because Matty’s a bit of a screwup. The initial meeting, though, the guy seems quite nice.

The dope dealer is about Larry’s age, maybe younger. He has light brown hair, a thin face. Skin is freckled and pale, and eyes a striking green. He wears jeans ripped at the knees, a loose t-shirt and an even bigger plaid button-up over this, like the guy’s permanently wearing someone else’s clothes. He stinks a bit of pot, but of the good stuff. His expression is tired, like he doesn’t get enough sleep. Like he doesn’t get enough of anything. Where Larry comes across as being in control, Matty seems like he’s just along for the ride. Vic can’t help but see part of himself in the dealer, the kind of instant connection when you see someone who’s the same kind of fucked up as yourself.

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[fics-n-stuff]

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

[jadegrey711]

Snow Covered Dream

Eric Northman x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hello my loves so I got this request for a soft Eric Northan what feels like eons ago, and I’m finally feeling some inspiration for it. It’s been particularly hard for me for this one since when i originally started writing for it I had a good thing going and while I was an my ipad i rotated it and somehow deleted everything I had. So this is attempt number two for this one. I hope you guys like it and if you could show it some love! And to the sweet person who sent this request in I really hope you think it’s worth the wait. 

Prompt: Hey can I send a request in for Eric Northman x reader please? Could you maybe do one where him and the reader have been seeing each other for some time now and then they have sex for the first time and it’s really sweet and the reader lets eric bite her for the first time and they just realise how much they love each other, if not don’t worry about it! Thank you, love your writing!

*NOT MY GIF. ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER.

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

Word Count: 3212  Holy fuck this became it’s own novel. I think this is the most I’ve ever written for something like this. Fuck i hope it’s not shit 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake. 

Warnings: 18+ people. Oral (f recieving), mentions of blowjobs, Tantric sex (if you squint), vaginal sex 

Song Inspiration: 

Best Part - Daniel Caesar, H.E.R

Morning View - Towkio, SZA

Looking Through your Eyes - LeAnn Rimes

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

This isn’t the first time that Eric has stolen you away for some kind of romantic adventure. He’s been around for a thousand years and there’s just so many places he wants to show you; places you’ve never even heard of and spots that feel like no other human has laid a foot there before. 

However, this adventure felt different, like when it was over Eric wasn’t planning on letting you go; like he planned to keep you and you couldn’t find anything bad about that. 

“Eric are you ever going to tell me where we are going?” You smiled, seeing the mischievous smirk on his lips. 

“We are already here, sötma.” he stated and you swore his smile got wider, as you quickly whipped your head back towards the window to see if you could finally see your destination. But only found the same endless snowy expanse out your window. 

“Where?” 

“This is all of my property. It’s not huge but just a bit further up this road there’s a little house I keep for when I want to truly get away from everything.”

You waited for a few more minutes keeping your eyes peeled out the window for any sign of the house and then suddenly just out in the distance you saw a spot of bright red. You felt your excitement grow as you watched the house steadily come into view. That spot of bright red growing until you could finally see the whole house; a bright red one that was nestled right in the middle of the property surrounded by what looked like a small farm house and hidden away by the snow covered pine trees that surrounded it.To put it in a word it looked magical.  

“Do you like it sötma?” Eric asked, turning his head just enough to gauge your reaction. 

“Oh Eric! It’s so beautiful! It’s like a snow covered dream.” You said wistfully and then pulled your focus from the car window to Eric and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. 

Eric hummed his satisfaction. “I’m so glad you like it. This is one of my favorite places and I thought I might share it with one of my favorite people. I can’t wait to show you the rest of the house, I think you’ll really enjoy it.” 

“I’m sure I will.” You beamed at him and took his hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. “I’m never disappointed with anything you show me Eric.” 

Eric said nothing at your praise, but simply took your hand that was holding his and pressed a few kisses to your knuckles, before taking your wrist and kissing the palm of your hand; sending a flush of warmth through you despite the endless cold outside the car. 

When Eric pulled up in front of the house, you immediately got out of the car and stepped out onto the fresh snow just to marvel at the bright red house. The way the snow was settled perfectly on the tops of the roof and on the pine trees that surrounded the house it looked like the perfect christmas card. 

“How come you never told me you lived in a Hallmark movie?” You asked turning back to face Eric who had both your bag and his slung under each arm. 

“I don’t. It’s just Sweden. Everything looks like a Hallmark movie here in winter.” he chuckled as the both of you walked towards the large wooden front door. Eric easily maneuvered the bags in his hands to pull out the small set of keys and quickly unlocked the front door, letting you both into the house and out of the cold of the outside. However, there wasn’t much relief from the cold inside the house either. 

You started to shiver as you made your way to the center of the cold house, clutching your jacket tighter to your body. 

Eric looked over and saw you shivering and immediately took off his jacket and put it on top of your shoulders. “I’ll get a fire going in a second sötma.For right now I want you to sit here.” He said as he pulled your shivering body into a main sitting room where a very large fireplace sat on the far wall. 

Eric sat you down on the plush sofa that laid in front of the fireplace and you clutched his jacket tighter to your body as you watched Eric get the fire going with his quick and efficient hands. 

**

Hours later after you and Eric unpacked your things and both of you had your dinner. You found yourself sitting in Eric’s lap on a fur rug in front of that luxurious fire. The feeling of the fire warming your skin and the feel of Eric underneath you as he stroked her hair lovingly, warmed more than just your skin; you felt your heart and soul warm from the contentment that you felt in this moment.

As content as you were though in this moment you knew that you wanted more. You wanted more from Eric than just his soft kisses and loving caresses, you weren’t a fool you knew the reputation that surrounded Eric when you started seeing him. 

Ruthless killer and slayer of hearts but that wasn’t the side he presented you with everyday nor was it something he tried hiding from you. It wasn’t something that you felt like he needed to hide anyway. Everyone has shit in their past and in Eric’s case he’s got a whole mountain range of shit he’s got to deal with from his past but he’s grown and you’ve seen that growth. Hell. You being here wrapped safely in his arms in some remote house in god knows where Sweden should be proof enough of that growth; of the trust you place in him. So much so that you feel confident enough to pull from his soft touches and look at him in those blazing glacier eyes. 

You let out a small breath, and reached out your hand, cupping his face before you pulled him slowly in for a soft lingering kiss. Eric hummed his approval against your lips and then you took him by surprise as you tilted your head slightly and deepened the kiss, your tongue playfully dipping in his mouth and tangling with his.

You smiled against Eric’s lips as you heard him let out a low growl, his strong hands that were at his side, coming up to grab your hips bringing you closer to his body. You let out a low gasp as Eric pressed you closer to his body and you felt just how hard he was for you already. 

You pulled your sweet lips away from Eric’s smirking as you heard him softly whisper “No.” when you pulled away. But you or your lips didn’t go far. You pulled away just enough that you were still most definitely in kissing range. 

Eric watched you as you placed your small hands on his strong chest, letting you control every action and determining just how far this night was going to go. He loved it when you were brave for him, with him, taking control and taking what you want from him. He’s waited for this moment for so long but one word from you and he would go jump in the endless snow outside and quickly cure himself of his raging hard on.

Your hands continued their leisurely journey down Eric’s chest until you got to the hem of his shirt. You looked back up at Eric’s face, as if you were asking permission. He nodded and your fingers brushed the skin underneath his shirt and gasped at how cold he was. But you didn’t let that deter you one bit as you grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it up and over his head; with Eric’s help of course. And then your hands were all over his bare chest starting back up at his strong shoulders, then trailing down his chest your fingers stop over where his heart is; and feeling a certain sadness that you wouldn’t feel it’s steady beat under your touch. 

Eric seemed to sense what you were feeling and grabbed your chin making you look up at him. “Your heart is big enough that it beats for the both of us, sötma.” he whispered lovingly before placing a kiss on your lips and letting your chin go so you can continue with your exploration. 

You leaned down and placed a kiss to that spot on his chest, biting your lip when you heard Eric’s little gasp. Your hands went down feeling his hard abs and then those delicious hip “v’s” that you so desperately needed to run your tongue over but maybe later tonight. You looked back up at Eric’s face and grabbed one of his massive hands; Eric watched intently as you flipped his hand over and started to lovingly trace the lines there. 

Eric couldn’t help himself any longer the same hand that you so lovingly traced he used to cup your cheek, and traced your lips with his thumb. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are to me?” He asked as he grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head leaving your chest bare to him. 

You felt your cheeks flush. “No. I don’t think you’ve ever told me before. Why don’t you count the ways.” You giggled and let out a little squeal as Eric flipped the both of you over so your back was to the soft fur rug and he was sprawled out on top of you. 

“You’re such a little shit you know that?” He smirked as he leaned down and kissed a spot at your chest, giving it a little suck. Making whatever little smart comment you were about to say dissolve from your mind as you felt Eric ladden your body with open mouth kisses. First to your neck and then your collarbones and then to the spot right where your heart was. 

“Eric.” his name falling from your mouth in a breathy whisper. 

His hair tickled your face as he kissed lower and you let out a gasp as his tongue swirled around your nipple, making your back arch from the surprise of it. 

“So sensitive.” he chided and you felt a gush of warmth spread between your thighs at his words. Before you watched him bring that nipple into his mouth and give it a light suck before he went to do the same to the other. “I wonder where else you're sensitive.” He purred as you felt his lips brush reverently against the bottom of your breasts before continuing his journey to where you were most sensitive. 

You tangled your hands in his hair as he reached your pants and he held your gaze as he undid each of the buttons, making you smile as he lifted your hips up and pulled your pants completely off, leaving you completely bare to him. 

“Oh, Y/N.” He purred as he admired your naked body sprawled out in front of him on his fur rug looking like a norse goddess. “Every part of you is a gift.” He said as he grabbed one of your legs and placed soft kisses there before doing the same to the other. He loved how sprawled out you were for him like a feast all for him. 

“Eric.” You moaned out his name again as you watched him settle himself between your legs, his strong shoulders keeping you spreaded out for him as you watched as he took his index finger and ran it down your slit making you gasp. You watched eagerly as he placed that finger in his mouth and sucked on it. 

“Just as sweet as I knew you’d be, baby.” He smirked and then you felt his tongue flick up your folds before swirling around your clit making your hips buck up into his face. 

You watched as Eric swiveled his head side to side and elicited more moans from you each one getting louder and louder as he sucked your clit and he fucked you with his tongue. Your fingers alternated between burying themselves in Eric’s soft hair to gripping the fur rug behind you as you watched Eric devour you. 

As you felt your orgasm climb you started to writhe under Eric but he easily placed his strong arm over you stomach keeping you under his delicious torture. “Eric, baby I’m gonna come.” You moaned, feeling like you were going to fall over the edge any second. 

“Go ahead baby, come for me. Let me see how pretty you look when you fall apart.” He purred before he added his fingers and crooked them inside you and you fell apart. Eric ate you out through your orgasm letting you ride that wave of pleasure until you finally went limp under him. 

You watched with shaky breaths as Eric pulled away from you giving your clit a kiss before smiling up at you. “I don’t know how I’ll ever get enough of this sweet pussy, sötma.” he said before climbing up and kissing you deeply letting you taste yourself. 

“Are you ready for me, sötma?” He asked and then you felt his strong fingers rub against your soaked folds before he entered you feeling how wet you were for him. “Oh yeah, I think you’re ready for me.” He smiled, kissing you again before standing up and unbuttoning his pants before quickly discarding them.  

He looked like a god from this angle, all strong and hard muscles as he loomed over you, his hard cock springing to his stomach. You’d never been particularly fond of blowjobs mainly because of how your past lovers would grab your head and try to force you down more. But you didn’t feel that Eric you wanted to be at his knees lavishing him with pleasure while he stroked your head lovingly gifting you with lavish praises about how good you were for him.

Maybe another night. You thought to yourself. 

Eric knelt back down till he was sprawled back over you and proceeded to ladden you with soft open mouth kisses, his hands massaging your breasts until you could feel the need between your legs grow until it was too much; you needed Eric now. 

“Eric, please.” You moaned breathily. 

“Are you sure you want me now? We have all night, baby.” He said, kissing your neck again. “Maybe you let me play with that pussy for another hour and then I’ll fuck you.” 

You felt you center throb at the thought at what kind of pleasure could pull from you in an hour; not still not fuck you. 

“No. I want you Eric. I need you inside me now. Please.” You whispered in his ear earning a low growl from him. 

“Well, there’s no way I can deny such a pretty girl when she’s begging for me.”  He hummed and you felt his hard length press up against your folds. “This what you want from me?” He asked, knowing full well, that’s exactly what you wanted. 

“Are you going to keep talking or are you going to fuck me?” you gasped feeling Eric’s hard length press deeper into you, letting you get used to him as he stretched you out for him. 

“Oh baby you’ve got such a mouth on you. I can’t wait to see it wrapped around my cock. I just know you’d look so pretty on your knees for me.” He purred as he slid home, making you moan in his ear as he pressed close to your body,to your warmth. 

Eric kept his pace slow letting you get used to his invasion but also to leave you breathless and wanting under him. He knows what you want; that you want him to pound into you and he will have no worry about that. He can’t wait to hear the lewd sounds of your wet pussy as he drives into you over and over until you scream his name. But right now he wants to draw this out, really feel each part of you and then he’ll pound into your aching pussy. 

“Eric, please.” you breathed out, your nails gripping his back as he kept his pace slow and sensual, making you writhe beneath him. 

“Please what? Sötma.” 

“Harder.” You begged. 

Eric chuckled against your skin. “I just can’t deny you anything can I?” He asked, looking at your face. 

“Please Eric.” 

“Alright, baby.” He said and before you knew it, Eric pulled out of you and brought his hands under your back and brought you up to his until you were straddling him and just as quickly as he pulled out of you, did he plunge himself back into your wet folds; setting a brutal pace as he fucked up into you. 

You let out a scream of pleasure as your hands wrapped around Eric and held him close as he fucked you. 

“Is this what you want, baby?” 

“Yes.” You whimpered, kissing Eric’s neck and sucked at the spot where his shoulder and neck meet earning a low groan from him. 

“Oh Eric!” You moaned, your nails gripping onto his back. “I-I I’m going to come.” 

“Come for me sötma. Grip me with that tight little pussy of yours.” He growled as he drove into you harder and you felt yourself go supernova as your orgasm racked your body. Eric held you tight, slowing his pace down just enough to let you ride through your orgasm. 

After a few seconds though you felt Eric’s pace quicken again and to your surprise his quickening pace was building you up to another orgasm. 

“Eric. I don’t think I can survive another one.” You moaned, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Eric tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled enough to bring your face to his. 

“You can and you will baby. I want to feel you squeeze my cock again, with that beautiful pussy.” He growled and kissed you, his hand leaving your hair to snake between your bodies and rub small circles on your oversensitive clit and you gasped into his kiss as you felt your orgasm crash over you as Eric held you close to him, as he chased his own end. 

“Fuck! I love you so much, Y/N.” He screamed as his own orgasm crashed over him, holding you closer to his body as he fell back down onto the soft fur rug underneath him. 

As you laid on top of Eric trying to calm your breathing and find your equilibrium again. Eric’s fingers found your hair again and stroked it lovingly. 

“I love you too ya know?” You smiled and kissed his chest. “And not just for the sex. Although I could definitely get used to that.” You laughed.

“You are trouble.” He said, scrunching his nose at you before bringing your lips to his in another searing kiss. 

[yuta-nakamots]

summer 127 - l.ty

Pairing - Boyfriend!Taeyong x Fem!Reader

Genre - Smut, Fluff, Established Relationship!AU

Warnings - reader is wearing a bikini, public arousal, public groping, oral (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, slight overstimulation

Summary - Going to a waterpark was a great way to beat the summer heat though things only seem to get hotter while you’re there. 

Word Count - 2.3k

Written for the Sunny Side Event hosted by @neosmutcollective​​​. Check out the masterlist here.

Seeing your boyfriend Taeyong play with kids was always a delight, especially when there were so many of them splashing him in a wave pool. With Taeyong’s insistence, you joined him in being a leader at your local YMCA’s summer program and though you begrudgingly gave in, it was all worth it to see his bright smile while taking care of these kids despite how tiring it really was.

All the shouts of “Mr. Taeyong! Mr. Taeyong!” when the kids wanted him to join in on their game of kickball or when they wanted to show him their drawings or other mischievous antics, those little moments were the ones that made your day just the slightest bit lighter. But that’s not to say that your own kids weren’t as equally energetic.

You led a group of kids that were the same age as Taeyong’s. However, no matter all your efforts, they’d always find things more entertaining when Taeyong and his group were around. You didn’t mind though, because you felt the same way and today was no exception.

Every year, the entire program would go on a field trip to the water park, and every year, Taeyong would come back absolutely drained. As you checked off your kids’ names while they boarded the bus, the anticipation for your impending doom by them only grew. Taeyong stood next to you, doing the same for his kids except with much more excitement, even greeting some of them with a handshake they seemed to have come up with.

Once all the rascals were accounted for, Taeyong followed you onto the bus, thanking the driver and apologizing in advance for how loud it may get. The apology did not go to waste. You had to stand up and tell them all to quiet down more times than you could count on one hand and every time you received whines of frustration and mutters of disapproval from them. “It’s fine,” Taeyong comforted, “on the way back, they’ll be too tired to even speak. I can promise you that.”

“They better be,” you scoffed, just wanting to get the day over with.

Once the bus arrived at the waterpark, the kids all but stampeded through the park, you and the other leaders struggling to herd them into a reserved private area where they could store their belongings and meet back at once their time was up. You sat at a table with your boyfriend and the other leaders, discussing the plan for the next few hours you’d be at the park.

“Mr. Taeyong, I want to go on that slide!” A boy exclaimed from behind you.

“I’m not too sure if you can, Jordan. It looks quite large and there may be a height requirement,” Taeyong told him sympathetically while rummaging in his own backpack.

The younger boy, Jordan, let out a huff of disbelief, “what do you mean? Why can’t I go on it?”

“Some rides have rules about your height or weight but it’s for your own safety,” Taeyong explained while his hands continued to search around for something.

“If you come with me will I be able to ride it?” Jordan asked.

Taeyong paused to think of an answer. “That depends if the ride allows more than one person at a time.”

“Will you come with me to ask them?” The younger quickly rebutted.

“Now who said I was going to stand in line with you when I could be going on rides myself,” Taeyong teased, giving up on whatever he was looking for in his bag.

Jordan rolled his eyes, “That’s so boring. Going on rides by yourself? Boring.”

“What makes you think I’m going alone?” He put an arm around your shoulders, “I have a beautiful girlfriend that I can take with me-”

He leaned in to kiss your cheek but before he could, Jordan ran off with a scream of “ew, Mr. Taeyong is gross and boring!”

The other leaders started laughing at the kid’s reaction and complimenting the way Taeyong handled the situation before getting back on topic. While they continued discussing, he leaned over and whispered “babe, can I use your sunscreen, I think I forgot mine at home.”

You handed him your bottle of it, not expecting him to take off his shirt right then and there and begin lathering sunscreen on himself but you didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt whatever the others were saying. He quietly whined at you for help once he tried to cover his back, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t be able to reach all of it. The meeting ended while you were still helping Taeyong, the leaders having decided to meet back at the same spot at 2pm. They announced it to the kids and released them into the park, the whole lot of them running for the wave pool right as an alarm rang, signaling for the start of the waves.

All the other leaders headed out too, leaving just you and Taeyong in the private area. “Do you want me to help you?” He asked, continuing to smear the white paste onto his face.

“Sure,” you sighed, standing up and removing your clothing, revealing your minimally covered body before grabbing the bottle of sunscreen from Taeyong and squeezing some onto your hand.

“I know I see you every day but gosh, you’re just so beautiful,” Taeyong gushed.

“I’m wearing a bikini, I’m nearly naked and you’re trying to not think about fucking me, I know,” you bluntly stated.

“I- W-wha- well you’re not wrong I guess,” he stuttered, bashfully looking away and making sure he was absolutely covered in sunscreen.

“I’ll wear it again once we get home and you can dive into your fantasies or whatever,” you teased, grabbing at the band of your top and acting like you were about to flash him.

Taeyong’s cheeks turned red as he rushed to pin your hands down while frantically looking around. “Not now,” he said through gritted teeth, “there could be kids around, you know.”

“And if there aren’t any, what would you do?” You propose while handing him the sunscreen and turning so he could spread it across your back.

His hands were warm as they spread the lotion on your skin. “I’d have you naked underneath the sunlight while I make love to you and your beautiful body.” A shiver of excitement ran down your spine from the ghosting sensation of him inside you with the sun warming both of you.

He continued on, “I’d let you have me any way you wanted to, just as long as you’re satisfied and you know that you’re the most gorgeous woman to walk the planet.” His hands left your back and came from under your arms to grasp at your boobs, his fingers sliding underneath the fabric of your bikini in order to feel the softness of your breasts in his palms.

When his clothed erection came into contact with your lower back, you knew you were in for it when you got home. Abruptly pulling Taeyong’s arms away from you, you took off in the direction of the wave pool, leaving him in shock. “Come on! Last one in the wave pool doesn’t get to cum tonight!” With that, he took off after you, both of you running into the surging water at the same time.

Upon seeing their beloved ‘Mr. Taeyong’, the kids began swarming him and splashing him with water, allowing you to escape from him even if just for a moment. “Guys look, Ms. Y/n is completely dry! That’s not right!” In less than a second you were absolutely drenched as they targeted you instead, sending their own mini waves and splashes while you futilely tried to cover yourself.

It soon became a full-blown water war between the kids in your group versus the kids in Taeyong’s group until the waves started to die down, most of them ;eaving and get in line for a ride at that point. You and Taeyong did the same, following the mass of your kids just to keep an eye on them.

“What you did earlier wasn’t very nice,” he quietly growled into your ear as you waited in line for the slide Jordan had pointed out earlier, which turned out to be a single-person ride.

“Hm? What did I do?” You asked, faking your cluelessness.

One of his hands grabbed onto your hip, pulling you closer to him. “You know what you did. You could at least have helped me out first before running off.”

You shrugged, “I wanted to get into the water already. Oh look, it’s my turn.”

The day continued on like this, doing things to rile Taeyong up now while there was nothing he could do about it, then escaping by means of a ride or the kids. By the time the field trip ended and the two of you reached your shared apartment, Taeyong was frustrated in more ways than one.

Not even a moment after the door was closed, Taeyong hands were up on your body, pushing off the slightly damp shirt you were wearing and revealing your bikini top once more while you both stumbled into the bedroom. “You’re such a dangerous person, getting me all excited when we’re out in public. There were even kids around! Imagine how traumatizing that would’ve been.”

“You liked it though, I know you did.” You bragged, tugging off Taeyong’s shirt to match your state.

He let out a sound akin to a growl as he pushed you onto the bed, quickly pulling off your shorts while still leaving on your bikini bottoms. He didn’t even wait before moving the fabric to the side and diving into eating you out. The warmth of his tongue felt so nice in comparison to the coldness of the still-wet fabric and it made you squirm in pleasure.

Taeyong continued to spread his warmth to you as he began rubbing at your clit with his thumb while inserting a finger from his other hand into you. “More,” you urged, having been aroused for nearly the whole day. He added a second finger to scissor you open before adding in a third when he was sure you’d be able to handle it.

He licked at your clit while thrusting his fingers inside of you. You flew towards your first orgasm easily, the white waves of pleasure washing over you as Taeyong slowed his movements to let you settle down. You were so wrapped up in your own bliss that you didn’t even notice Taeyong undressing and climbing back on the bed until he was on top of you and lifting your legs from your calves and bringing them up to his shoulders.

His enlarged member slid into you with ease, the heat from it warming your insides as it stretched you out. He, too, was nearly in paradise from just the feeling of your soft walls around him. When he began to shallowly thrust into you, who was already so full of him, you felt your second orgasm start to build. Taeyong held onto your legs as he sped up, chasing the bliss that was his own orgasm.

You knew he wouldn’t last long from how erratic his movements were getting. His eyes were shut tight in concentration, getting lost in the clenching of your warmth around his desperate cock. His hips kept slamming into yours until he released your legs and fell on top of you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he held you tight in his grasp, his cum filling your insides while you came along with him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned. He didn’t stop thrusting into you just yet, though. As if one orgasm wasn’t enough, he continued to rail into you while you were riding the high of yours. The firm grip he had on your shoulders felt like he was about to break you but you were grateful for having something to anchor you or else you might have passed out from pleasure. “This is for teasing me in the water park and not even bothering to help me.”

Taeyong’s speed was even faster than before as he became blinded by lust, only thinking about the way your body looked under his. The way your breasts had been pushed out from under your bikini top, the way your bottoms had become soiled from the juices seeping out of your pussy, the way your lower lips had gotten swollen from enduring his actions. He was drunk on it all and his eyes were glued onto the place where he entered you, his length glistening and covered in a mix of cum and arousal.

“Taeyong, please,” you cried out, overstimulation starting to take over, “it’s too much.”

He came with an elongated moan as he once more finished inside of you, his breath hot and heavy on your neck while he was sent reeling from his orgasm. You could feel his dick twitching inside of you, pushing out the last bits of his cum, making your core overflow, the combination of liquids slowly seeping out of you.

Feeling exhausted from what Taeyong had just put you through, you were about to succumb to the sleep calling you until you felt him sit up and start to gently knead at your breasts. You turned your head to look at him and were met with the sight of his wide eyes looking at you as if yours had all the stars in the sky. “I love you,” he blurted out.

“I love you too,” you told him with a giggle before looking down at his hands playing with the soft skin of your boobs.

“You should wear this one more often, I like it.” He remarked.

“Remind me to never wear a bikini to a water park ever again,” you joked.

[dystopiandilfs]

Dream's discord podcast. Basically him answering questions for 2.5 hours. This will sort of be in order but I fucked up my notes so it might not be in order completely. (From 13th May 2021)

For reference the photos at the end are: A prototype of fidget spinner merch as loads of people asked, a reference photo of his favourite merch and a photo he sent of his hair to prove he wasn't a brunette.

•He said his teeth are mostly straight but he's thought about getting Invisalign. He's never had braces. He has a tiny gap in the left side of his mouth and his canines are longer and sharper (vampire arc). He's never had teeth surgery so has his wisdom teeth still.

•He thinks pineapple on pizza is good.

•He likes seafood like lobster and crab. He had crab made in an air fryer last night. He like peas. He thinks quesadillas are good and likes most food.

•He hates Coffee and most drinks

•The Dream Shorts team is Ken who is his personal reminder (Ken's main job is to spam him with texts so he doesn't forget things as he's got a habit of reading texts and not replying) and also comes up with a list of sets for Dream shorts. The builder is a friend and munchymc builder "his talent gets wasted on Dream's shorts but we pay him so"

•His editors are currently Dizzy, Firesale and Mjcr. Willz doesn't edit for him anymore

•The mask animation isn't done but Mask should be released May 21st. He wants to release them together as "the whole song is a double meaning and the whole nuance will be lost without the animation" but no matter if the animation is done the song is getting released on the 21st.

•He and Sapnap eat together often.

•He and Sapnap prefer medium rare Steak

•He wants a home gym it's something he's willing to splurge on. They currently have a weight rack but they haven't even set it up.

•"Eat the rich? Shut up shut up" - Dream

•Talked about money basically saying "Most people don't understand how money works I don't have millions in my bank account it's in assets like merch, land and warehousing for that stuff" (He's not in his landlord arc)

•He's been debating Pride Merch because of Rainbow Capitalism. He doesn't want it too be seen as a money maker and if he does most proceeds would go to charity. He's currently super busy merch wise with Sapnap joining and George in the middle of joining. He did say "Only if the LGBTQ+ community in this community wants it" He thinks he's going to at least change the merch website to a pride one. Sapnap wants to make pride merch including a rainbow flame on his.

•He wants to create a charity that's centered around helping LGBTQ+ one day because he thinks that there's a lack of them. He mentioned that creating a charity was expensive and took a lot and was a complicated process including a board of directors but he wants to do it someday.

•He wanted to buy a bunch of houses in Florida which was a service to house mostly LGBTQ+ youth and people stuck in abusive households for free to get them out of bad home environments. But he didn't because he didn't want people thinking he was profiting of of abuse victims and LGBTQ+ community.

•He said he's terrible with time management and replying to people which is why Ken helps him (and also helps George and Sapnap). He mentioned how Sam messaged multiple times and Dream just forgot to answer but felt bad "I feel like people think I hate them..... Cause I'd be mad if people did that to me"

•He tries to reply to a few texts a day (community number). He also can't do birthday messages everyday because you can only reply at certain times so it's not abusing the system so if you get one it's special. He said he does try but it's got a weird time gap.

•Him and the manhunt winner are trying to come up with a good time to film

•He wants to stream this MCC on twitch and says his team is good.

•He talks about why he's not partnered with Twitch. Basically Twitch has a lock rate (in which you make money) and you legally can't stream on YouTube. So legally if Tommy wanted to stream on YouTube he couldn't. Someone then mentioned how Bad is a twitch partner but still streams on YouTube "Bad streams on YouTube but he has for a while and I don't think that he cares" - Dream

•He likes to reply to every donation he gets on stream and feels bad when he doesn't so he'll turn them off when he streams and wants a platform deal where he can be payed to stream (not twitch). If he gets a streaming partnership he will stream a couple of times a week. He looked in to Facebook but they don't have an alias system meaning you can see everyone's actual Facebook account and personal info, he doesn't like seeing real names on Facebook so it would require a lot of altering if he was to stream there so he's thinking it's probably going to be YouTube.

•He was asked about if his demographic was what he expected and he said he went in with no expectations, he didn't even know what stans were, wasn't really on social media so he wasn't aware of the fan culture. "You guys are a handful sometimes but it's worth it"

•He also mentioned how he and the DreamSMP changed the twitch audience demographic. It used to be male dominated in both streamers and audience and now it's almost split which is unheard on.

•He has 5 fidget spinners in his house. Two in his bedroom. Two in his office. One in the living room.

•He likes his Minecraft skin as he thinks the arm is cook and you never see the rest of his skin really. He says it's unique and different and "me". Dream: You can't even tell half the skins apart on MC.

•He's not lost the motivation to stream. Most of the times if he wants to stream he gets George or Sapnap to do it and he just turns up. It's more beneficial to them as they have donos and subs on. (Don't we fucking know it "can you say hi to")

•He has listened to Lovejoy. Says the ep was great and they're very talented and awesome. Doesn't know what his favourite song is but probably would pick One Day because the chorus slaps.

•RIP to acoustic Roadtrip. He said instead of acoustic Roadtrip we get Mask so no losses today for Dream stans.

•"With Roadtrip I went to Parker and I said Hey I have a story I want to tell through music. I have no experience with that can you help me" He said sure. He crafted the music and melodies and how things are formed where it's catchy. I have less comfort singing that. I love the song and it's my song, it's very representative of me and I'm sure I could sing it but it's a song I'd be kinds of scared to sing live, with Mask I basically did everything. I sat there the entire time and maybe an hour out if the 100 I wasn't in the call. Dream came up with the lyrics and main melody for Mask (First one he's ever come up with) "That was just notes in my fucking voice memos"

•The clip we heard of Mask was a prechorus not the actual chorus. He thinks he'd be more comfortable to do a mask acoustic and it's more melodic than Roadtrip. The chorus also has a lot of instruments similar to Roadtrip. Mask starts of slow and guitar with minimal reverb and is more raw.

• He doesn't want music to be his main thing. It's something fun to do and he's passionate about it as it's a way to express emotions. He wants to release mask then go from there. He wants to release at least one more song but has nothing on his mind currently. His two ideas were Roadtrip and Mask.

•He wouldn't quit his job to become a pizza delivery man.

•His favourite features on himself are eyes or freckles and he also confirmed that he does have eyebrows.

•He was told that Parkour warrior would be bought back some time in the near future and he got excited for it. "Even if I don't win, which I will, it'll be fun"

•Went on about his MCC team but I'm not going to put that in as we should be getting them today. He did say he wasn't on Pink but he did sound confused. (For reference he's always in Pink as it's the last team announced and keeps the hype up by announcing the biggest streamer last)

•Said he and his mum had the Mr Beast burger. He recommends because he likes the avacado. He mentioned how Mr Beast uses "Ghost Kitchens" which is basically where he gives restaurants permission to cook his food so it's restaurant quality food.

•His favourite piece of merch is the circle smile. (The pool photo on Instagram). He said the quality was bad (he worked with a different company and didn't have his own company) and it was elasticy feeling and he's planning on re-releasing it again but with good quality.

•He's started to send merch out in custom packaging. So his bags have the smile and will mostly be green. Sapnap's has the flame and is either black or white. He's also trying to make it so every order has the sticker packs for both him and Sapnap.

•He loves the coins as it's cheaper than a hoodie but still celebrates the milestones and will last a long time. He mentioned how the old coins are getting removed off the site and how if you have any of the coins your special because only a few thousand get made. He's kept around 100 of each coin that he wants to give away in person.

•He wanted to have a cool store where you could access computers that give you access to the DreamSMP in spectator mode. But it's too costly and would require too much time and isn't safe fight now. He doesn't think it'd be worth it financially.

•Most of the hoodie are black instead of multiple colours because of limited supply and covid. Getting the colours are harder because if the pandemic which hopefully won't be an issue soon.

•He wants to do a short meetup tour with Sapnap and George with a few locations in the US (and if others nearby want to join like Quackity or Karl they can). He also wants to visit Australia, UK, Canada, Mexico and Philippines and do something like that there but definitely at least visit with George and Sapnap.

•He's never been to the Philippines but his mum has. He wants to set up a place in the Philippines where he can ship merch in bulk and it would help to reduce shipping. However it would probably be big milestone merch.

•He's not got the vaccine yet but will get it when he needs to. He doesn't leave the house so he doesn't see the point.

•He's the ideas man. George's footcam video was Dream's idea. The T-shirt video was Dream's idea. Most if not all of the Dream Team's videos are Dream's ideas.

•Said he's got a similar/the same hair colour as Froy (Dream buddy at this point the only difference between you and Froy is that one of you is dating Richard Madden /lh)

[averytiredfanfictionwriter]

Sic Semper Tyrannis

A syndicate x Platonic! Reader/ Technoblade x Reader

Warnings: murder, kidnapping, blood, a somewhat graphic depiction of getting stitches

Word count: about 2800

Ao3 Link: wow.

I’m excited to share this. I did write a version with an angsty ending, which is up on my Ao3 account here if you want to read that one as well. Fair warning though, while writing it I found myself dying inside so I don’t know how you guys would feel. It was the original way I wanted to take the story but as I was writing I also created this one which is an alternate, fluffier ending. Reader is a raccoon hybrid in this one. Don’t forget to like and follow for more. Enjoy!

It almost seems to be a mistake, Techno thinks. The woman- no girl- standing in front of him never struck him as the anarchist type. She was always too soft, too nice for any of it. Yet here she stands next to Philza, shivering from the chill of the cave and rubbing her bare arms. 

“This is the new recruit I was telling you about.” The winged man smiles at Techno.

“She seems… soft.” He mutters, taking in her shivering form before handing her a cloak.

She only nods, accepting the cloak gratefully and clipping it around her neck with ease before burrowing into the thick material. 

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew her how I do.” Phil mutters, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Fine. But do you swear to uphold the values of the syndicate? Do you promise that you’ll help in our mission to destroy the corrupted governments that threaten the freedoms of its citizens?” Techno stands over her, red eyes practically glowing.

She nods hastily under his seven foot tall frame and he seems satisfied as he backs away. “Okay then. Come take a seat. We have a lot to talk about today.” 

Techno makes his way up the stairs to the table behind him, taking a seat facing the entranceway. Y/n looks up at Philza and he only shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about him. He seems scary but he won’t hurt you. In fact, that’s the nicest he’s been to someone that’s tried to join yet.” Philza says before walking towards the table.

“Wait- what do you mean ‘tried to join’? Phil, what happened to them?” Y/n says in a panic.

“We don’t talk about them.” Ranboo chimes in. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to your first meeting.” 

Y/n scurries up to a chair at the table, taking the one across from Phil and next to Ranboo. She sits furthest from Niki and Techno who both seem to be scrutinizing her every move.

“Now, let’s get this meeting started. First things first, we have a new recruit. This is Y/n. You all know her, but she’s going to be joining us. You’ll need a codename.” Techno states, and Y/n thinks a moment as they stare at her.

“Dolos. I’ll go with Dolos.” Techno nods, eyes flashing with an unknown emotion before returning to their usual blankness.

“Okay. Now that that’s over with, is there anything in particular you guys wanted to discuss? Any new information or governments?” 

Phil nods, standing as he stands from the chair and speaks to the group. Y/n zones out a little for the rest of the meeting, nodding along but not really listening. Soon, it’s time to go and they’re all standing, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor loudly and Ranboo’s laughter at something Niki said echoes through the small space.

“Y/n, can I speak to you alone.” It’s not a question, and the woman swallows thickly as she follows the piglin hybrid into a small room that connects to the main one.

“So why Dolos? I mean, of everything you could’ve chosen, why’d you choose Dolos?” He asks, standing against the door to the room, blocking her in.

“Ah, well- you see, I’ve been told I’m good at deceiving people and that I’m so good at it, no one ever knows until I tell them, and even then they don’t believe me. I think that it’s a good codename, that’s all.” She stutters out, and Techno’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not easily fooled. If you’re lying, or you’re here as a spy, I’ll figure it out. And then not even Phil will be able to save you. Do you understand me?” He grunts out, standing over her with his sword held in his hand.

She nods and all but teleports out of the room to get away as quick as possible. He looks after her, seeing the disappointed look on Phil’s face outside and the confused glances from Niki and Ranboo. He steps out of the room as well and leaves the meeting hall without another word. 

It’s a week before anyone hears directly from Y/n again, and when they do it’s not for reason they would have ever expected. 

“I need your help.” Techno takes in the sight of the blood soaked clothing that covers the young woman.

“What happened?” He’s bewildered, the first time he’s been surprised in a long time.

“It’s not my blood. Most of it’s from the people we were fighting, but some of it’s his.” She points behind her where Phil stands, holding up a severely injured Tommy.

“Come on.” Techno grunts, ears twitching. The voices chime in, but he pushes them aside. 

“Set him on the couch.” Phil lays him down gently and gets to work brewing potions for the young boy. 

Y/n sits next to him, clutching his hand tightly with one of hers as she continues putting pressure on the gaping wound in his stomach. Her striped tail swishes nervously on the floor behind her and the large black ears lay back against her head.

“Get his shirt off. I need to sew it up.” Techno has his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he comes over with a small first aid kit.

Y/n uses her sharp nails to cut away the stomach section of Tommy’s shirt, revealing the ugly looking gash. She pales at the sight of it, getting up and running to the bathroom to most likely vomit. Techno only sighs as he gets to work, wiping off the dried blood around the wound and starting to stitch it up. Tommy shifts uncomfortably on the couch, crying out at the needle threading in and out of his skin. 

Once done, Phil shoves the healing potion in Tommy’s face, which he drinks and then promptly passes out. Y/n comes back from the bathroom, hair tied back from her face.

“What happened?” Techno asks, standing in front of her.

“We were running through the woods, having fun- y’know, kid things- when we came across a small group of people. They started to attack us, and we started to fight back, thinking there weren’t anymore of them. Well, we were wrong. Very wrong. We wouldn’t have escaped if it wasn’t for Phil. Before we got away though, they said something like ‘down with the order’. I don’t know what they meant though. It was hard to understand them through their masks.” Y/n spews out and Techno only stares at her.

“‘Down with the order’? That sounds like they know something. What did they look like? Any distinct markings for kingdoms or anything?” Techno says softly.

She shakes her head. “Nothing that I could see, unless I missed it. I could probably lead you back to the place we fought at. I don’t know if more came to collect the bodies or not.” 

“Take me there. But first, go get cleaned up. We don’t need you walking around drenched in blood.” Techno says, nodding to the bathroom. 

One shower and change of clothes later, the pair are on their way to where Y/n and Tommy were attacked. Techno notices her fidgeting more than usual, constantly looking around them and watching as she jumps at the smallest of noises. He chalks it up to having been just attacked and they continue walking.

She stops in a clearing and he stands beside her. No sign of bloodied bodies is anywhere to be found. In fact, there’s no evidence a fight even occurred here. No blood spots on the ground, no scrapes in the ground, no disturbance of wildlife.

“Are you sure this is the place?” He turns to look at her, but she’s gone. Suddenly, something hits him from behind and the last thing he sees is Y/n, crying softly as someone holds onto her.

Techno slowly opens his eyes, registering the cold metal against his wrists and multitude of people surrounding him. The voices scream out in rage- rage at Y/n for getting them captured, rage at himself for allowing this to happen, anger for not trying to stop him and Y/n from being captured. They’re angry at a lot of things, and he grunts as he feels a headache coming on.

Y/n stirs in the chair across from him, whimpering softly and her tail waves behind her slowly. “Where-”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell us who the rest of the members of your little club is, or else you both die. Tell us, and you live. It’s that simple.” A voice speaks out, a young man with brown hair and light eyes.

He rests a sword on Y/n’s shoulder and looks Techno in the eyes. He says nothing, glaring at the man instead.

“Are you going to tell me? If not, then I guess I’ll need to encourage you to do so.” The young man sighs, and takes out a knife, grabs hold of Y/n’s tail and presses the knife against the base of it.

Y/n screams loudly, and Techno hates the sound of it more than any other sound he’s heard. The voices seem to hate it as well, yelling at him to just tell the man the names of the other members to end it.

“Fine.” Techno gives in. 

The young man smiles, dropping Y/n’s tail and wiping the knife off on her shirt. “Oh good! That’s very good.” 

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it. My life’s not worth it.” Y/n mumbles, tears falling down her face as she clenches onto the armrests of the chair tightly.

“You might know one of them. His name is Zephyrus. Has black wings, wears lots of green. Another one is named Lethe. He’s half enderman. Good luck catching him though. The last one is Nemesis. You might never find her though. She spends most of her time underground.” Techno states and Y/n almost laughs at the use of the codenames.

“You’re lying.”

The young man holds the knife to Y/n’s throat and presses gently, causing a small trickle of blood to run down her neck. “You have one more chance to tell me their names before I kill her and then you. I’ll give you to the count of ten. Ten…” Techno growls at the man before him, the sight of his knife pressed against the woman's throat more than angering.

“I told you. Those are their names. It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me. Now let her go. I don’t even like her. Killing her wouldn’t get me to reveal anything.” Techno says calmly.

The man considers this, pausing his counting. “You’re still lying. I saw you help her and her friend, the blonde. I’m surprised the cut didn’t kill him, to be honest. I think I’ll have to go back to your cabin when I’m done here and finish the job.” 

Steam is basically pouring out of Techno’s ears and his eyes glow a bright red. “Don’t fucking touch him.” 

“Yes! I will, unless you tell me the real names of the other members of your little club.” He releases Y/n’s head from his grip, and pulls his knife away from her neck. 

“Phil, Niki, and Ranboo. Those are their names. Now let her go.” Techno growls and Y/n shakes her head.

“He’s lying. Those aren’t their names. There’s not even more than one other member of the group. The third member of the group is named Dream. He’s currently in prison for killing several people and blowing up a country not once, but twice as well as manipulating kids. He’s the only other member of the group.” Y/n says, hoping that they don’t know she’s lying and buy her bluff. 

The god currently sits in prison, waiting out his days monotonously. They would definitely all die the minute they try and kill him- if they even do get to him, considering Sam would kill them the minute they step foot in the prison.

“Finally, someone here is telling the truth. You’re going to give me the exact coordinates of where the prison is, and then you two are going to stay here while we go kill him.” Y/n gives him the coordinates and the man is almost bouncing in joy. “For your sake, we better not be walking into a trap. Let’s go boys.” They leave the room and Y/n sighs, her head hanging forward heavily, as if her neck can’t hold itself up anymore.

“What was that?” Techno asks and she shrugs.

“I told you. People don’t believe I’m capable of lying to them. They’re all going to die trying to get to Dream, or he’s going to kill them himself.” Y/n yawns.

“Yeah, and we need to get out of here in case some of them survive.” Techno says, struggling against the restraints holding him to the chair and eventually manages to break them.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Techno mumbles, picking the lock on Y/n’s restraints and lifting her up easily in his arms.

The maze of hallways is nearly impossible to escape, but they do it somehow and step outside to a snowy tundra. The wind blows frozen ice shards through the air and it bites at their skin. They were stripped of gear and their cloaks. The cold is no match for Techno, who produces enough body heat to stay warm enough, but Y/n shivers in his arms and presses her face against his chest in an effort to keep warm.

Techno’s communicator beeps as it regains signal, and he works it out of his pocket, seeing the messages from Phil and quickly shoots one back with their coordinates and a request for blankets.

Looking around, the only shelter Techno can find until Phil arrives is the building they came out of but that’s not an option in case the people come back. Techno settles for sitting on the ground and hugging the woman to his chest, doing his best to protect her from the wind and cold. 

“Oh my god…” Phil says as he lands in front of the pair, quickly grabbing Y/n and wrapping the cloak around her.

“Take her back to my cabin. She needs to get warmed up and is going to probably need stitches in her tail.” Phil nods, passing his sword to Techno.

“Will you be fine walking back? I can zip right back here to get you. Tommy’s healed and can look after Y/n while I do so.” 

Techno shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. After all, you need to check on Ranboo and Niki. Make sure they’re okay. We’re not extremely far from the cabin, I’ll make it back before the end of the night. Now go already.” Techno says and Phil nods, taking off quickly with Y/n.

He looks back at the building they were in, and heads back inside. If there’s anyone left here, they’ll pay for what happened.

It’s a few days before Techno comes back and Philza spends the time either worrying over it or about the worsening condition of Y/n, who seems to have developed a bad cold or flu or hypothermia or all of it, really, as well as making sure Tommy doesn’t rip his stitches trying to do stupid stuff. When Techno does come back, he’s covered in blood and doesn’t even stop to talk to the members of the syndicate sitting in the living room or even wash up, instead going straight for the room where Y/n is sleeping and peeking in.

“She’s not doing well at all. I stitched her tail up, but she’s developed a fever and is still freezing cold all the time and isn’t getting any better, even with a ton of healing potions. I don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Phil mutters beside Techno and he only nods.

He steps out of the doorway and leaves to take a shower, taking extra care to scrub the blood out of his hair and changes into comfortable clothes. Peeking into Y/n’s room again, he sees her shivering underneath the blankets. Well no wonder she’s sick, she’s still freezing cold, he thinks to himself before opening the door further and stepping into the room. He climbs under the covers and Y/n instantly curls up to him, soaking in his natural warmth.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there.” She mutters, before falling back asleep.

“Anything for you.” He whispers, holding her tighter against him in an almost protective manner. 

Phil watches from the doorway, smiling as he watches Techno fall asleep curled up with her.

Tagged: 

@thegeekisheere

[gavin-plz-call-me]

The brothers + Luke do a gem digging kit with you

When I say gem digging kit, I mean one of these. It's basically just a hunk of chalk with gemstones inside that you dig into until you find all the gems. It's supposed to be for little kids, but I did one recently and it was pretty fun.

Also, a note: the gems I attribute to each character are purely based on the appearance/name of the gem. I'm not taking into account the meanings of the gems just because that sounds like a lotta work and I'm lazy.

~

Lucifer

Why?

No, seriously, he's confused as to why you'd want to spend your time doing that.

If you want a gemstone so badly, he could just buy you one, no need to go digging into a hunk of whatever that is to get one.

He'll end up doing it with you, but don't expect to do any of the digging.

"You're not doing it right, here give it to me."

He's a control freak, what'd you expect?

He's, for some reason, really good at digging out the gemstones.

Doesn't care about identifying what types of gems you find, leaves that work to you.

You two will get done pretty quickly because he did all the work

You pick out a garnet and hand it to Lucifer as a thank you.

He scoffs a little but pockets it.

Will 100% have it cut and made into a gorgeous ring or something.

Treasures it way more than you thought he'd treasure some random gem.

Mammon

"Of course ya want Mammon's help. You're just a puny little human, so I'll do ya a favor, as long as I get to keep a couple."

He's practically drooling at the thought of gemstones, and all he's gotta do is dig them outta this brick? Score.

Don't tell him he's probably not going to get anything worth any Grimm, or he'll be no help at all.

Let's you do, like, 70% of the work, but as soon as you guys spot a gemstone, he's ripping the chisel from your hand so you don't damage the stone.

Get's pretty into identifying each gem because he wants to see what they're all worth.

You get done in a decent amount of time.

You hand him pyrite from the pile of gems (also known as fools gold.)

Mammon knows a thing or two about gold and knows what you gave him isn't the real deal.

He'll put it in a little jar and makes a keychain out of it so he can keep it with him at all times.

Will loudly complain, but secretly not so secretly treasures it because it's a gift from you.

Leviathan

Has probably seen something similar in an anime or something.

So he's super excited to do it with you.

Will get jealous if you hog up all the time, but turns around hogs it.

He'll end up doing like 80% of the work, letting you do some if you ask nicely.

Isn't very good at it, though.

Get's frustrated in the end and puts the brick in water so it's easier to break.

So, initially, it took a while for the two of you to break through the brick, but once you soak it in water it goes by quickly.

Will try to identify the gem types, but doesn't care too much about guessing correctly.

You give him the biggest gem in the pile, an amethyst, and he turns into a blushing, stuttering mess what's new?

He'll proudly display the gem in a place of honor in his room, definitely beside a super rare, limited edition Ruri-chan action figure in a glass case to reduce damage to both Ruri-chan and the amethyst.

Satan

Is a bit confused as to why you want to do this, like Lucifer, but gladly joins you.

Will start off like Lucifer, taking charge of breaking the brick open, but the moment he gets frustrated with it, he hands the chisel to you.

You'll split the work about 50/50, with Satan giving you control whenever he gets frustrated with himself, and taking it back once he's calmed down a bit.

Be careful, though, if he doesn't give you the chisel in time, the brick may go flying out of rage, but at least all the gems are out now.

Get's very into identifying what types of gems you've collected.

Will bring out books on gemstones because the sheet the kit came with doesn't include enough information to properly identify them.

It doesn't take too long for the two of you to finish, probably because you're sharing the work so evenly.

Asmodeus

You give him a peridot, which he has made into one of those fancy metal bookmarks, putting the peridot at the end.

something like this

Oh devildom no, you're not roping him into this

Two words: his nails

and his clothes

and his skin

He will gladly watch as long as you're not doing it in his room, but don't expect any help.

If you wash the gems of any grime before handing them to him, he'll gladly help you identify what kinds they are.

Plus, they're all so pretty, he should at least be there to look at them.

You're done fairly slowly, due to the fact that you had to do it all by yourself.

Despite Asmo being no help, you give him an opal.

He'll squeal because opals are just so beautiful.

If there's only one, though, he'll have it made into a stunning choker.

If there are two opals amongst the gems you found, he'll demand ask nicely for the second one so they can be made into earrings.

Beelzebub

I know it kinda looks like chocolate, Beel, but you can't eat it.

Yes, I know you're hungry, Beel, but it's not food.

In all seriousness, he thinks it'll be fun and joins.

Lets you do most of the work, but not out of laziness, but because you look like you're having so much fun.

Will only help when you ask him to.

If you get bored and frustrated, Beel can and will just rip the brick apart with his bare hands if you ask.

Likes looking at the gems, but isn't too interested in identifying them.

You don't get done super fast, but definitely a lot faster than you would have doing it alone because of Beel's help.

You give him a ruby as thanks.

He either won't have it made into anything, opting to keep it safely in his room, or he'll have it made into a simple necklace.

Belphegor

Like with Asmo, good luck roping Belphie into this.

Not because he's afraid to get dirty, but because it just sounds like so much work.

He might help you out a bit, but will most likely just watch you, trying not to fall asleep during the process.

He fails and definitely falls asleep at some point.

Doesn't care about identifying the gems.

The process is somehow slower with Belphie's help, but it eventually gets done.

You'll place a sapphire next to him when you've finished because he's too asleep for you to hand it to him.

He doesn't have it made into anything because, again, that sounds like so much work, but he'll definitely keep it on his bedside table to look at and think of you with.

Luke

This kid's gonna have so much fun doing this with you.

And you better let him do all of the work, even though he's not very good at it.

He'll ask you for help every once in a while but wants to do as much of it by himself.

Is very excited about correctly identifying the gemstones, he may try to rope Satan in so the two of you can use his books on gemstones to make accurate guesses.

It's gonna take a while for you two to get it done, but Luke's having so much fun it doesn't really matter.

In the end, you let him keep all of the gems because he was so excited about it.

After a few days, though, he'll come to you with two identical friendship bracelets, one for him and one for you, both with rose quartz on them.

If you ever take it off, he'll cry.

So don't take it off.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Worth It

Hello, I’m back for Day 3, a secret relationship. I’m so happy that you guys liked the first prompt, despite the angst lol. This one here isn’t angsty at all, there’s my usual favoured fluff involved, with some Serious Conversations.

Anyway, enjoy!! :)

1.9k words

cw: none

Aelin's mind was buzzing, torn between happiness and nervousness. That was all she could feel ever since the pregnancy test revealed the positive sign over an hour ago and she had just been staring at it since then, wearing nothing but her underwear and one of her favourite hoodies that she had stolen from Rowan long ago.

She and Rowan had talked about children, but had decided that it would be best to have them once things weren't so...complicated. When Aelin would get another job, because all over Rifthold, secretary positions were being offered, but no positions in Rowan's level were being offered.

Because Rowan was her boss, and she was his secretary. And at Havilliard Accounting Firm, office relationships were off the table. If anyone was found out to be in a relationship, it was straight to the HR office for a scolding and a firing; and that the was the absolute last thing that either of them wanted, and since Rowan was her superior, she feared of what would happen to him. Their relationship was equal, there was no manipulation from either side, both of them wanted the relationship and so they decided to be in one.

So Rowan and Aelin dated in secret, keeping their romantic and personal lives out of their professional lives. Which was hard at times, considering that they lived together, and sometimes it was hard to keep a straight face when an unresolved argument was hovering above them, so they had to repeat to themselves about professionalism and boundaries until it was time to go home and fix what problem they were facing at that time.

Aelin hated it, and so did Rowan. It made them feel dirty, like there was something wrong between them, when that was the furthest thing from the truth. When Aelin had first started on the job, she didn't think that she would be with Rowan—honestly, she thought that he was a bit of a bastard, but she got to know him, and found that they had many things in common, and slowly, so slowly, Aelin started to see Rowan in a different light, and when she looked back at that time, she came to the realisation that Rowan had felt the same, that the look he held in his eyes for her were the same as back then.

And once that shared attraction made its appearance, they had fought their feelings for so long, up until a year and a half ago when they had ran into each other at the State Museum on the weekend, had lunch together at the museum cafe and things just went from there.

They made it work, despite the secrecy of it all. Only a few of their friends knew and they promised to keep it to themselves. Absolutely none of the few Whitethorn cousins that worked in the same building knew, as they were complete busybodies and would tell everyone, not at all caring about the circumstances.

None of Aelin's work friends knew either. All they knew was that she was single and not looking for a relationship, that she was focusing on herself before she made any commitments; Rowan had told his work friends something similar.

At first, the secrecy of it all was exciting, like something straight out of the romance novels she adored, but a year and a half later, when they talked about marriage and Aelin had even told him the type of engagement ring she would like, it was becoming tiresome. Aelin just wanted the whole world to know of her love with Rowan, but so far, that was not to be.

Sighing, she wondered back to the now. She supposed she could say that it was the result of a one night stand, but it felt cruel to reduce Rowan to nothing as if was a stranger she fell into bed with and was nothing but a quick fuck after one too many drinks.

Besides, once she had the baby, it would be obvious who the father was. Silver hair and green eyes were dominate in the Whitethorn family, and the chances of her having a silver-haired, green-eyed child was high—it wouldn't take more than two seconds to figure out who the father was, especially if the child inherited Rowan's tanned skin and straight nose.

If the child inherited Aelin's fair skin, her ocean blue eyes, and button nose, however, it might be easier to come up with some story about how someone in Aelin's family had silver hair.

But Aelin didn't want to lie. Didn't want to pass off their child as someone else's.

According to the test, she was seven weeks along, and she was all ready exhausted.

The jingle of keys had Aelin's head snapping up from her seat in the living room, the pregnancy test heavy in her hand.

It was time to tell him. She had to leave work two hours into the day when she was overcome with nausea, and he had kept it professional when he wished her well, but she spotted in the concern in his eyes as he silently asked her if she was okay. Later on, he had texted her, asking if she needed anything from the shops, but she didn't.

Aelin told him she was fine, but now...now she was nervous. Not at all because of Rowan's reaction, but just because of their damned circumstances.

She had never hated the secrecy more until now.

But Aelin made herself smile as he made his way over to her, kissing her on the forehead and asking if she was okay again, once more asking her if she needed him to get her anything. Taking a deep breath, and telling herself that everything would be okay, she clutched the stick in her hand and told him to sit down. He did, his brows furrowed as he looked at her.

Wordlessly, Aelin handed over the test. Rowan took it from her outstretched hand, his eyes wide as he glanced at her, to the test, and then back to her.

“You're pregnant?” he asked, his voice a breathless rush.

Aelin could only nod.

“Fireheart, that's...” he trailed off, Aelin's heart near bursting out of her chest as she waited for his next words, she knew that they'd be positive, but still. Rowan smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Aelin had ever witnessed. “This is amazing.”

“It is?” The words fell out of her mouth of their own accord. Clearly, she wasn't listening to herself.

Rowan sensed her unease and took her hands in his own, kissing her knuckles as he did. “I know that we've talked about having children later on, but I couldn't be more happy.”

Nodding, Aelin took a deep breath. She was excited too, despite everything. Which was why she said, without a hint of doubt, “I'll hand in my two week notice once I pass the first trimester.”

“Fireheart, I can't ask you to do that,” Rowan said, clutching her hand. “I'll ask for a transfer, and you can stay until you go on maternity leave, and if you still want to quit afterwards and look for work elsewhere, then I'll help you, but you've worked too hard to quit now.”

“Everyone thinks I'm single, Rowan, and I don't want to come up with a horrid about one night stands. We're all ready lying, and I don't want to add more to the pile.”

“The transfer—” Rowan started, but Aelin cut him off.

“You'll just be in a different building, but the company policies will still stand. I know what you're thinking, that in the future I'll resent you and that I'll blame you for making me quit, but I won't. I'm sick of lying, and I know you are too—it's been a year and a half of lies, and with this child are we going to extend that lie for another eighteen years? What if the child is a carbon copy of you? Then all the lies will blow up in our faces. I know you don't think it is, but this is the best option.” Part of her did want to stay, to utilise her maternity leave, but Rowan could be fussy, especially when she wasn't feeling well and if Rowan started fussing over his pregnant secretary then the questions would start flying.

Rowan sighed and was quiet for a long while. “I'm sorry,” he said eventually, “about the lying. I wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish that you didn't think you had to quit, but I understand why.” Again, he hated the whole expandable aspect of it all—but annoyingly, it made more financial sense for Rowan to stay and for Aelin to leave.

Rowan really did hate it, but Aelin had clearly made up her mind, and would not change her mind, she was stubborn.

“I know, but Rowan, I don't regret being with you, not for a moment. I just want to start this journey on a more joyful road. I love you, to whatever end.”

Rowan smiled softly at her, his worries easing away just a little bit at their words—their promise to each other. “To whatever end. We'll figure it out.”

“We will.” Deciding that she wanted to be wrapped in his arms, Aelin snuggled against him, breathing in his pine and snow scent, she was close to drifting off, when Rowan cleared his throat. Glancing up at him, he had a smile on his face, and an unreadable look in his eyes. “What?”

“I suppose now would be a horrible time to propose?”

Sitting back in a blink of an eye, Aelin crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “Rowan Whitethorn, if you propose to me while I'm wearing this shitty old hoodie, I swear to the gods, I will singe off your eyebrows right now.”

“So that's a no?” He asked, his lips twitching, eyes swimming with barely concealed mirth at her. Her own lips wanted to rise in a smile, but she slammed it down.

“It's a no for now. I want to be wearing a nice dress, eating good food—but not in a crowd, you know I hate crowd proposals—with a pretty view—”

“I thought that I was the pretty view?” Rowan interrupted, laughing at the glare Aelin sent his way.

“And I forgot the rest of what I was going to say, but I am not being proposed to on a sofa.”

“Okay, no sofa proposals, I can remember that.”

“Good,” Aelin muttered and returned to his arms. They spoke of their future, of their baby and a list of potential names.

X X X X X X

Rowan proposed six months later at the beach, three months to the day that she had quit, with work being none the wiser, until recently, and they got off scott-free since Aelin was no longer employed there. The sky was a beautiful canvas of pink and peach, the only sounds the crashing of the waves, with no people around.

The ring was the exact one she had picked out long ago—a sparkly emerald with size of her fingernail on a gold band.

And it was exactly as she wished it, her in a nice sundress, with good food and ever-growing pretty views.

Having a secret relationship for a year and a half was exhausting, but well worth it in the end.

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Part 13

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

Okay, this took way way too long to write. A couple of things. A) language warning. B) I’m not a doctor. C) I hope I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged! I tried! Lmk if not! D) I am a total knob with technology and I don’t know how to comment on my own posts without using my main account, so I’m not ignoring you I swear!

Just a couple more chapters, do you think they’re having girls or boys (or both)?

Bucky stood in the doorway of your bedroom, a bemused look across his face. His eyebrow twitched upward to say, are you okay with this?

Four weeks ago, the answer would have been a hard no. But you were four weeks into a strict bed rest. Steve spent the mornings at the compound and Bucky spent the mornings with you, and then they switched in the afternoons. You spent most of your time reading or learning to crochet, poorly. You were completely bored out of your mind.

So, you cracked a smile and shrugged a shoulder to let him know you weren��t 100% pleased with the situation.

Bucky’s mouth twitched into a slight smile, “Looks great, Steve.”

Steve looked up from where he sat at the end of the bed, painting your toenails. “You’re doing the other foot, this is a lot harder than it looks.”

You groaned, “How are you still on the first foot?” It had only been forty minutes.

Bucky laughed, “Let me get dinner started, okay? You two have fun.”

Your heart gave a small lurch. Bucky wasn’t okay. Not after your trip to the hospital.

He blamed himself.

You looked over at Steve, who had his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth he was concentrating so hard on your pinky toe. You kicked him in the chest with your other foot.

He blinked in surprise, “What was that for?”

You gave him an exasperated look, “Go talk to him.”

Steve looked down at your foot again, “Babe, he’s fine?”

You kicked him again. Harder. “He still blames himself for what happened, dumbass.”

It was no one’s fault really. If anyone was to blame it was your biology. But Steve had yelled at Bucky about the sex, blamed him for the bleeding, on the way to the hospital. Dr Lawrence had said the sex hadn’t caused it but nothing had been the same since. Bucky hadn’t slept in the same room as either of you since. He came in to check on you and Steve. He cracked jokes, made dinner, but kept his distance.

He was beating himself up for this and you weren’t going to take it anymore.

When Steve didn’t answer, you started to heave yourself up, “If you won’t go talk to him, I will.”

“No, no,” Steve put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to sit. “I will okay. I’m sorry.”

An hour later, Bucky and Steve came in carrying food. Steve handed you a plate and settled in beside you, Bucky seemed to be hesitant to join. He stood beside the bed, ringing his hands nervously.

Your heart gave a little lurch, he did a really good job at making himself look small.

You opened your arm up to him, “Come sit with me, baby.”

He seemed to rock back and forth on his heels, “Every time I want to touch you, my head screams at me that you’re going to start bleeding again.”

You looked over at Steve, who hung his head slightly. He knew this and you’d beat his ass for it later.

“I’m okay, baby, I swear,” you lied through your fucking teeth. “Come sit with me, please.”

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, not touching you. This would be a start tomorrow he would scoot an inch closer. In three days you’d be hip to hip. In a week he’d kiss your forehead. It would be okay.

But for now, you started with, “So can someone tell me something interesting please? Facebook can only keep me so entertained.”

———

Four Weeks Ago

Dr Laurence was wearing heels. At four am.

It was such an odd detail, but it was the first thing you noticed when you got to the hospital. You didn’t even make it to the compound. The hospital was closer.

Steve carried you into the ER, yelling frantically for help. You were placed on a gurney, and Dr Laurence was at your side a moment later. She was speaking quickly, but you weren’t sure what she way saying. She looked to Bucky and Steve for answers. She was putting gloves on, reaching for the ultrasound.

You were looking at her shoes. Valentino nude pumps, you’d seen them online two days ago and laughed at the price.

You were barely aware that the ultrasound probe had entered you.

Bucky was petting your hair.

You just stared at her shoes.

The moment you looked away, you would have to start to cope with Steve screaming at Bucky the whole way here. The way your sheets were stained with blood at home. The fact you had a house showing in the morning, and you were going to miss it. The fact you had a million unopened boxes of baby things in your apartment.

Your head just screamed the moment you looked away from Dr Laurence’s shoes, she would tell you your babies were dead.

Your ears rang.

Yesterday, they’d been so active. You were cursing their movements begging for a moment of reprieve. You’d do anything for a small kick right now.

“Y/n!” Dr Laurence looked up at you from between your legs.

You lifted your head from the bed, you tried to speak but no words came out.

She motioned at the ultrasound, “It looks like placenta previa. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but I’m going to get you a transfusion. We’re just looking for a heartbeat now...”

You frowned, placenta previa, that was something you’d read about. That was a normal risk, something that could happen to anyone. And the babies...

The familiar sound of their heartbeats filled your ears.

It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

That was it. The flood gates opened and you started to sob. Steve wrapped his arms around you first. Bucky was next, he embraced the two of you, kissing your forehead gently.

Their words filled your ears, setting a blanket of comfort over you.

“They’re okay, you’re okay.”

“It’ll be okay, you’ve got this.”

“Breathe, just breathe for now.”

“We love you so, so much.”

———

“Okay, we cannot be this unorganized, guys seriously?” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Busy and Steve stood at the end of the bed, their arms crossed over their chest. You sat in bed, your hair in the messiest of buns, looking down at the mess they’d brought you to sort through.

“Well what do you propose?” Steve asked.

“For starters,” You motioned at the mountain of baby clothes in front of you, “Why do we have eight different outfits that were brining to the hospital. There’s two babies.” You held up two fingers for emphasis.

Bucky scratched his head, “This mommy blog said you need two outfits, in case one of them doesn’t fit. Plus, we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“They should look cute when coming home,” Steve asserted.

You only blinked. If someone had said this would be your life one year ago, you would have died laughing.

“Okay, fine,” you grabbed the nearest shirt. “We could go gender neutral, you know that right?”

It’s not like you had any shortage of gendered clothing though either. Tony had loaded you up with boy clothing, swearing you would be having two. Natasha had done the same for girl clothing. And Steve had managed to pick out the most extravagant outfits from each section.

“We can,” Steve conceded. “But I want us to have options. See what they look like when they come out.”

Your nose crinkled. You fucking hated that. Come out. Like they would just slide out of you, no issues.

You rubbed your temples, “Okay, but I refuse to have my kids dress matchy matchy their entire lives. They can if they want, but I will never make them wear the same outfit.”

Bucky chuckled, coming to sit on the bed beside you, “That’s going to go over well.”

You glared at him as he completely destroyed your pile of folded baby clothes.

Steve ran his hand through his hair aggressively, “But they’d look so cute.”

You shook your head, “Only if they want to. They need to have their own personalities.”

Steve looked ready to lose his mind, “But...pictures.”

You levelled him with your mom look. You’d been practicing. “I’ll give you Christmas cards. If the two of you also dress matchy matchy if we have a boys.”

“Deal,” Steve didn’t even hesitate.

You could picture it now. Two little boys in dorky ugly Christmas sweaters and beige khakis, their hair spiked up and Steve and Bucky marching to a tee. Oh it would be glorious, but you realized a moment too late you had forgotten yourself in that picture.

You cleared your throat, “Okay, names.”

Bucky reached over, rubbing his hand over where the babies were most active. A slight smile played on his lips as he leaned over to brush his lips over your bare skin.

You tried your best to ignore the shiver of pleasure that went down your spine.

“I don’t care,” Bucky murmured, “I think we should see what they look like when they come out.”

“No,” you ran your hand through his hair. “We pick now or at least get some options.”

Steve came to sit on your other side, disrupting the rest of your pile. You rolled your eyes, so much for nothing.

“Poppy?” He suggested.

You shook your head, “I like Penelope, not Poppy. I don’t believe in naming a kid a nickname. It feels final.”

They both looked at you funny, but you stood by it.

“What about Carter,” you suggested.

“No!” Both boys said in unison. You stopped, thinking about why that name wouldn’t work before bursting out laughing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve!” You reached over to stroke his face. “Not Carter.”

He chuckled, “It’s not a bag suggestion. I’d love to honour Peggy, but Sharron might think I named them after her.”

You burst out laughing. What an awkward situation that would be. One you’d pay to see.

“Okay, guys,” you snapped your fingers a couple of times, “We need a couple more names. Some more ideas. Let’s go.”

The name started flowing, and you started feeling more comfortable. Aaron, Grace, Henry, Bonnie, Andrew, Katherine.

You relaxed into your pillows. Your babies would have names. No matter what happened.

———

The boys stayed awake at your side while you slept.

You woke a couple of hours, having only slept for what felt like a short moment to find the two of them drinking coffee and nibbling on muffins.

“You look like shit,” you commented, stretching an arm over your head.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

You grasped your hand to you chest in mock hurt, “Oh, burn.” You said sarcastically.

Steve chuckled, getting up to come over and kiss your forehead, “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

You stroked his beard lovingly, “I’m okay, and now I’m worried about you two. I’m fine, go home and shower and sleep. Please.”

Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead before moving to sit down beside Bucky, “Not gonna happen, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not going to have the babies today. You’re useless to me tired. Go home. Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “We’ll take turns, how about that?”

You rolled your eyes, “You two need to talk and go get me some stuff. Please, let me worry about you two right now instead of myself. Just for a moment. It would make me feel better if you just got some rest at home.”

It took some more convincing, but they finally left. And you were left in peaceful silence. You looked down at your belly. One of the babies gave a swift kick. You smoothed over the spot gently, “I love you, please stay in there a while longer, okay?”

“We’re going to do everything in our power to do so,” Dr Laurence stood in the door way.

You smiled, “I can’t thank you enough for being here last night.”

She nodded, coming to sit on the stool by your bed. She didn’t look happy. You braced a hand protectively over your belly.

She tapped her tablet with a manicured nail, “I’m concerned.”

“Okay...?”

“I’m not going to be gentle. Your blood pressure is through the roof,” she clarified. “You’re at risk for preeclampsia, your labs suggest that this half of your pregnancy is going to be hard. You’re in for a world of hurt. And I don’t think delivery is going to be any easier. I don’t think a vaginal delivery will be an option. You will be on bed rest until you give birth, and I doubt you’ll make it to thirty five weeks. In all honestly, I’ll be impressed if you make it to thirty. But your medical history and labs also suggests a c-section is also not a good option.”

You let out a little laugh, leaning back against the headboard. “The last time I saw you, you were singing praises for how well things were going.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line, “I also said you should be taking it easy and lowering your stress levels.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, “Are you suggesting I did something wrong?”

Dr Laurence raked a hand through her hair, “I’m not saying you did, but I’m saying we need to start taking this seriously now because I’m not sure how to get the three of you through a safe delivery.”

Your mouth went dry. ‘The three of you,’ had always been you, Bucky, and Steve. It took on a whole new meaning when it was in reference to you and your children.

You may not have lost them last night, but you were well on your way.

“You’ll be on strict bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy,” Dr Laurences’ voice softened. “The good news is, the bleeding has stopped and you’ll be able to go home soon for a couple of weeks at least. We’ll do everything we can to get your blood pressure under control.”

Your hands shook as you reached up to wipe away a tear. “Not of a word of this to the boys.”

Her eyesbrows rose to her hairline, “They need to know so they can take care of you.”

You shook your head, “I have one who is a stiffling mother hen. If he’s worked up, so am I. And the other one is recovering from a major head trauma. He doesn’t remember everything in the last eighteen months. The only thing I can do for him now is to help him get back to where he was.”

“No,” Dr Laurence shook her head. “You need to take this seriously now or you will not make it through delivery. If they think you’re fine and brush it off as a little blood, you will end up in a much worse situation.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “We’re not going to play this game, doctor. I will take this seriously and if you put me on bed rest, I will follow it. I just don’t want the risks exposed to my boyfriends. And, you do get to tell them without my consent.”

Dr Laurence looked like she was ready to throw her tablet. “Fine, but the moment things start going south, you will end up in hospital supervised bed rest.”

You glared right back at her, “Looking forward to it.”

————

You sat between your boys watching TV when it happened.

You paused, your food halfway to your face as you felt another tightening in your stomach. They had been happening all day, but all of the sudden you were aware of one thing, it was far too painful for it not to be a contraction.

You dropped your fork onto the duvet.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked jumping to his feet.

You quirked your head to the side, looking down at your belly, “I think I’m in labour.”

“Shit!” Steve was suddenly gone.

Bucky calmly took your plate and fork and put them on the side table, “You sure?”

“Mmhmmm,” you hummed, as you let out a long breath. “We probably have hours to go though.”

Bucky nodded, “Let me call Dr Laurence.”

Your mouth tightened. She was the last person you wanted to see. You especially didn’t want to hear her gloat that she was right, you’d only made it to thirty-two weeks. Damn her.

Steve’s head popped in the room, “But it’s too early!” And he was gone again.

Your eyebrows rose to your hair line, he was taking this as well as you expected.

On your other side, Bucky put his phone to his chest and said, “Dr Laurence wants you to come in right away.”

You pinched your nose, “I don’t want to labour for the next twelve hours there when I can do it from home.”

Bucky relayed that information to her. And then asked, “Has your water broken?”

You shook your head.

Steve walked through the bedroom, going into the bathroom, talking a mile a minute. “—and we don’t have enough nipple cream!” Was all you caught. You could hear drawers being rummaged through in the bathroom.

“She says to come in anyways,” Bucky relayed to you. “And she says you’re clearly not taking this seriously.”

You rolled your eyes, of course she did.

“And we need another bathroom,” Steve murmured as he walked out of the room again.

“Fine,” you snapped. “And go calm Steve down.”

Another contraction hit hard. Your breath hitched.

Your birth plan, if you were having a vaginal delivery, was to go all natural, but now you were thinking an epidural sounded wonderful.

“You okay?” Bucky rubbed your back.

You took deep breaths, but nodded weakly. “Let’s go, please.”

He nodded, leaving the room to get Steve and your bags, but Steve stood at the door, bags in hand and simply said, “We need to go, guys.”

Bucky came around the bed to help you up. His arms around you, you barely made it out the bedroom before you felt a rush of fluids.

“Well, fuck.” Bucky mumbled.

Tags

@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark @spookyparadisesheep @bloodbrink @holl2712

[hacawijo]

Alright, If We’re Gonna Play with Az’s Bonus Chapter, Let’s PLAY with Az’s Bonus Chapter (Pt. 1)

I’m going to do a close reading of this bonus chapter, because this whole thing is stressing me out and I want to write out what I think I know what I definitely know and what I’m worried about. Here. We. Go. 

I’m not going to directly quote supporting info in this post, but I will be using a LOT of quotes in the next few weeks, so if anyone wants me to confirm a certain statement I’m making here just let me know and I’ll drop the receipts :)

Also this is super long but I had a lot of thoughts I’m excited about! My commentary is in bold italics!

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow here is an example of contrast between light and dark, which many have made salient points on regarding the counterbalance of Elain/Azriel and their relationship of the longest night of the year.

Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs.

He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Had been planning his own victory for a year now, and had one the past 199 years’ worth of fights.

Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight.

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Note the differentiation between himself and the shadows around him - he snickers to them outside of himself, as they are not HIM, they are his companions.

Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Again, engaging in a conversation with them. Though he does say that they SEEMED to whisper sleep, which is interesting. He seems to communicate with them beyond worded language, this is a case where he’s translating whatever that communication is into words.

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike Yeah this guy needs some therapy for sure, love him but this feels very much like the state of avoidance that Nesta found herself in. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. so he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. This feels very much like an extreme, one that certainly didn’t exist all of the time with Mor (otherwise he’s truly not been sleeping for…ever). I have a very, very hard time believing he would have this reaction because of lust or a coveting kind of obsession.

Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet...

Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. This is almost exactly the sentiment expressed by Cassian in ACOFAS/ACOSF

He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Entering the foyer for what? Entering in order to go to bed? Or was he drawn there, somehow knowing Elain would be there? I really don’t know the answer and I don’t have a preference as to whether or not they are mates, but it’s worth thinking about. Also important to note that the SHADOWS ARE NOT ENOUGH FOR AZRIEL. They are his friends, an important coping mechanism, but they are not the sum of who he is, nor do they even represent the part of himself that is most realized or fulfilled.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. Again, imagery to highlight a contrast between the two of them, Elain as the sun at dawn. Note that it’s talking about dawn, not day. SJM has repeatedly used language about Summer, Dawn, Spring and such to describe Elain, which makes me wonder if her light is meant to transcend the courts - in the same way that the shadows are not the sum of Azriel, the sun (the Day, the Dawn, Spring, Summer etc.) is not the sum of Elain.

“I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” One thing I noticed on closer examination, she went downstairs to leave it in his pile, not to see him. I wonder if it hurts her to be around HIM as well. Elain has said several times in this book (either on the page or in second- or third-hand account) that she is committed to this court, and I wonder if that same commitment that had her going to the Hewn City is what also has prevented her from ending things with Lucien. It’s not in her nature to be disingenuous, and so she cannot fake certain feelings for him, but it IS in her nature to be selfless, and she probably understands what their mating bond means and how important Lucien’s alliance is. I wonder also if she is unsure as to Azriel’s feelings or if she knows somehow, as Azriel sort of implies she might below.

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. This is another instance in which Azriel sees her when no one else does, even when she’s not intending or someone to see her. Also, of course, important to note that he can read her without his shadows - a crutch that he uses in interactions with many other people.

Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Elain makes ALL the moves in this scene - she approaches him, she asks him to put the necklace on her, she leans in, she says yes etc. etc. I think Azriel is actually very respectful and restrained throughout this whole interaction.

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. Azriel is ashamed of his scars, and is ashamed of them with Feyre and Mor as well as Elain, this is an across-the-board part of his characterization. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year — a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind The headache powder: proof that Elain has been seeing him - specifically seeing him rub his temples. Not to use, but to look at. Which he’d done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Elain is not a casual person, she can’t even handle it when Feyre (her sister) tries to talk to her and Nesta (her other sister) privately about High Fae menstruation. For every lack of flourish or formality that Elain gives Azriel, that is another measured degree of comfort she feels with him - she wouldn’t give an unsigned, familiar note to just anyone.

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” Elain and Azriel have similar senses of humor. Not necessarily in content, but in the way it sort of crops up off-the-cuff and sometimes unnoticed. I like that Elain makes him laugh.

He offered a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.”

He left the rest unspoken.  Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. Alright so, this is really curious. Does this mean that they both seem to be aware of the other’s feelings AND aware that the other is aware of their feelings? I really do wonder if, in this case, Az is an unreliable narrator- maybe assuming more certainty of Elain than she actually has. Again, I don’t think he would have such a visceral reaction to Elain and Lucien being in the same room (and not even close to each other at all) if he was just infatuated or in lust with her

But tonight, here in the dark and quiet more juxtaposition, with no one to see... no one to see, except the two of them, who always see more than others and who always see each other more than anyone else He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. If Azriel is aware of the fact that his shadows disappear around Elain, and is still almost certainly in love with Elain, I think we can gather that it’s a positive thing for his shadows to give them privacy- which- btw, is what I think they are doing. The shadows feel to Azriel, to me, the way that the HoW feels to Nesta. The HoW doesn’t dislike Cassian, but also doesn’t need to be as diligent with Nesta when he’s around, because the House trusts Cassian with her.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary — it’s chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the truth depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. So I don’t think he’s saying that Elain is a thing here. I think he’s saying that HIS FEELINGS for her are a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It’s been made pretty clear that Elain’s physical AND inner beauty are decidedly visible and prominent. She is, the opposite of secret- though she is often described as lovely. I think what’s more interesting here is the time dedicated to describing this gift and the time dedicated to describing Lucien’s gift of pearl earrings (more on that later, but spoiler-alert, that’s the extent of the description)

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets this word choice is notable because it’s an indication of layers and depth and different sides, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows he let them do it, again the way he interacts with his shadows does not make it seem like they ARE him. It would probably say “Azriel’s shadows whisked away the box” or “Azriel used his shadows to…” etc. whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” Again, Elain is driving the action

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. That this situation is described in such slow, delicate detail evokes a sense of intimacy and gravity to the reader. Every tiny piece of this little bite of interaction means something to Azriel and probably to Elain.

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin this word choice is admittedly a little strange, but the use of this and later of the word sacrilege is FAR from the first time SJM uses religiously-coded language to describe a romantic/sexual/intimate situation. In this very book, Cassian describes his sex with Nesta “as close to a religious experience” as he’d ever gotten - furthermore, there is often talk of the worship of bodies. More on this in another post! ALSO, of course he thinks about touching her in relation to himself. He is himself, for one thing, for another, one of the most reinforced aspects of Azriel’s character that has been made clear to us as readers is his belief that he is unworthy. This comes up not at all just with Elain, it comes up everywhere. It comes up when Azriel volunteers for the most dangerous assignments, it comes up with Mor A LOT, it comes up with Rhys and Cassian. I HAVE A LOT MORE TO SAY ABOUT AZRIEL SO I JUST NEED TO STOP TYPING RIGHT N. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered that’s hot and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine SUCH precise language, so agonizing. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Another important line in reiterating the fact that there are two people participating in this interaction and the broader relationship, with the use of ‘exchanged’ and ‘their.’ It could easily also say something like, “Azriel had never gone this far. She’d sometimes caught him looking at her and he her, and every so often he’d taken the risk of brushing his fingers against hers.” Elain’s agency in these interactions and this relationship is SO IMPORTANT! It is the difference between Az viewing Elain as a two-dimensional and unattainable figure and as a real person with wants and needs.

Wrong — it was so wrong. Azriel knows, just as well as Rhys, what is at stake in Elain’s relationship with Lucien. He also has reverence for the mating bond in the same way that many other fae and faeries do. Of course he thinks it’s wrong!

He didn’t care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue — There is literally so much talk in Feysand and Nessian of tasting and eating out. Both Rhys and Cassian make it very clear that they spent a lot of time thinking about what their partners would taste like and how they might go about finding out for sure.

Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent.

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Because he knows it’s a fool’s hope. He never thinks about this as a viable path! Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep again a recognition of the separation between him and his shadows. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. See above: Nessian and Feysand are just as dirty and graphic (especially Nessian) and Rhys and Cassian are JUST AS WORSHIPFUL of their partners.

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.

“I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. Again, they are BOTH cognizant, I think, of the risks and dynamics at play here.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it Rhys’s WHOLE THING is that he kneels before Feyre in reverence. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. SJM repeatedly uses the scent of arousal as a way to confirm sexual interest beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. I personally think this is Azriel being self-deprecating. I think that Elain is a seer, and probably has some idea of what Azriel does. Does this mean he puts her on a pedestal or that he views her as pure? It’s possible, but I think Azriel views most people whom he loves as pure compared to himself in one way or another— even Cassian. There is a line I’ll cite eventually where Rhys muses on the similarities between himself and Azriel, since Rhys is the only person Azriel allows to see the full scope of his rage. Ditto with the pedestal.

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege same story as my point above on the word immaculate, but again I do totally admit that it’s a strange word. I just think that we have had so little of Azriel’s perspective that we can’t really say whether this is a perversion of his connection to Elain or if this is a regular sort of attitude for him for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. AND THAT WOULD BE IT. HE DOESN’T THINK IT WILL GO FURTHER!

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. You fucking go Elain get that ass Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother interesting choice of words given Nesta’s association with the Mother and Nesta’s apparent tacit acceptance of Azriel’s feelings for Elain (more on that later) might witness them.

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before flirting shut.

Offer and permission. OFFER AND PERMISSION. ELAIN WANTS THE SHADOWSINGER D!!!!!

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel. And suddenly, the one time they both are comfortable with how they’re being seen (that Azriel is being seen by no one else BUT Elain, that Elain is finally being seen intimately, by someone, in the dark, namely, AZRIEL)

Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth.

Azriel. So if you were to ask me what the biggest sign of Elriel’s longevity in this chapter is, it is this: that they did not kiss. SJM built a very tightly worded and wound tension around this moment with her language, and.  the fact that it is not fulfilled is frustrating, right? We know that he touched the knob of her spine - we know that she shivered. For that level of intimacy not to end in a kiss, means something. Rhys could easily have interrupted them after their lips had already touched, and if this relationship were a device serving another, that’s what would have happened.

SJM knows that the tension is built and unfulfilled, and I think she also knows that this wouldn’t have been the right time for them to have their first kiss - which is what I think many readers have noticed in so many words. Where my thoughts differ is that I think SJM is walking a line between romantically coding the moment AND acknowledging that this moment is not ideal, and that it doesn’t deserve to be fulfilled satisfyingly, especially given Azriel’s self-loathing. MORE LATER :) Which should maybe be my catchphrase.

Also, them not kissing can’t just be about the fact that it’s a bonus chapter. You can’t make that argument about their not-kiss and then argue that the interaction with Gwyn is essential to the coming story. Which, I think it is significant, by the way, I’m just not sure how yet :P

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.

My office. Now.

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand away from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” UGH. The capital P Pain.

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” See, this reaction makes me think that she is not as aware of his feelings as he thinks she is. That she later returns the necklace (or did she?) reinforces this. I think that if she was certain how he felt about her, she would be frustrated and maybe angry in the way that she has responded to Feyre’s comments about her mating bond with Lucien, not hurt and confused.

“You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize. It’s I who should...”  He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he’d brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” But at least it definitely confirms her feelings to Azriel.

PART II IS BEING POSTED BACK-TO-BACK!

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this.  and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind.  i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another.  a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif​ who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos.  and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

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

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning.  He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks.  He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration.  Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head.  Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

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

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed.  She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.  So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times.  But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.  

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.  

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes.  She’s struggling a bit.”  

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line.  The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.  “I’m certain they were quite detailed.  It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”  

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes.  Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

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

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen.  Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk.  “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response.  “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it.  She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest.  Yet again, you exceed expectations.  

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs.  “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do.  So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next.  “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have.  You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

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

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.  

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her.  Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.  

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting.  But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit.  Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city.  Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike.  Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.  

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page.  Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.  

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home.  You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

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

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.  

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair.  Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this.  You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand.  You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.  

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking.  You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back.  There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.  

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.  

You fight back tears of frustration.  You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.  

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.  

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours.  “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.  

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense.  You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop.  You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.  

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

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

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.  

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self.  But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation.  You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon.  Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog.  You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.  

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face.  Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother.  They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.  

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile.  “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees.  “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me.  You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation.  She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well?  Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit.  “He replaced me not long ago.  But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.  

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors.  She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

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

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.  

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom.  It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed.  She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest.  “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you?  And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway.  “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed.  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?  

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead.  She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.  

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl.  She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot.  The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon.  “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods.  “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it.  For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.”  You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her.  She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why.  I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear.  I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own.  “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.  

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all.  Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know.  Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.  

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are.  She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear.  I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook.  You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away.  “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

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

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.  

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them.  Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick.  And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.  

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.  

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too.  You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit.  It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.  

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity.  You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed.  Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.  

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur.  “Tell me the truth.  Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits.  “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother.  Making plans to send Jinjoo.  Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly.  You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face.  Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story.  You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly.  “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now.  I need to know all of it.  Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser.  You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant.  You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.  

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work.  Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

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

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife.  And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home.  No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours.  The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch.  But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.  

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest.  Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly.  “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits.  “But there are different kinds of risk.  Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement.  Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts.  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything.  Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly.  “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.  

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud.  He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway.  He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away.  You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.  

“The late nights and the extra hours.  Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.  “Did you do that for your boss?  Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk.  Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it.  “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face.  The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch.  “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly.  You lean into the touch of his hand.  “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.  “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.  

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation.  He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment.  “Go home,” he pleads.  “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

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

tag list!

@prettyguardiansailormin​ @barbikatherine​ @55west81st​ @laabellaavitaa21​ @codeinebelle​ @jalexad​ @trynavibewhileicry​ @poohsaidhi​​ @eltrain80​​ @bluewhale52​​ @sahmfanficbts​​ @midnighttifa​​

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels: chapter two

A/n took me longer to get around to writing part 2 than i thought!! i didn’t know there was an audience for this idea but im glad you guys liked it!!

Im adding a country to the grishaverse to make my story work,, def not a big deal i just needed a country in which i could control the history of without worrying about conflicting with cannon lol 

Link to part one: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yesimwriting/652318577650696192 (lmk if this works ive never linked something to a tumblr post lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairng: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! Psychic! Reader 

--

My father seemed to love me more after two glasses of something amber. It was after these two glasses that he would tell me realities his inebriated self believed I needed to internalize. He’d pat my head affectionately and smiled at me as he told me that the world was a bad place. Most of his lessons are lost in my mind, but the one I remember most clearly is that there’s no such thing as a kept secret. There’s always a leak or a flaw or a factor you could not account for. He told me that if I wanted to keep a secret, I would have to decide what I was willing to risk for it. 

I know from Seria’s reaction to his presence that listening to Kaz is a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take for my secret. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re mistaken.” It doesn’t really matter that he believes me. I have the paperwork I need to disprove him. “I have to get to my tent.” 

“The princess gets her own tent?” His words are saturated by mock casualness but I can feel his pride on how he delivered that line. 

My body is still tense from balancing over flames and his confidence only adds to my desire to unravel. I can’t get angry here. Not at him. Not with the way he grips that cane of his. “I don’t understand what--” 

“You may be able to play pretend here where no one wants to look twice at you, but I know what you are.” His stiffness leaves my skin prickling. “I know who you are.” 

I swallow back my panic. “Then who am I?” 

“You’re that king’s bastard--the one with a high bounty on her head.” Don’t back down. Even the smallest crack will confirm his story. “As long as she’s returned alive.” 

Thoughts of what my father would do to me if ever given the chance strike me with more anxiety than his presence does. “I’ve heard of the girl you’re talking about,” I admit, the lie leaving me as easily as the air leaves my lungs when I exhale. “But I’m not her.” 

“You’re not from Ketterdam, if you were you would have known who I was after you friend referred to me as Dirtyhands.” I have no defense, but I never claimed to be from Ketterdam. “You make your business claiming to be a psychic.” I am a psychic, but now is not the time to make that argument. “Elkosa is a relatively small and self efficient port kingdom, the island is nothing more than a jagged coastline barely larger than Ketterdam, but I have connections in all places.” He knows someone from Elkosa? I have to fight the instinct to move all of my weight on the balls of my feet, prepared to run. “A captain of the royal fleet told me the story of the night the King’s bastard ran into the meeting room the night before ten ships were meant to sail to Ravka.” 

He studies my reaction as I struggle to keep my expression blank. “None of that seems connected.” 

“Patience is a virtue most Saints are familiar with.” I roll my eyes. “The bastard couldn’t have been more than nine at the time, but the guards did not want to let her in. The King told them to let her interrupt. The sailor noted this because he had never made an exception to his meeting before. The girl described a nightmare to her father, a nightmare of a storm and ten dead birds. The king did not comfort her, she finished her story by saying that he asked to know about all of her dreams. She went back upstairs and the King continued the meeting as normal but the next day the King cancelled the trip.”

I remember that night as the night I realized that if I’m not careful, I’ll feel what I see in my visions. It felt like I was drowning. I felt the death of each of those men and instead of comforting me, my father nodded once like I had offered him advice and sent me back to my room. “And?” My defense is weak, my mind too lost in the memories of drowning. “Many smaller countries are superstitious.” 

“The next day the worst storm to have impacted that ocean occurred. For four nights and three days the storm continued.” 

I press my nails into my palms. “You don’t believe that I am precognitive, so that sailor’s unverified story has nothing to do with me.” 

“A princess that can see the future disappears at the same time a failing circus hires a girl who has no business in this city who claims to be able to see the future.” He adjusts his stance, taking pressure off the cane as if he’s preparing to need to use it for something else. “I am not fool enough to believe in coincidence.” 

“And I am not fool enough to crack beneath the vague threats of a man. In my experience, men always threaten with a blade when really all they’re in possession of is a butter knife. Try to drag me from here kicking and screaming, find a way to incapacitate me and put me on a ship to Elkosa, but when the King sees that you brought him a stranger he will have your head.” 

He blinks, expression hard as stone. I tense, preparing for a physical blow. “I didn’t expect you to be a half-decent liar, but I should have.” I bite my tongue to avoid resorting to something I can’t take back. Like begging. “Even if it’s in only half your blood.” 

“I am not her.” My stubbornness burns more than the need to survive. I inhale, hoping to shake the grasp of the sensation but it only worsens. The pinch of dread in my chest is heavy and familiar. A vision. 

No. Not now--not in front of him. I push against it even though I know that only makes it worse. Not now. Not now. I should be grounding myself but all I can think about is how stupid I am and how bad this situation is.

--

“I’m not an idiot, I know to be quiet. I see myself crouched somewhere dark. 

“Being defensive doesn’t make you any more intelligent.” It takes me a minute to recognize Kaz in the darkness. 

We’re somewhere small, our backs against the same wall but our shoulders do not touch. This vision is enshrouded by the feel of panic. 

This other me grimaces, but her eyes lack anger, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?” 

“You never told me why,” he admits, “you can change your mind on participating and I can change my mind on whether or not you're more useful than your father’s money.”

Something loud crashes from behind the door we’re both staring at. “You’ll have no use for me or my father’s money if we die here.” I squeeze my hands together. 

He hesitates, “My ghost will.” 

The future-me almost smiles. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see ghost futures.” I hesitate, something strange behind my eyes. “I wonder if that can exist, if there’s a future beyond endings.” 

Future-Kaz is silent for a long second. “There should be,” he says, “for someone like you, at least.” 

I watch the way I take in his words. “You’d be there, too,” my voice is low, “your ghost at least.” I turn my head, staring at the door instead of him, “If you weren’t, I’d miss the brooding.” 

--

The vision leaves me with sweaty palms and swirling thoughts. All of my visions do that. Not all of them make me feel so confused. Apparently, he needs help and I agree to do so. At one point we’ll be pushed into a life or death situation and I won’t loathe him. 

I blink twice, forcing myself to hold onto the reality in front of me. I don’t have to agree--the future isn’t set in stone. For all I know tomorrow morning I’ll have a vision in which he kills me. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “You need help.” I don’t wait for his reaction. “You’re not here to return someone to the King of Elkosa, you’re here because you need someone that can see the future.” 

“I--” 

“It’s not that you won’t take me to Elkosa, it’s that you’d rather use my abilities for something.”

I’m confusing him again, but that’s okay. I’d rather deal with him confused than angry. “I need to know how a certain business deal of mine is going to be worth what it costs.”

He’s spent the entire time claiming he doesn’t believe in my power. Was that some kind of tactic? In the vision I saw, despite the panic surrounding the situation I didn’t feel panicked around him. The probability of that future occurring is probably low. I’ve been wrong before, the future changes too much for me to know everything. 

“That’s not how readings work,” I admit, “I don’t have that much control on them. Most of them come to me randomly. The events I see always involve me or someone I care about to a certain capacity. I can give someone a general glimpse into their future but I can’t promise I’ll see what they want. Sometimes I can see the general vision by just focusing on their energy but usually I need some physical contact for it to work.” That seems like a fair explanation. “Oh--and not all of my predictions come true, most are blurry, few are solid--the future is always moving.” 

Wait...the vision I saw where I was with Kaz wasn’t blurry. Those can be wrong, but it’s much rarer. Do I really agree to this? 

“Then maybe I should make it involve you.” His aggression has me forcing myself to stand my ground. He can threaten me all he wants but that won’t change things. “Or take the money your father would give me and cut my losses.” 

Every time I’ve purposefully destroyed a solid vision, something bad has happened. I’m genuinely considering it. “What do you need a psychic for, anyways?” 

“To get through the Fold.” 

Despite everything, I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone get through the Fold, literally or in my visions.” 

He’s unphased by my doubt. “It’s happened.” 

I really don’t want to help him. “Well then good luck, I’m happy to part ways here.” 

I manage one step forward before he moves his cane in front of my path. I’m getting tired of this. “You’re assisting me one way or the other, whether that aid will be financial or through your services is up to you.” 

Anger pinches in my stomach the way it often does when I’m told what to do. The one thing centering me is the vision still reflecting in my thoughts. There’s no denying it--I had felt comfortable with him. There is a future in which I feel comfortable with him and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid it. 

“I won’t get in trouble for you,” I tell him, “The Ringmaster holds onto those indentured to him, especially the commodities that bring him profit.” 

There’s something stiff about his silence. I wonder if he’s always like this, pushing the weight of his presence onto those around him without saying a word. “When I have a goal, it is achieved. I’ll speak to him.” 

I cannot imagine a conversation I want to be involved in less. The Ringmaster and this man that Seria had labeled ‘Dirtyhands’. “I just had a vision--I saw your entire conversation and it ends with you missing an arm.” His stoic expression does not shift. “Okay, I’m aware that it wasn’t the funniest joke, but throw me a bone--you threatened to kidnap me and sell me to my father in order to extort me and I’ve been nothing but polite to you.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, something in his expression changing in a way I can’t read. “All you’ve done is lie since the moment you started to speak to me.” 

The optimist in me would like to think that his annoyance counts for banter. I shrug, feeling a little lighter than I did a second ago. I’m certainly not comfortable but I’m starting to see how to put up with the tension without letting it strain me. “Well, polite for my standards.” 

I let him brood. “You must have done well as a royal.” 

My past cuts through the peace I managed to grab onto. It’s not his fault, he has no way of knowing what the castle was like for me. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. “I had my moments,” I finally settle on, hoping the echo of pain isn’t visible behind my eyes. 

I guess it doesn’t matter if he sees me bleed. He’s heartless, and I hate sympathy. 

“Y/n,” Seria’s voice is genuine anger, “You’ve turned into an idiot--first the tightrope walk and now entertaining whatever deal he’s trying to coax from you.” I love Seria, she’s the reason I didn’t die in the street when I first arrived in Ketterdam, but she sees me as a mindless child. “Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you--it’s a lie.” 

“He hasn’t promised me anything.” I need to calm her down. Once she’s calm, everything will be normal again. “And he knows.” I don’t have to turn to feel the way Seria gapes at me. “He knows who I am, so I have to do what he wants.” 

“You never have to do anything a man is forcing onto you, y/n. We’ll find a way--” 

“Seria, it’s fine,” I reach to touch her arm, “I’ll be fine, you can’t protect me from everything and you don’t have to.” 

Kaz throws a pointed glare at the man who was with him earlier. When did the stranger get here? “Boss, she’s faster than she looked, but I have what we need to get the girl--” 

“You’re late,” Kaz sighs, bored, “she’s agreed.” 

Wait--what was he going to do if I didn’t agree? “Out of curiosity, what are you talking about?” The man blinks twice, squeezing a rag between his ring-clad fingers. “You were going to use chloroform to kidnap me, weren’t you?” 

For some reason I don’t understand, the stranger gives me a look that’s a cross between sheepish and charming. “Nothing personal.” 

“Or original.” 

Seria pinches my arm. “Y/n,” she scolds, “your sense of humor is going to kill me one of these days.” 

I cringe, pulling my arm away. “When I met you, you were pickpocketing in the pleasure district, please remember that.” 

She rolls her eyes. “An attitude like that is going to leave you without a place to sleep at night.” 

I take her comment for the empty threat it is. Every other day she’s threatening to kick me out of her private trailer so that I’m forced to fight for cots or speak to the Ringmaster about my lodging arrangements. He’d give me what I want, but speaking to him feels so slimy I’d sleep in the woods before trying it. 

“Kaz.” I turn my head in time to see the girl that gave me the advice about the tightrope walker. “We need to go, he’s coming soon--you’ll do better to speak to him in the morning after she’s gone, that way he has nothing to hold over your head.” 

“Once I’m gone?” The girl had called me a Saint. I can appeal to her. “I’m not--I’m not going anywhere, I said I’d help.” 

Her eyes widen, sympathy reflected clearly in her dark irises. “There was never a version of this in which you ended up staying here.” I hear a hint of apology in her voice. “You won’t believe me, but I promise this will be better for you.” All of her pity is gone with those, replaced by something hard.

Seria responds for me, “I think you should go.” 

“What?” 

She almost smiles, but her eyes are painfully sad. “I never wanted you to be here forever. I don’t trust these people, but I trust their ability to get you out of here, even if only for a little while. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll miss the worst of it if you go now.” 

What she alludes to is a blade in my heart. “You want me to leave you here to deal with it?” 

“Y/n, I’ve been hurt here more times than I can count--”

“No, I won’t leave y--” 

Seria squeezes my shoulder, “It’s not forever.” When she wants something, it’s almost impossible to get around it. “Besides, if I need you, you’ll see it.” 

My world feels to have lost the vibrance of color. I’ve left so much, but I let myself believe I wouldn’t leave her. I pull her into the hug. “The moment I see a vision of you in any type of danger, I’m coming back.” I hug her even tighter when she tries to pull away so that I can whisper something in her ear, “I’ll use this opportunity to leave the Ringmaster and then I’ll get you out, and together we’ll leave Ketterdam. We’ll find your child, like you always wanted to and they’ll know that they're lucky because they’re the only kid in the world to have you as a mother.” 

She squeezes me so tightly I find it hard to take full breaths. “Two,” Seria whispers, “I have two children.”

My eyes burn as her words find their way into my heart. “I love you, Seria.” 

“I love you too, my star,” she pulls away enough so that I can look her in the eye, “you don’t like being called a Saint, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the title.” 

Tears prick my eyes as she releases me. “I’ll find you.” 

“He’ll be coming soon,” the girl warns, “He spoke to an advisor about wanting to find you after the show.” 

No doubt to praise the fire stunt he forced onto me. Bastard. I nod once but I don’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave Seria until the girl places a hand on my elbow. 

--

Falling Angels Taglist: @glowstick-lesbian @cashlum @whatiswrongwithpeople @pass-me-jeez-it @thecraziestcrayon

[alwaysdarkestbeforethedawn94]

Work You Out (M)

Authors: @alwaysdarkestbeforethedawn94 and @nomunamuinmybrain​ 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader 

Rating: M 

Disclaimer: Everything marked as M includes explicit content. Do not read if you are under 18 years of age.

Genre: Slice of Life/ Idol AU/ Smut 

Summary: Working for Hybe has been an experience. Being Jungkook's manager is another story. His sharp eyes, firm jawine and snarky attitude was a deadly combination to begin with. The guy easily found his way to your heart and you simply couldn't take it anymore.

Notes: Hello!! That's another installment of the imaginary scenarios myself and my best friend @nomunamuinmybrain​ come up with while driving by the coast line. This oneshot is going to be cross-posted on her profile too. Enjoy!!

Word Count: 2.4K

Thinking back to how I managed to land such an unimaginable employment opportunity must have been a miracle. Unquestionably, working for HYBE had so many benefits; I swore to never leave this place. Sure, I was a simple manager's assistant, but I was by the side of one of the managers that handled the most important talent in the stretch of South Korea, the entire globe to be honest, BTS. I was assigned the position of assistant to the manager of one of the guys, none other than Jeon Jungkook. I really couldn’t believe my luck. Not only was I a part of one of the most skyrocketing influential enterprises in the country, but I also had the chance to meet some of the most inspiring people in the whole world! Who would have thought?!

Did I have a crush on the guy by the end of my first month working here? Yes, but who wouldn't? He is the sweetest, always polite and courteous. I've met my share of self-boasting asshats; this industry is flooded with such. This guy is worth billions and he has remained ridiculously humble. Word got around about him being a wonderful young man and I could positively say he is so much more up close. Jungkook is ridiculously handsome that’s a given already, but his personality was the real deal-maker. He reminds me of a dark stormy thundery night where I cover myself with my favourite warm fluffy blanket starring out of the window a rich flavored hot chocolate in hand.

In general, I quite enjoy working at the company’s principled environment. Don’t get me wrong, nothing in this world is rainbows and butterflies, but overall, I can confidently say that it’s been a mainly positive experience. Thankfully, the department I am in is assembled by kind, funny people who like to get things done. There hasn’t been a day were I regretted coming here. As for my daily duties as an assistant, working for Jungkook meant keeping up with his appointments, helping him with anything at anytime, managing his schedule, making sure it matches with the other guys' and so much more. I was required to work around the clock and as a single independent woman in her late twenties who was trying to figure out the world around her that didn’t sound like such a bad idea, though I digress. Essentially, I was one of the employees responsible for pretty much anything and everything he needed. Our department was at his disposal 24/7 running around, living that busy life.

That's until the pandemic struck. That was the first time I thought to myself that this might be nature’s valiant plan to get back what man so forcefully took from her. Suddenly, everything was canceled; life got put on a hold. My dearest supervisor, Jungkook's manager, had to stay at home because he had kids. In fact, a lot of people had to stay at home. Abruptly, days became weeks and weeks became months. The desperation and frustration we were feeling was like nothing else ever experienced. Truthfully, it felt like something had been stolen from us and we could never get it back. In this manner, when the gears finally started grinding again I was assigned to be the on-site manager for Jungkook. That meant being in direct contact with him more so than before and of course, being responsible for a ton of other obligations.

Not going to lie, the first months were slightly awkward for both of us and understandably so. We both were used to very different working arrangements. I might have been working behind the scenes before, but now I had to step into the spotlight becoming his own personal shadow, and I am sure he wasn’t really comfortable with that. Taken into account the current situation everyone looked like a volcano ready to erupt.

Once, I happened to accidentally step in a not so common incident; maybe it was a circumstance I wasn’t supposed to witness. He was on the phone at the time, when I saw him. That’s why I decided it was best if I stayed behind the half closed door of the studio. I couldn’t hear what he was saying and it was none of my business after all, but I could tell by the minute I laid my eyes on him that something was wrong. Something had been bothering him; irritation written all over his face. He was pacing back and forth, phone still on his ear. He was clenching his fist so hard I wondered if his nails cut into his skin. He was breathing heavily, almost as if he would burst and his muscles grew tense.

Then, in an instant, it seemed that the call ended and as he was putting the phone in his pocket he slammed his fists down onto the table a loud bang echoing in the room. After some consideration, I knocked on the door to make my presence known and he sharply looked at me. Without having the chance to say anything to him he let out a loud growl and left the room leaving me dumbfounded and unaware by the door. Soon after that, he apologized for the way he acted confessing that he had an unfortunate falling out with one of his closest friends and at the time he couldn’t process what was happening. I would never forget that day. It was the day I came across a not so familiar side to him.

From that day forward, things miraculously became easier and Jungkook was way more relaxed around my presence, we joked around often and he even texted me to ask about a variety of things outside of regular working hours. We managed to develop a teasing relationship full of endless borderline flirtatious banter. He had this other side to him that only a selected few got the chance to know. Jeon Jungkook was indeed a comforting raging night, but he was also an infuriating playful mischievous brat when he wanted to be. This in all honesty, made him a hundred times more irresistible in my eyes.

Life was going on smoothly until Jungkook decided that taking after midnight trips to the gym was perfectly acceptable, insisting that I escort him instead of his bodyguard. I cursed every single time but I went anyway. Forty-five minutes after midnight he was lifting weights, unbothered. Taking secret short glances towards him I contemplated what I had done in my previous life to deserve this torment. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t care less about the late hour, but to have this view in front of my eyes was causing me both mental and physical pain. The guy was clearly sculpted by the gods. With his broad chest, muscular arms and thick thighs he could have anyone he ever wanted. He even sported an hourglass figure; He is insanely unreal. That’s the main reason why I decided to sit there preoccupied with a silly game on my phone to kill time until the suffering ended. I was barely hanging from a string at the verge of blowing off the barrier between my personal and professional life.

Out of the blue, with a loud grunt, he dropped the weights, drawing me out of my contemplation. He looked annoyed for whatever reason. He tried his best to seem nonchalant but it was obvious, in his beautiful stern eyes. Could he be craving for an audience? Abandoning every rational thought I had, I put my phone away, looked in his direction as I got up to get water. I smirked at his clear annoyance. Surely, we weren't supposed to interact with the artists this way but I am cranky and sleepy, and for the first time ever, he was being kind of an ass to me. Was I perhaps the reason behind his sudden personality change? The thought kept floating at the back of my mind.

This kept going on for about three weeks or so and I gave him nothing. His annoyance prominent in his expression, more and more as the weeks went by. He was hot but I am sure all he had been seeking was an audience given that he missed it, or so I thought. Thursday evening rolls around and I was particularly iffy tonight ‘because I was extremely frustrated, sexually. This one was making my situation worse, sporting a tight black tank top and skinny grey sweatpants which made him look like a treat. He could easily pass for a bodyguard with those broad well-built shoulders. As my eyes scanned his body I realized this was the first time his tatted sleeve was on display. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander. By the time I was done his eyes were already fixed on mine and I turned away immediately, embarrassment written all over my face.

Seeking solace in the women’s bathroom I tried to extinguish this ravenous yearning. The feeling of cold water did nothing to help the burning desire that was building inside me. Without warning, a knock at the door was heard, his sweet angelic voice following "Are you okay?" he asked, the remnants of a smirk could be heard still. "Jungkook you cannot be here, I am okay. I'll be out in a minute." I exclaimed, as calm as I could. "It's been ten minutes. I can't continue unless you're there." He insisted, I heard him chuckle after that.

With that, it was now or never, I pushed the door’s handle and made my way outside rolling my eyes in the process and he caught that, quickly moving closer, clearly annoyed, jaw clenched, eyes taking in my features, making him look not quite intimidating but definitely interesting. No, it was my mistake. Not just interesting, he looked ravishing. "As I said, I'll be out in a minute. Then you can finish up" I argued. But he didn't budge, moving even closer, if that was even possible, he was almost a breath away. "I don't feel like working out anymore" he declared like a child whose toy was taken away from him. As if I chose to play heads or tails with my career, I poked the beast further, "What is it that you want to do then?" I asked making sure he heard the annoyance in my tone. Coming even closer, to the point where he was completely pressed up against me, "You" he uttered calmly yet authoritatively. Before I could process what he had just said his soft lips crushed mine with a vengeance, thirsty. Pulling my lip with his teeth, he kept planting kisses from my lips to my jaw trailing down to my neck and décolletage; a surprised panting left my lips.

It felt as if I had involuntarily awakened this beastly hunger within him. His kisses insatiable and his touch was possessive, "I've been thinking about this for so long" he confessed as he took my hoodie off. "Sitting there, not giving a word let alone a glimpse. If you think this is off-limits you're wrong" he growled pointing at himself. "I can guarantee that once we're done here you definitely won't be able to look at me, ever." As he said all that, he managed to get me in a compromising position against the sink, his slim waist in between my legs. He kept my gaze as he lowered his head between my thighs. Little shit kept giving me hickeys on the soft flesh of my inner thighs, so close to my now dripping core. He enjoyed tormenting me and it showed. I was helpless but oh, God was all of this hot. He licked a stripe over my soaked panties, "Oh baby, you smell delicious" and with one hand he took off my underwear completely.

He sank in my folds, letting a guttural moan that I felt vibrating through my core. Not being able to think about what was happening I let myself indulge in my carnal desire my hands tangled in between his luscious hair.

He loved food and I've watched him eat before, but this must be one of his favorites ‘cause he was doing his best not to let a drop go to waste; he acted like a man starved. His hands held me in place, thankfully, ‘cause everything was too much; nothing could stop me from shaking, feeling everything deep in my core, he was too much. He just had to be good at everything. He kept a torturous tempo, from sucking my clit to his sinful tongue penetrating me, and as tears gathered around my eyes he decided to add his slender fingers in bringing me closer to heaven than I've ever been. "That's it baby, let go. Let go for me" he exhaled and just like that I had the most intense climax. My limbs felt numb, my whole body felt like rubber.

Before I could register what was happening he was back at it, sucking my over stimulated clit, my thighs unconsciously closing around his head as oversensitivity hit. "One more, please, come on baby, you can do it" he begged. He kept pumping his fingers while sucking my clit, as if it was his only goal in life. My screams muffled through my own hand clamped on my mouth as I reached my high for a second time that night. I felt it take over me with such intensity I didn't register what had happened. He emerged from between my thighs, soaked from me squirting and with a proud look on his face he declared "Now I look like I had the workout of a lifetime".

He helped me get dressed and pulled me close for a soft peck. He must have noticed my concerned look because he wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug and said "Don't be scared about this, we can work it out. I really like you and I'd like you to stick around". Starring into his eyes, I nodded and he pulled me close for the sweetest kiss, trying to tame my bewildered hair. He helped me get dressed and got out the door first to make sure that no one was around. I waited for a moment and then I got a text.

[semischarmed]

Chrysalis, Part 2

“Yeah... Steph broke up with me.” I say to him, trying to bring some of the old Kyle’s feelings out to show some semblance of distress but there is nothing to bring out. Instead, I cannot help but go from a fake pout to a giggle. It obviously reads a bit creepy, but Red takes the awkward situation well, nervously laughing to match my giggling before giving a sympathetic grimace. “Oh man, I’m real sorry about that bro, I know you two were super close. Fuck Steph. Maybe we can hang out or do whatever dude, just kind of get your mind off things” he states, as he reaches for a shoulder pat. I reciprocate by pulling him into a hug, much to his surprise, stating “Thanks man, for everything, I don’t think I can be alone right now”. And I never will be.

“Yeah man, anything you need, I’m here for you.” He warmly replies back, giving me a pat on the back. In our embrace, I take a whiff at his chest, remaking on his flavor. Woodsy, fresh cut grass, just a bit acrid and the smell of fresh rain. God he smelled good. I took another deep inhale, moaning imperceptibly before trying to slip inside him. Instead, I am met with disappoint at my inability to get inside my big bro. He pushes me back from my extended embrace with a slight crinkle in his nose, again treating the awkward situation in stride. “But uh, maybe take a shower first” he laughs. 

———

Richard Levi- or “Red” as he was better known- was my Big Bro at Sig Chi. Though, from Kyle’s old memories, it actually wasn’t until I met him a fourth time that I found out his name wasn’t really just “Red”. Apparently, the previous frat president was also a Richard and a less confusing name had to be chosen for the then-freshman. The frat had taken to calling him ‘Red’, on account of his fiery red hair and soon after, the entire school had caught on. Though it was mean-spirited at first, Red never seemed to have been bothered by it, and by the time I arrived, there had only been one “Red” in the frat. Beyond that, my body knew very little about his Big Bro. From these memories it was fairly obvious that he has been trying to connect with the old Kyle after they had been paired, though Kyle was relatively disconnected in their conversations. I’m not even sure why the old Kyle stuck around with all the frat stuff to be honest, since apparently this seemed to occur with all the other members of the frat. If anything, Kyle seemed to only open up around Steph. That is, until I became Kyle. The new Kyle was confident. He was attentive. He was social. In a sense, Me being him had allowed for ‘Kyle’ to be greater than the sum of his parts, we succeeded in areas where the other could not. Where Kyle was oblivious, I was not. Where I could not succeed socially in school, my newly confident self as his body could. In a sense, we completed each other through my possession of him. And I loved every moment of it.

I’ve been living through my forever host Kyle for a few weeks now and it has been nothing short of fantasy. From hanging out with my frat bros to getting hazed to winning a few more games. All of it was worth it. All of it made life feel like life. Even the mundane feels great in his shoes. Waking up, brushing my teeth, exercising. Just living. Knowing it was me inside, me in his skin, using his hands, walking his legs, breathing in his lungs. Ecstasy.

A few of his-well, my- friends noticed the new and improved Kyle. Friendlier, less reserved, smellier. That last bit might have been my fault. I love Kyle, all of him- and that included his musky, putrid odor which has only intensified since his possession. With me running the show, this meat-suit can’t help but respond in kind by rewarding my constant ecstasy in this body with a steady stream of its pheromones. It also probably didn’t help that I had a penchant for covering myself in my team’s scents and for avoiding any of his deodorant. In any case, I found it hot, I wanted people to know what this flesh of mine was. I was Alpha. I was living testosterone. Athlete. Me.

Still, I wanted to make sure I truly did have him forever. My old body had the ability to slip into others and ever since I had become Kyle, this new body has not been able to replicate the same feat. I speculated it was just a byproduct of my fairly recent acquisition but it’s been a few weeks now and I still haven’t had any indication that this body retains my old ability. Of course this came with the worrying thought that, despite all my preparation, all my effort, Kyle was still just a pile of flesh that my old body was just wearing temporarily. No. I can’t think in that way. This is me. I am Kyle.

So of course, I’ve been testing my old abilities in this body, trying with every hand shake, every shoulder hug, any physical connection with someone to get inside them. I’ve been fucking tons of cute guys on campus too, though no one in Sig Chi seems to have noticed. Either that or they had another reason to not bring it up- perhaps they were trying to avoid an awkward situation. In any case, despite all these attempts, I’ve had no such luck with my little possession crusade. At least, I hadn’t until last week. 

The last time I fucked Mark- some cute rando on the 8th floor of my dorm- I left a little of my cum inside him. In just that split second, I felt his mind and body open up to me, and I took advantage of that brief glimpse to jam just a bit of my arm inside. That was when I had my first epiphany. Of course. Me-in-Kyle was like a new body, not just me possessing him, so it only made sense that I had to rebuild my old abilities from scratch. Still, possession in this new Kyle body seemed to operate differently. Maybe it was the extra power from his vitality, but I definitely seemed to maintain the tiniest bit of residual control over Mark. Nothing too crazy, just very slightly influencing some of his decisions the following week like what he wore or making sure he didn’t tell a soul about the half possession. This had some application. My old body had been able to possess groups of people before, though it had some limited uses. For one, they had to be somewhat close to each other, and at some point, I could no longer maintain that state and my physical form had to reconvene, ending the session. This? This was different. Even now I can feel the traces of my control over Mark. Kyle’s sperm must be really fucking virile. Mixed with my latent ability for possession? We were potent.

Before I could ponder what I could do with this new power, I began to feel a bump in the back of this body. Cosmic correction perhaps? Whatever it was, I felt myself being separated from Kyle. From Me. At least, most of myself was overcome with an intense numbness akin to the separation after a possession. One of my arms remained tethered to him, preventing the force from removing me Kyle’s body fully. 

This, of course, chilled me to the bone. I didn’t just possess Kyle... I became him- if we were separated what would happen to each of us? For one, I embedded myself into him, became the crevices of his mind and self. Whatever would left over without me wouldn’t be Kyle or me, so much as it would just be a pile of living flesh. Likewise, what would become of me? The guy who no longer had a separate physical form from Kyle. I looked at my arms, quaking in fear at the events that had just transpired. What I did to me, to Kyle, truly was against the natural order of the universe. Was I on a ticking clock then? Doomed to one day disappear for my sin? I stared at my arms again. That was when I had my second epiphany. I smiled wickedly. So that’s how it was.

Chrysalis. That’s what I called my special little device, my glorified sleeping bag meant to catalyze the process of forever tethering me to Kyle. I have long since disposed of the thing, but it was clear I had need for another run of the Chrysalis. Or rather, a chrysalis. 

The second epiphany came in the arm that I had used to test possession through Mark, the arm that had kept me tethered to my true body, against the natural order. The second epiphany was that I was not complete. It was the need to balance the scales. A separate possession and container were need for me and Kyle to be one. Two became one. So, in much the same respect, what I needed was to balance the books. What I needed was to fully possess another as Kyle, thereby fulfilling the cosmic debt. “One” will stay as one through a process that fulfilled both my of requirements of container and possession. I need to possess someone. I need a human Chrysalis. And I knew just the guy. I immediately started masturbating. I’m gonna need a lot of cum.

So, that’s where I am right now. I’ve been hanging out with Red, nearly every day, making us closer, all the while slipping bits of my seed into him. I started out with just a bit in his water bottle during one of our gym sessions, when he wasn’t looking. God it was hot. I watched him choke a little too, when his mouth came across my wad of goo but nevertheless he downed it like a champ. He laughed the whole thing off but I could tell he was a bit disturbed by whatever was in his bottle. I was able to will him to hug me a half second longer than usual. 

Another time, I baked some nice cookies with a bit of me-juice in them. He found them delicious. I couldn’t help but moan a little when he first bit into it. He moaned too, before sheepishly stating “my bad bro, these are just some really fucking good cookies.” I played along, giving him a “Aww thanks man. Made these special, just for you”. He willfully ignored my wink after.

Half a week ago, I slipped a bit in his shampoo bottle. That was pretty kinky, until I realized he had just washed it all off. So yesterday, I put a big extra batch in his sandwich when he wasn’t looking. That one was apparently extra potent. He took his first bite- big, messy- getting a dribbling of  “Mayo” over his beard. Instinctively, he motioned to wipe it off with a napkin, but stopped him. He watched me quizzically, as I began to scoop the mayo sucking on the little extra I got on my index finger before stuffing the rest in his mouth. “The fuck? Dude...” he chuckled gently as I felt both heat and tension increase. He was huffing, entranced, taking moist, shallow breaths as I tug on his beard, pulling his head closer to mine. “You need a bit more” I whispered, as I began to unbuckle my jeans. Red snapped out of it, pushing me away, whispering “wait... what the fuck man, what was that?” For a few brief moments, we just sat there in awkward silence. He glared at me, before closing his eyes and taking a deep sigh. “Uh, look, I... won’t tell anyone at the frat. ok? Just... don’t ever do that again. Anyways, I don’t even swing... well... Besides-“ he chuckled, returning to his normal self and tousling my hair “You’re my little bro. That’s, kinda... like... incest, you know?”

This one’s a fighter. By now, there’s gotta be a pint’s worth of my cum swimming inside him. Whenever he hangs out with me, I throw a little here and there. A quick squirt here, some extra cream in his coffee there, maybe a little extra icing on that cake. I make sure the parts of me inside him wriggle inside, get him extra hard, slam his brain with some extra dopamine around my scent. By all accounts he should be squirming in ecstasy when I’m around. But Red... he’s a cut above the rest. No matter what I do, he seems to just shrug it off. The most I’ve ever seen was maybe a gaze linger half a second too long.

It’s been a few days of this and I already feel the slightest dull sensation in my body. The universe trying to correct itself. Still, I have faith in my plans. He’s almost ready, I think. And if he isn’t ready, I’ll make him ready. I want this day to be special. The day I become Red and the day I truly become Kyle. 

—End Part 2—

Next one should be up relatively soon...