#no because who gave him the right to fuck us like this ?

[vunblr]

Plump & Ripe

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. A Pinch of Body Insecurity. Size kink. Use of pet names.

Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

Word Count: 7.4k.

note: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Plums". It was supposed to be a cute and fluffy fic, but it turned into pure filth instead. I'm sorry -not-

She looked up from the counter, and a welcoming smile instantly spread across her lips when she saw who had made the doorbell chime.

“You’re late. You’re lucky I set this bag aside when the distributor came this morning because they’re all sold out now.” She lifted a small paper bag from the shelf behind her, placing it on the counter between them. The deep violet of the plums peeked through the crinkled opening, and their smooth skins caught the golden light that filtered through the shop’s front windows.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, a little tense as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “Sorry. Something came up and... couldn’t make it earlier.” He mumbled.

That ‘something’ had been him forcing himself out of bed after three days of avoiding the world. Everything felt heavier these days, his body, his thoughts, even some goddamn things that weren’t so before. But he was here now, and that was better than nothing.

She leaned her elbows on the counter. “No worries. I know you’d never miss plum day on purpose.” She tried to tease warmly.

Right. One of the rare occasions he’d missed plum day was when he went on that stupid mission, the so-called ‘walk in the park’ that turned into a bloodbath of agents and ended with him being taken again by the same people who’d tormented him for nearly 80 years. Only this time, they didn’t just want their precious pet back, they wanted it better.

In five days of captivity, they not only just strapped him to a modernized version of that damned chair. Oh no, they’d injected him with a cocktail of drugs that messed up his body in ways he was still discovering, even a year later. Like his fucked-up metabolism.

His eyes flicked to the bag, and his mouth twitched just slightly. “You know me too well on that aspect,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the bag.

She watched him carefully. “Do you need anything else?”

He hesitated, shifting his gaze to the baskets of apples lined up near the wall. “Yeah… green apples.”

She nodded, moving around the counter to grab a paper bag. As she started picking the crisp, bright green apples, she spoke over her shoulder. “I got a new kind in this week. They’re a mix of green and red, still sour but with a sweet twist. Figured you might like them, so I’m throwing one in for you to try.” She dropped a smaller, two-toned apple into the bag, the colors blending in a swirl of muted red and pale green. “No charge.”

His lips quirked, just for a moment, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Thanks.” He said gruffly.

She twisted the top of the bag, folding it neatly before placing it on the counter beside the plums. But she didn’t step back, and her fingers lingered on the edge as if debating something. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying the skin.

Always perceptive, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

Her head jerked up, eyes widening. “Huh?”

“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to say something or not.” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one leg. “Tell me.”

She huffed a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s... not very appropriate.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’ve heard worse.”

She bit her lip again before glancing toward the back room. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a couple of crates. The distributor was in a hurry, and he just tossed the merchandise back there. It’s kind of a mess... hard to move around.” She gave a half-shrug, sheepish. I’d do it myself, but they’re actually pretty heavy.”

He followed her gaze, and his expression softened. “That all?”

“Well... yeah,” she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. “You already helped with the shelves last week... and the cooler the week before. I just... I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.”

His features softened even more, as he huffed, twitching his lips in a half-smile. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to. Show the way.”

She gestured to the door behind the counter -the only door, really- and he shot her a look. She shrugged, grinning. “I know, I know. Real hard to find.”

He followed her through the doorway, ducking his head slightly as they entered the cramped back room. His steps faltered as his eyes took in the scene. Stacks of boxes and wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some leaning precariously against each other. It was like the distributor had been in a damn race to get out of there.

His mouth pulled into a deep scowl. How the hell did that asshole expect her to move this on her own? Where were the manners nowadays? He grumbled under his breath, weaving between the clutter as he started rearranging the crates into a more orderly stack. He made sure to place the heavier boxes at the bottom, the lighter ones on top, within easy reach for her.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as the chaos turned into something more manageable. “God, I’ll kidnap you and put you on my bedside table.”

His head snapped up, brows drawing together. “Uh?”

She blinked, a faint heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s just... a saying we have. You know, to cherish something.” She waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment. “Forget it. Thank you, really for always helping.”

He chuckled. “Pretty sure your poor bedside table can’t handle me anyway.” His tone was dry, self-deprecating, like he was almost daring her to argue.

But her brain had short-circuited somewhere around ‘bedside,’ and before she could think better of it, the words just tumbled out: “But my bed sure can.”

He froze, fingers clenching around the edge of a crate. For a second, he didn’t even breathe. “What?”

She cursed inwardly. Did she… did she actually say that aloud? Oh my god. She could feel her soul leaving her body, and her eyes darted down as her brain scrambled for something -anything- that could sound similar. She fumbled, words tripping over themselves. “I- I said... I wondered if... if you can open a can.”

Bucky blinked, his expression shifting from shock to confusion. “A can?”

She nodded furiously, feeling her face burn. “Yeah. A big one. I have... with peaches. And I don’t have an opener, so I thought maybe...” Her eyes flicked to his metal hand, then back to his face.

They stared at each other, the silence was thick and heavy. “You want me to open... a can of peaches.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, even as her face burned. “Yes. A big one.”

He looked at her, then tilted his head, and his lips twitched slightly. “That so?”

“Yup. I figured you’re more than capable and I... really wanted to try them.” Her voice was firmer now, though her face was still in flames.

Bucky watched her for another moment, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to figure her out. Finally, he huffed, low and almost amused. “Alright then. Bring it over.”

She nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his piercing gaze. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, and her hands trembled as she rummaged through a cluttered shelf. Eventually, she found the can half-buried behind a jar of jam, with its bright label slightly faded. Two forks were grabbed from a drawer without much thought, and her fingers clenched around them as she tried to calm herself. When she turned back, Bucky was stacking the last of the boxes, his back to her.

Her eyes lingered on his body for a beat too long, and her mind flashed back to her stupid, impulsive words. But my bed sure can. She almost groaned out loud, the embarrassment creeping over her anew. She was never going to live this down.

Clearing her throat, she approached him, holding out the can. “Here. I... uh... figured we could share. Since you’re helping me out and all.”

He turned, and his gaze dropped to the can before lifting to meet hers. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Peaches, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They should be good. Sweet. Soft, too... uh, juicy” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her face burned all over again. God, why did she have to say it like that?

Bucky just stared at her for a second, flicking his eyes to her lips before his mouth twitched. “Alright.” His voice was a little rougher, a little lower. He took the can from her, popping a metal finger through the lid and curling it, crumpling the metal until it popped off.

He handed it back, licking his finger for a brief moment and she could swear she could have a stroke. “There you go. Good thing at least I’m good as a can opener.”

She furrowed her brow, and the playful glint in her eyes faded. “Don’t do that.”

His shoulders went rigid. What did he do to upset her? “Do what?”

“That,” she said, “Sell yourself short. That... self-deprecation thing you always pull.”

His jaw clenched, and his eyes drifted away from hers. “Just saying the truth.” Almost unconsciously, his gaze dropped to his midsection, to the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. To the proof that his body was failing him, that even with all the enhancements, he was broken.

“Bucky,” she said, with a softer tone but no less resolute. “You’re a damn Avenger. Half the days you come in here, you’re bruised and battered because you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You protect them. That’s incredible.” Her hand gestured to the neatly stacked crates behind him. “You’re kind... and good. Don’t diminish yourself.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm but hard expression. He wanted to deflect, to brush it off with a sarcastic remark. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the weight of her words. But the way she looked at him, made the words stick in his throat. His fingers tightened around the can, and the metal creaked under his grip. “Yeah, well... sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”

She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “Our own perceptions sometimes lie. Doesn’t make it less true.”

He stared at her, and his defenses faltered. The familiar cynicism was there, clawing at him, but her words were louder. His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this stubborn?”

She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Only when someone I care about is being stupid.”

The air grew still. She seemed to realize what she’d said a second too late, eyes widening before she looked away. “I mean... you know... as a customer. And a... friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly as if he was trying to get a better read on her. “A friend to put on your nightstand.”

Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure.”

He leaned against the stacked crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over his next words. For a heartbeat, he thought about letting it slide, about keeping his mouth shut and pretending he hadn’t heard. But the thought of not knowing twisted his gut in a way that made him reckless. “Did you mean it?”

Her heart skipped, the peach suddenly feeling too heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to chew slowly, buying time. “What?”

“The... bed.” His gaze pierced in that way that made her feel stripped bare. “Did you mean it?”

Oh. So he had heard her.

Her mind raced, instincts screaming at her to laugh it off, to deflect with a joke or change the subject. But he just stood there, watching her, waiting. It was infuriating how still he could be, how his silence demanded more than words ever could. His eyes didn’t waver, his face was impassive, but there was something tight in his stance, something almost vulnerable in the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he caught himself, stilling the movement.

She paused mid-chew, the peach now a lump in her throat. The hell with all. “What if I did?”

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did: his shoulders straightened, and his arms uncrossed just slightly. He took a step closer, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Then I’d say... you’d better be sure.”

She swallowed, heat blooming up her neck. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I figured.”

His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t move as his fingers brushed her cheek, rough callouses skimming her skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, never breaking the eye contact.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, and his gaze softened as his fingers curled on the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her heartbeats echoing in her ears, but she didn’t dare look away. Not when his eyes were so impossibly blue, locked on hers with a focus that stole her breath.

She parted her lips, in a silent invitation, while her hand found its way to his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened, “Tell me to stop if this is not what you want.” he murmured, but his hand didn’t move.

She shook her head, tightening her fingers on his jacket. “Not a chance.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his lips crashed into hers, firm and demanding, as he fisted her hair and pulled her closer.

She responded instinctively, pressing her body into his as her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He groaned against her mouth, circling his vibranium arm on her waist.

The world around her faded, the cluttered storeroom, the lingering scent of the peaches, everything disappeared until there was only him. His warmth, his strength, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.

She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair, and he responded by deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she ran a hand along his slightly rounded cheek, tracing its curve with her thumb with a tenderness that made something clench on his chest.

“You are so damn handsome.”

His gaze widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features before something else settled in. Cocky 40s Sergeant Barnes wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing himself like this, heavier, slower, tired.

He swallowed, as the weight of her words pressed against years of ingrained self-doubt. She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “I can see the gears turning inside your head, you know?” Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and sure. “And, in a courageous and embarrassing -but it seems necessary-confession, I must say that I like this version of you. A lot.”

His body tensed beneath her touch. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one of them. People -some- admired him for what he could do. No one ever said they liked him like this.

He searched her face, looking for doubt, for anything that suggested she was just saying it to make him feel better. His throat felt tight. “You don’t have to say that.”

Her brows furrowed, and her fingers pressed just slightly into his skin. “I told you earlier that I mean what I say. You’re a soft wall of muscle.” She bit her lip, as her eyes drifted over his shoulders, his chest, lingering just long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like big men, so...”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. That... wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.

She felt the heat on her face but didn’t look away, just kept caressing his cheek. “In my eyes, you’re better than when I first knew you.”

His heart skipped, the words settling heavy and warm somewhere behind his ribs. “Better?” His voice was low, rough, like he was forcing the word out. “How?”

Her thumb traced his cheekbone, and she felt all the heat in her body rush to her face again. She looked away, sensing her bravado faltering. “God, you’re going to make me say it. This is so embarrassing.” She took a breath, meeting his gaze again. “Sexier, Bucky. You look better to me because I find your bigger body more than appealing. Manlier. Is that enough clarification for y-”

She didn’t get to finish. His mouth crashed again against hers, more heated and demanding than before, as his fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his body.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his lips moving hungrily over hers, and she barely had time to gasp before his tongue slid past her lips, tasting, claiming. Her back hit the wall as his body crowded hers, and she didn’t care, didn’t want space, didn’t want air, didn’t want anything that wasn’t him.

His heart pounded in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Her words echoed in his mind, looping over and over again. Sexier. Manlier. More than appealing.

A rush of masculine pride coursed his body, fierce and hot, like lightning in his veins. She wanted him like this, wanted him bigger, broader. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that, how deeply her praise soothed the bruised ego he hadn’t even admitted having.

She felt his growing erection pressing against her hip, and she gripped his shoulders, feeling him beneath. There was nothing soft about him, not in the way he kissed her, fierce and unrelenting, not in the way his body surrounded hers, hard and unyielding.

He tore his mouth from hers, with ragged breathing, eyes dark and wild as they bore into hers. “You like this?” His voice was rough, deeper than before, and his words dripped with hunger. “You like me like this?”

She swallowed, her pulse fluttering wildly. “Yes. God, yes.”

His lips curved into a grin, that old cocky sergeant slipping through the cracks of his armor. “Good,” he growled, as his mouth descended on hers again, sliding down his hand to grip her thigh with bruising force as he hitched her leg up around his waist, pressing himself against her. His mouth was at her ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down her spine. “Because I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about fucking you raw under this slutty green apron every damn time you hand me my plums.”

Her brain stuttered, eyes widening as she processed his words.

His hips rolled, grinding his hardon against her tummy, and she felt every inch of his cock, hard and wanting, and god, she couldn’t help it, she whined. A desperate, needy sound that escaped her throat before she could bite it back.

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide as his lips curled again into that smirk. “Always with a little extra product, always checking on me.” His teeth scraped her jaw, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. “Thought you were just sweet, just nice. Turns out you were trying to fatten me up for yourself, huh?” His words were teasing, but his tone was rough and possessive.

He rocked his hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping, her fingers digging into his shoulders as heat coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Bucky-” Her voice was a breathless plea, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to find words, tried to get a grip on herself, but his mouth was on her neck, sucking a hot, wet mark just above her collarbone, and she was gone, utterly, completely gone.

“You like that, huh?” His teeth grazed her skin again, his metal fingers tightening on her thigh, holding her in place as he ground against her. “Like knowing you drive me crazy? That every time I leave, all I can think about is coming back here, bending you over that counter, and fuck you right there, maybe squishing a fucking orange just to watch the juice dripping down your ass?”

Another whine slipped out, her body arching into his as her hips rolled instinctively to meet his. His words wrapped around her, filthy and raw, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.

His lips trailed up to her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “So tell me, sweetheart... how long have you been thinking about me ruining you right here in your little shop?”

“If... if we’re about to speak on hard numbers...” She tried to tease, but the words came out ragged, crumbling under the hard suck he planted just behind her ear. Her body shuddered, another whimper escaping before she could stop it. “I’d say... the first time you came here. You’d just moved in and didn’t... didn’t even have pans to cook. Remember?”

His mouth paused on her skin, lips curved against her neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Came looking for fruit and you ended up selling me that tray of already cut vegetables to make soup. Lent me that steel jar to boil ’em in.” His tongue flicked over the mark he’d made, soothing the sting before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you were too damn trusting. What if I didn’t come back?”

She let out a breathless laugh, curling her fingers on his biceps. “I saw your hand. You forgot the gloves that day... and I figured... the Winter Soldier wouldn’t steal a steel jar.” Her lips twitched, and a spark of mischief lit her eyes. “If you did, well, the loss was on me. But if you didn’t...” She trailed off.

His eyes darkened, and his grip tightened on her thigh as he pressed her harder against the wall. “If I didn’t?”

She swallowed, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. “Then... I would have set some points with a handsome man.”

“Sneaky,” he muttered, brushing her lips, a teasing, fleeting touch. “You were setting a trap for me from the start.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to earn her another low, hungry sound from him. “Can you blame me?” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his. “You were brooding and grumpy... and so damn gorgeous.”

His eyes flashed with something wild and primal sparking in them. “And now?” His voice was low and dangerous, his metal fingers flexing on her thigh, holding her in place. “Now that you’ve got me? This bigger, grumpier version?”

She didn’t hesitate, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Now?” She leaned in, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth before she pulled back. “I’d say It was a pretty good investment.”

His lips were into hers again, swallowing her gasp as his body pressed into hers, heavy and hard and perfect. He kissed her hard, his mouth rough and hungry while rocking his hips against hers, and she moaned, digging her nails into his scalp as she arched into him. He tore his mouth away, with ragged breathing, his eyes pinning her in place as they locked with hers. “Last chance, sugarplum” His voice felt vulnerable beneath the heat. “You want this?”

She held his gaze and pressed herself against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest enticingly. "I want you to ruin me, papa bear"

He froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. His eyes widened, and his pupils blew wide as her words penetrated his fogged brain. “...What did you just call me?”

Her heart plummeted. Oh god. Why? Why did she have to let that slip out now, of all times? She could feel her face heating up, a wave of mortification crashing over her. “Um... uh...” She looked away, curling her fingers nervously into his shoulders. “Too soon?”

For a heartbeat, he was silent, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as he processed it. But then a low, guttural sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a growl. His head dropped to her shoulder, pressing his forehead into her as his body shuddered against hers. “Fuck,”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it. “S-sorry. I don’t... I don’t even know where that came from, I-”

He lifted his head, eyes dark, pupils blown. “Don’t.” His voice was rough, firm. “Don’t take it back.”

Her mouth went dry, and her body arched instinctively into him as his grip on her tightened. “You- uh... liked it?”

His lips curled into a feral grin, grazing her earlobe with his teeth before he growled, “You have no idea.” His nose brushed her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers. “Say it again.”

Her heart skipped a beat, face flaming. “I-” She hesitated, but the way his body trembled, the raw need in his eyes, the way he was holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish... it shattered any scruple she had. She leaned in, brushing his lips with hers as she whispered, “Ruin me, Papa Bear.”

He swore under his breath, crashing his mouth into hers again with bruising force. His hands gripped her tighter, possessive, desperate, and she moaned, opening up to him, letting him in. His tongue swept over hers, hungry and demanding, and she melted, her body molding to his as he consumed her.

He broke away just long enough to start tugging at her apron. “Take it off, or I’ll-”

The faint chime of the bell at the front door echoed through the storage room, hitting them like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes widened, and he stilled, with his fingers curled around the knot of her apron. The door to the storage room was wide open, and the front door? Neither of them had bothered to close it since none of this was supposed to happen.

His jaw clenched, and he lifted a finger, pointing at her with a look that could melt steel. “Don’t move.”

She barely had time to blink before he was striding out of the storage room, with his hair slightly mussed and crumpled clothing. He rounded the corner to find an elderly woman standing uncertainly by the counter, clutching her purse tightly in her hands.

His expression softened -just a bit- as he forced a strained smile. “It’s closed.”

The woman’s brows knitted together. “Oh, but I just wanted to-”

“Lemme accompany you out, yes?” He cut in, his voice dripping with forced politeness. “An emergency came up, and she’s... not here. I just stopped by to lock up.” His words were rushed, his body practically blocking the doorway.

“Oh, I see...” The woman glanced around, clearly confused but too polite to question him. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, already guiding her toward the door, hovering his hand protectively behind her back as she shuffled out. The door shut with more force than necessary, as the chime echoed sharply in the now-empty store. He twisted the lock, and stood there for a moment, with a rigid back, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

In a flash, he was back in the storage room, locking his eyes on her with a hunger that made her knees weak. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between them, and his fingers went immediately to the buttons of her blouse, his mouth trailing kisses over every newly exposed inch of skin.

He almost groaned when he saw her bra clasp at the front. “You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before popping the clasp with an impatient flick of his fingers. The fabric fell away, and his mouth and hands were on her before he could think: Palms warm against her bare skin, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He latched his mouth to the delicate skin just above her collarbone, swirling his tongue, teeth scraping, tasting the salt of her skin.

She was driving him insane. Every little sound, every shiver, every way her fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer.

Her hands were just as eager, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. She hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers grazed his belly, flicking her eyes up to his. But there was no discomfort there, only hunger. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, her breathing ragged. Her fingers splayed over his stomach, and the warmth of her touch sank into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

He kissed her harder, deeper, pressing her back against the wall as his body settled heavily against hers, his bigger form pinning her in place. She gasped, hitching her leg around his waist again, pulling him closer, grinding, her hips against his, and he nearly lost it.

His lips trailed lower, over the swell of her breast, and his stubble grazed her sensitive skin as his tongue flicked over an already pert nipple. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as her body arched beneath him, desperate, needing more. He was only too happy to oblige, closing his mouth around her, suckling greedily as his hand moved to the other, kneading, teasing.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was a broken whisper, as her nails dug into his shoulders and scalp, and her body writhed against his.

He dragged his mouth back up to hers, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, teasing the edge of her panties. “Want papa bear to touch you, sugarplum?” he growled, rough and low, “Want me to prep you open nice and deep and then ruin this little pussy?”

His words made her shiver, and her whole body tensed at the need in his voice. She could barely breathe, could barely think, as her mind spun while his fingers danced along the delicate lace of her panties, teasing, taunting.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yes, please.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, “That’s my good girl.” His fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging her panties down slowly, deliberately,  grazing his knuckles on the sensitive skin of her thighs. He wanted to savor this, to watch her come apart for him.

He lifted her easily, her back hitting the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. The feeling of her pussy against his stomach made him swear under his breath, his head dropping to her shoulder again as he struggled to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control.

His metal fingers pressed her hips into the wall, to accompany his body, pinning her in place as his flesh hand slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked, and he groaned, feeling his cock throbbing painfully against his jeans. “So fucking wet for me... all that from just a little talk?”

Her head tipped back, hitting the wall, lips parting in a breathless gasp as his fingers found her clit, circling lazily, teasing only to dip them lower, slipping them inside her, stretching her, pressing his thumb down on her clit.

He watched her face as he started to move his hand, pumping slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make her shudder. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Such a greedy pussy, taking everything I give you.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “You’re mine now.”

Her body clenched around his fingers, a whimper escaping her lips, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on, tightening her muscles as he pushed her closer to the edge.

“Gonna come for me, sugarplum?” His fingers started to move faster, harder, while his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. “Gonna fall apart on my fingers before I even get to ruin you properly?”

Her whole body tensed and her head snapped forward, pressing her forehead into his as she shattered with a force that stole her breath.

“That’s it... that’s my girl,” he whispered, slowing his fingers, easing her down from the high, brushing his lips against hers in a surprisingly tender kiss.

He adjusted his grip on her body, grinding his clothed erection against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how ready. “And now, I gonna give you what you wanted,” he growled.

He slid his fingers out of her and fumbled with the zipper of his pants "look at the mess you did here, all this cream on my zipper." she just moaned and grind herself against the back of his hand, thrilled by being pinned to the wall by his weight alone and his vibranium hand on her asscheek.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was breathy, broken, and her body trembled as his metal hand squeezed her ass, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

He hummed, while his fingers continued to play with the wetness she’d left on his pants, dragging her up his length, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse under his denim. “You’re so needy for me, sugarplum,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “So wet, so… ready.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, her mind was blank with need as he finally spread his thick thighs squatting a little, and sat her on them, tugging down his zipper, and freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He wrapped his hand around himself, and his eyes never left hers as he stroked once, spreading her slickness all over his length. “You see this?” he growled. “This is what you do to me.”

She bit her lip, her eyes locked down, watching him slowly pump himself, zeroed on the pornographic sight of his cock glistening with a mix of their arousal.

Seeing his heated gaze he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You made this mess... now you’re gonna take responsibility for it”. It was all the warning he did before hooking the back of her knees on his forearms, and pressing his hands on the wall, surging forward, burying the fat head of his cock in her entrance, pushing himself inside her in one slow, stretching thrust.

Her mouth fell open, and a choked moan escaped her lips as he filled her, inch by agonizing inch. Her back arched against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on his arms, nails digging in as her body stretched to accommodate him.

He was relentless, his eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every shudder as he sank into her, slow and merciless. “You feel that?” His voice was a rough whisper, his breath hot against her ear.

She could only nod, as he pressed his hips in even deeper, against hers, burying his cock to the hilt. “Bucky... oh God...” Her legs trembled, thighs spread wide over his forearms, helpless to do anything but take everything he gave her.

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, grazing her skin with his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check, to keep from losing himself in the incredible heat of her body. “Fuck... you feel so damn good... driving me crazy, sugarplum.” His words were rough, and breathless, his control slipping with every second he stayed buried inside her.

Her walls quivered around him, tightening instinctively, pulling him in, holding him close. “Bucky... move... please...” she pleaded, trying to roll her hips to create some friction, to ease the maddening stretch.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers almost dug into the bricks, and he began to move in slow, heavy thrusts that made her whole body rock against the wall. Each time he withdrew, she felt the loss, felt the emptiness, and each time he filled her again, her world shattered a little more as she felt his cock stretching her, filling her, owning her. “Oh God...”

He could feel himself losing control, as his thrusts grew harder and faster, pinning her like a ragdoll against the wall, relishing the needy moans and whimpers escaping her lips.

A hand flew to his head tugging his locks as he wrecked her.  “Fuck Papa Bear… you feel so good, so heavy, so… fucking… big, you turn me on so much.” 

Her praise wrapped around him, squeezing him just as tight as her body did, and his head spun with primal satisfaction. He groaned, as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her flooding her with precum, and growing even harder inside her. “Yeah? You like this thick Bear covering you, pinning you, breeding you full?”

Her head thudded back against the wall, as she tried to tighten her legs against his forearms, to arch her body to join his thrusts, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Yes, yes, god, yes... love feeling you like this, love how big you are...”

“Fuck, sugar” his bruised ego drank her words like a man dying of thirst. Each confession went straight to his cock. He could feel her body yielding to him, taking everything he gave, and it made him lose his rhythm, made him rut into her like an animal, making her back slide up and down the wall with every hard thrust.

He lifted his arms to spread her wide to take him deeper. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “You’re mine now, sugar plum. Fuck, ‘m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never look at another man again... gonna make sure you remember this every time you close your eyes.”

She whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Bucky... Papa... please... don’t stop...” she pleaded, curling her fingers into his hair.

His mouth curved into a half smile against her throat. “Not planning to, sugarplum.” He rolled his hips, grinding deep, making her back arch and her legs quiver. “Not until you’re dripping with me... not until you’re so full of my cum you can’t stand.”

Her body convulsed, one hand remained fisting his hair and the other dragged her nails on his broad back, “Fuck! Yes, I want it so bad...”

He lost whatever thread of control he had left. His thrusts grew brutal, punishing as his cock stretched her, pounding into her with a force that bordered on savage. He watched her face contort with pleasure, as the base of his cock ground deliciously against her swollen clit. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her eyes rolled back as he drove into her, harder, faster. “You’re gonna take it all... every drop... you understand?”

She could only nod, her words were lost to the raw, consuming pleasure.

He was so close, muscles tensed to the point of aching, his breath ragged as his cock throbbed, his balls tightened, ready to spill. But he held on, watching her, waiting, needing to see her fall apart first.

“Come on, doll... give it to me... come all over my cock... let me feel it...” he growled, as his wide shoulders caged her in. “Bet you’ve never been this full before. Never had someone this big ruin you like this.”

Her nails raked down his back, desperate, her eyes rolling back as she tried to meet his rhythm but was utterly at his mercy. “F-Fuck, Bucky... so... so big...”

“That’s right,” he rasped, a savage grin flashing across his face. “Too big for this pretty little pussy, huh?” he lifted her higher and marked every word with a harder thrust.

Her entire body seized up before she felt herself shatter, arching against his body and squeezing him, milking him so tight he finally let himself go.

“That’s it... make a mess... make a fucking mess for me, doll... fuck!” his cock jerked, pulsing, as his release came hot and violent, spilling thick ropes of cum inside her. He kept grinding his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, stirring his load inside her until it was too much to contain. The excess bubbled out around his shaft obscenely, warm and sticky, dripping down her thighs and landing on the floor.

He nipped at her collarbone, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he gently withdrew them from the wall. He eased her thighs down just enough to let her hook them around his waist, and his eyes flicked to an old chair in the corner of the room. Without a word, he began to move with steady steps despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. As he walked them over, each stride pressed him deeper inside her, drawing soft whimpers from her swollen lips.

Reaching the chair, he sank down heavily, the wood creaking beneath their weight. She straddled him, still nesting him deep inside her pussy, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, tangling her fingers on his hair. His hands settled on her hips, keeping her pressed close, unwilling to break their connection just yet.

His head fell back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself breathe. “You feel... too damn good. Could stay like this all day...”

Her fingers started to brush his hair gently. “Then don’t move... Just stay. You made sure that no other clients visited today." She slightly pinched his stubbled full cheek. "And... is not fair you didn’t remove any of your clothes besides your jacket in all this ordeal."

He huffed out a low laugh, that rumbled against her chest. “Yeah? That bother you, sugarplum?” His hands slid up her back, splaying wide as he pressed her tighter against him. “You wanna see all of me?”

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I think it’s only fair,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I wanna see what I’ve been getting my hands on... what I’ve been wanting.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to his still-clothed body, darting her tongue out to wet her lips.

His eyes flicked away for a beat, and his shoulders tensed a little. There was a moment, a fleeting second where his hands stilled on her body, where his fingers dug just a little too hard into her waist. Old doubts echoed in his mind, flashing to his reflection in the mirror, the soft curve of his belly, the heft in his chest that wasn’t just only muscle.

But then she moved, running her hands up his chest, her eyes wide, pupils blown as she whispered. “I want to see you, Bucky.”

His heart thudded hard, but he felt himself relax, the tension ebbing away as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Alright, sugarplum,” he murmured. “You asked for it.”

In one swift motion, he gripped the hem of his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He forced himself to sit there, exposed, waiting for the flicker of judgment, for her gaze to catch on his soft middle, or the faint stretch marks on his hips.

But her eyes were wide with interest as she took him in. Her hands roamed over him, tracing her fingers on his skin, lingering on the scars, the old wounds. She palmed his chest, brushing her thumbs over his hardened nipples, and his muscles jumped under her touch.

“Better?” his voice rough, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her explore him.

She bit her lip, as she kept worshipping him. “Better... but I’m not done yet.” She added as she trailed softly the scarred flesh where his prosthesis joined his body with her tongue.

His cock twitched with interest inside her, still hard, still nestled so deep. His hands gripped hard on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with fire, sugarplum.”

She smirked, rolling her hips slowly and deliberately. “Then burn me up, Papa Bear.”

Taglist: @civilbucky @blythesarchives

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[kazumist]

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him. 

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent. 

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question. 

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries. 

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays. 

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment. 

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks. 

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with. 

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.” 

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?” 

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

-

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

-

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it. 

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant. 

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies. 

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies. 

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?” 

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

-

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

-

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off. 

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.” 

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why. 

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne. 

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place? 

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

-

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.” 

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this? 

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him. 

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago. 

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said. 

-

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to). 

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you. 

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t. 

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that. 

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know. 

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late. 

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you. 

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now. 

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.”  zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

[diushek]

I love getting Shen Qingqiu pregnant (and it's funny that just today I've done it twice already), so... Shen Yuan who transmigrates into Shen Qingqiu, and in the midst of his medical check-up with Mu Qingfang about that whole qi deviation thing, Mu Qingfang hints that perhaps the qi deviation was due to using too much of his qi to pause his pregnancy.

Shen Qingqiu it's like: pardon??? Pregnancy?????

Sure enough, the System confirms: Shen Qingqiu's body is pregnant! And Mu Qingfang, falling into all that of a certain amnesia after the qi deviation, explains to him that he has a pregnancy in a very early stage that he never wanted to interrupt, but "the responsibilities around him, responsibilities that only grew" were too much to have a baby at that time. And he's been putting off his baby's growth with qi... for a long time.

Shen Qingqiu asks him very, very quickly how the hell he can keep doing that. No. He's not having a baby. He's just getting a new body. He just died. What the fuck. Thanks, but no thanks.

Of course, later on, with Without-a-cure, it is very difficult to continue diverting his qi to keep the baby hidden and not growing inside him. At this point, Shen Qingqiu does not terminate the pregnancy just because... Because he does not feel capable. Plus, he feels a little guilty; the original goods could have terminated that pregnancy if he had wanted to. What gave him, an impostor in a stolen body, the right to end a life that the original Shen Qingqiu was so jealously protecting? He had already taken one life. He would not take a second.

So even he does need more qi about it, and if he needs Mu Qingfang's external qi to hide it during the larger outbreaks of Without-a-cure, Shen Qingqiu decides that maybe he'll give the baby a chance to be born when he has to throw Binghe into the Abyss. The house will be empty by then, won't it? And will be sad. And painful. And he'll need a distraction.

One month before the IAC, Shen Qingqiu lets go of the qi seal and allows the baby finally to continue growing. It is strange to feel it, and even stranger to feel it grow. Mu Qingfang congratulates him on his decision, explains what symptoms he will have to deal with in the coming weeks, what tea is best to avoid, what herbs he should drink. Shen Qingqiu is tense, distant and somewhat nervous, fearing something dangerous or close to a qi deviation since he was not actively sealing the baby now. His body still has to get used to the enormous hormonal chaos that will gradually subside; Shen Qingqiu is resigned and hateful, but he simply decides that it will not be something that will keep him awake at night.

The IAC passes. The morning after Shen Qingqiu throws Binghe into the abyss is painful and filled with tears and the first signs of morning sickness. Unfortunate timing, as many other Peak Lords and Sect Leaders see him nearly faint and run off to vomit.

What Shen Qingqiu doesn't expect (or, knowing the reputation of the original Shen Qingqiu, should expect) are the rumors.

Shen Qingqiu is jealously protecting his small belly bump, hiding it before it is necessary to say it, but it is inevitable that it will be discovered. It's surprisingly less well received than he expected. His refusal to speak about what happened to Luo Binghe, his refusal to give him up for dead, his enormous sadness, her refusal to tell the identity of the baby's other father... Shen Qingqiu is hearing the rumors from his own disciples before Shang Qinghua and his spy nets of An Ding disciples bring him the news that the rumors have already spread.

Apparently, everyone believes that Shen Qingqiu was having an affair with his spoiled disciple Luo Binghe ("He even bet so much on him and his victory in the IAC!"), and when a beast killed his beloved disciple, Shen Qingqiu fell into a heartbreaking sadness from which he could only be freed by the fruit of his love that was now growing in his womb.

Sensitive, loud, chaotic. Shang Qinghua mocks him. Shen Qingqiu hits him with his fan and insults him. Living with the author is an unpleasant nuisance when Shang Qinghua confirms that he never wrote about Shen Qingqiu being pregnant, although he didn't actually write about things that later happened either. The world filling in the plot holes, he says, and Shen Qingqiu hates it.

Pregnancy is a painless process. Shen Qingqiu suffers through it like anyone else, but he has his good moments. He gets excited about the baby. Mu Qingfang confirms to him that its a boy. He lulls him to sleep when he wakes him up in the middle of the night with kicks. Even before he is born, he is already causing trouble; Shen Qingqiu finds himself loving this little boy very much and wishing, after all this time, to finally meet him.

The baby is born. If Shen Qingqiu was curious about the identity of the second father, nothing on the baby's face tells it; it is a sweet and cute baby identical to Shen Qingqiu, except for some undeniably big and beautiful eyes.

He also has his own character: he cries a lot, he only calms down in Shen Qingqiu's arms, he hates strangers coming close, he cries when someone else carries him, and enjoys when Shen Qingqiu sings to him. He is quickly loved and spoiled by the entire sect and his disciples.

Shen Qingqiu allows himself to forget that he will only have four years to live for this baby. Luo Binghe will return seeking revenge, and Shen Qingqiu does not plan to escape; as long as he allows the baby to live, and as long as Cang Qiong don't burn, he can hand himself over to Luo Binghe's revenge.

(Of course he has prepared sun-moon dew mushrooms. He's not an idiot. He also has enough legal scrolls that in case he dies, his baby will stay with Shang Qinghua and the anonymous brother Shang; Shang Qinghua will run away with his little one and they will meet in a village far away, where the "anonymous brother" lived. Shen Qingqiu would raise his son as an anonymous herbalist and they would live as simple NPCs without bothering anyone.)

Shen Qingqiu has his beloved little baby and a plan. It is a surprise to him when, one night, there is a knock on his door. His baby is just over a year and a half old, he stammers a few words, he learned the dangerous art of walking and running; so little time, so much domestic comfort, of course Shen Qingqiu does not expect disciples returning from the Endless Abyss directly to his doorstep.

Yet there he is. Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe who looks at him with an unfathomable expression, dirty in blood, with torn robes. He is unbearably handsome, tall and with a heavy black sword on his back.

Shen Qingqiu is frozen, only thinking about running away with his baby, when Luo Binghe just falls to his knees in front of him.

("Shizun, the rumors are strong, even in the Abyss. When did this horrible disciple disgrace his Shizun like this? Will Shizun be able to forgive this one for his mistakes? If the Abyss was the punishment Shizun intended for this disciple's behaviour, then this one understands. Please forgive this horrible beast for his audacity.")

Shen Qingqiu had already made peace with the rumors. He actually tried to ignore them most of the time. So, for Luo Binghe of all people to believe them ("As if there was any way to forget... that!!! It takes two to make a baby, and you and I didn't do it...!!!"), and even more so, to feel guilty about them… As if something in Luo Binghe's head made him believe that if he were to get infected by the sex pollen of some flower, he could really dishonor his Shizun like that! For that you first need to want it with this Shizun, silly boy!

Shen Qingqiu knows that he has no chance to lie to him, less in something like that. As soon as Luo Binghe finds out that his son has no Heavenly Demon blood in his veins, it will be risky and dangerous. He wants to tell him the truth. He has to tell him the truth.

... However, who can blame a man for having a little hope that everything will eventually work out? Perhaps he should show the baby first, his little offspring, to making him understand that its a harmless baby and does not deserve to suffer. But who could blame him for wanting Luo Binghe to not notice the truth and just accept it and stay as if he had never left?

... Probably the same people who might blame Shen Qingqiu when he presented his sleeping son to Luo Binghe (after letting him bathe and eat something decent), and just a caress on his baby's pale forehead with the careful claw of Luo Binghe caused a red zuiyin to appear.

What the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK?! Airplane, WHO THE FUCK DID SHEN QINGQIU HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH??! WHAT OTHER HEAVENLY DEMONS ARE THERE?! HOW FUCKING LONG HAS THAT BABY BEEN HIDING?!

...

(Somewhere beneath the mountain, Tianlang-jun sneezes. Ah. Strong-willed human cultivators of pretty faces and bad temper. They were always his weakness. One would think that someone like Tianlang-jun would learn after being abandoned by a wandering cultivator apprenticed to a demonic cultivator with a very bad reputation, but, it was not the art of love also having a broken heart?)

[cherrycheolkat]

heyyyyy kat, this bingo card game is so fun!! im always looking forward to your next post. please can i request something from it too? i would like vehicle sex and oral fixation pretty please 🥺

hihiii ofc you can ^^ also that's sweet - i'm glad you like my fics <3 um i am maybe a little stuck on mingyu x noona but hope this is fun and sorry it took a few days for me to figure this one out

♡ kat

bingo square: vehicle sex + oral fixation

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader | mingyu x noona reader

summary: y/n was heading back to her apartment when mingyu offered her a ride - she didn’t realize her least focused student could actually be fully engrossed with a single activity 

genre: college au, collegestudent!mingyu, teachassistant!reader

word count: 1.8k

rating: 18+, mdni

warnings: explicit language, smut, age gap, car sex, topping from bottom, penetrative sex, finger sucking, nipple play

she had packed up after another class where maybe a quarter of the students actually paid attention to her - just because she was the ta, which was annoying. she was the one who graded all of their horrendous papers. and then there was maybe her most annoying student, kim mingyu - she rolled ideas, just thinking about him.

when she walked around the class for the last few weeks, she had noticed that he was literally watching march madness coverage and completely ignoring her lectures. she had gotten annoyed this evening and used her laser pointer on his screen. and just because that didn’t seem to phase him, she had called him out. she grinned as she replayed it in her mind - his half-stuttering bullshit answer that she meticously corrected. she had seen the way he stared daggers at her the rest of the session. but she didn’t care, as long as maybe paid attention - that was the point.

she walked through the quiet halls and could finally breathe when she exited the building, feeling the cool night air - she caught the sharp scent of ozone, and knew it was going to rain. she groaned, realizing she hadn’t brought her umbrella. she made it just outside of the building when she felt the first few ominous drops. she sighed and pulled the collar of her jacket up closer - she would get soaked, but it could be worse. 

she didn’t initially notice the black car next to her. she was concerned with getting home, not some person who was lost on campus. 

“y/n?” 

she paused, glancing over to the car. the driver had rolled down the window closest to her - she leaned down and tried to control her face as she saw none other than kim mingyu leaning towards the open window, looking at her with a smirk. she rolled her eyes, “come to my office hours if you have an issue, mingyu,” she kept walking. 

but he stayed next to her, “you know it’s starting to rain, right?”

“and?”

“do you want a ride?” his voice was too sweet for her liking, especially since she had pointedly embarrassed him maybe 45 minutes before. 

she shook her head, “no, thanks - have a nice night,” she tried to sound cordial and nothing more.

“come on, y/n, it’s not a big deal - even if you called me out in class,” he almost whispered the last part. 

she tried to smile, “i shouldn’t take rides from students,” she mumbled.

he grinned, “you’re not the professor, y/n, even if you basically do his job for him.”

she could feel rain drops hitting her more persistently - she groaned, “okay, fuck, fine.” she got into his ridiculously nice car and immediately wondered if he were a trust fund kid.

“so where am i taking you?” he asked softly.

she didn’t love the idea of him knowing where she lived, but she gave him her address - well close to her address - it was her friend’s place a few houses down from her own. if anyone egged her friend’s house, she would have a top suspect, she thought wryly. 

she leaned on the arm rest, trying to make it clear that she didn’t want to spend anymore time in his car than was necessary. the problem was when she felt his hand brush her thigh, and she practically jumped. 

“sorry,” he mumbled. she might have believed him if he hadn’t looked so smug about it.

she pursed her lips, “you know, if you bothered to pay attention in class, i wouldn’t have called on you - so if you’re annoyed about something”—

he cut her off, “why would i be annoyed? i wanted your attention, and i got it,” he smiled. 

she flushed, not knowing what to say. 

“you could just say you aren’t interested - i’m in your class, blah, blah, blah,” he offered, his voice low and silky.

she stared out the window not wanting to think about that he was a student - a junior student to her, but just another student for all intents and purposes. like he had said, she wasn’t the professor. 

when he touched her thigh again, she barely noticed until he squeezed her thigh while they waited at a stop light.

she glanced at him, “so what do you want? what do you think is happening right now exactly?”

he glanced at her for a moment, “i’m thinking how much i want to know if you’re wearing a bra today or not.” he said it so smoothly - she looked at him, taking in his profile as he watched the road. she wasn’t unaware of the way some students looked at her. she hadn’t pegged him as one of ‘those’ students. 

she felt his hand slide closer to her groin. she should probably stop him, but in all fairness, she liked how his hand looked on her thigh. she liked that he had thicker fingers - she liked that he had the hands of a man - there was nothing dainty about his fingers. she wondered how they would feel stretching her pussy.  

when they got to her friend’s address, she sighed, “it’s actually further down,” she pointed. 

he laughed softly, “ah - so you were going to hide in the bushes?”

she rolled her eyes, “no, it’s my friend’s place, and i have a spare key,” she responded tartly - as though she would hunker down in the bushes.

he was already pulling into her driveway. it was darker than her friend’s - there was more tree cover from heavy oaks on both sides. 

she didn’t touch the door handle. she was patient, wondering what little fantasy was playing in his mind. 

when he shifted in his seat, “come here,” he whispered. 

she glanced over, seeing the room between him and the steering wheel. it felt distinctly high school. but she wasn’t above that. she shifted to straddle him. he was fast to shove her jacket out of the way, and even faster to shover her thin sweater up to expose her tits to the cooler air of the car. 

she wasn’t prepared for the way he moaned at seeing her, “fuck,” he muttered, “look at you, baby,” he whispered. 

his hands slid over her breasts roughly, squeezing them while he moaned softly. 

“so now you know - no bra,” she whispered, leaning down so her lips were just next to his ear. She leaned back, letting him have the view he wanted so badly.  

he nodded, swallowing hard, as his fingers traced over her nipples - she knew why his eyes suddenly flashed to hers.

“serioulsy,” he whispered before he was suddenly leaning into her and sucking softly at her breast. 

she knew what he had felt, the little tiny piercings she had - she could feel his tongue playing with the tiny metal barbell - she moaned softly, her fingers pulling his short hair softly, loving how warm his mouth was. she moaned when he sucked harder, his tongue alternating between making little circles around her nipple and playing with her piercing. 

it felt like ages before he pulled away from her left breast, groaning, “how the fuck are you single?” he breathed.

she laughed, “it’s not like they’re not magic.”

he shook his head, leaning in to kiss her right breast, “yes, they are,” he whispered against her skin, licking and sucking the nipple he had been neglecting. she felt him pull her hips closer to his. she gulped when she felt how hard he was. 

she bit her lip softly when she felt the rough way he was sucking at her skin - she knew he would leave marks. she had the feeling that that was exactly his goal. she found herself pushing him back, pressing her fingers between his lips instead. she blushed watching the way he sucked on her fingers - it was when she made him gag and he didn’t seem to care that she knew she was too far down the path not to fuck him. 

he whimpered when she pulled her fingers away, “want to fuck, baby boy, not just tease each other,” she breathed as leaned over him, her fingers tracing along his cheek. he stared at her, already looking dazed. 

she rolled her hips against him - he moaned softly. she smiled, “do you even want to move?”

he swallowed, “why? i like this view,” he murmured.

“you just want someone else to do the work for you,” she didn’t care that her voice had sharpened. 

he shook his head, “promise i can fuck you from exactly where i am.”

she grinned, “mhmm, i’m sure.”

she wasn’t sure how either really managed to get out of their pants, but she knew she was slick enough to take his cock without prepping. and the slide was absolutely worth it - she arched back against the steering wheel, moaning, not sure that she had ever been stretched so well as she was in that single moment. 

she heard him, “such a good girl, taking all of me like that,” he whispered, kissing her throat. 

and then he shifted her just right so he could fuck up into her. his cock hit every spot she needed him to, and the way he held her hips so tightly - she knew there would be bruises the next day. she let her hands slide under his shirt, feeling his toned stomach, and the way his muscles flexed as he moved his hips. her head lolled to the side - he really was good. so good. she knew she left thin, angry scratch marks across his stomach - she knew he was pulling moan after moan from her

but it was when he came that she yelped softly, she was already stretched completely and now he was fucking her full of his cum and stroking her clit. apparently, he wouldn’t be satisfied until she came too. 

she quivered from the attention, whining softly, saying his name over and over, and then her orgasm hit her - washing over her like a wave - her eyelids fluttered closed as she felt her body reacting to his. she was shaking, leaning into him, knowing she had come undone for him. 

she felt his hands tracing over her skin, like he was keeping her from floating away. when he tipped her chin back to kiss her, it was surprising to her - how gentle he was. 

it was maybe less surprising that she woke up late the next morning with him in her bed - their limbs tangled after they had spent half the night fucking like animals. 

when she tried to get up, he only pulled her back, “stay with me,” he whispered. he was much more beguiling than she wanted to admit, but she still stayed, happily wrapped in his arms. 

a/n: again, trying to force myself to write a drabble and not go over 1k words skssksksss so 1.8k is perf right?? T-T

♡ kat

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[systlin]

Picking a Gor book at random: Marauders of Gor!

OH THIS IS THE SHITTY FAKE VIKING KNOCK OFF BOOK

SO. We open with Cow of House Cow, formerly known as Tarl Cabot. He got poisoned at the end of the last book and this paralyzed him. Should have upped the dose and killed him

(Bosk. He took the name Bosk because in book five he got taken slave by a lady who mean dommed him once and it fundamentally rewired his brain chemistry. He spends the rest of the books...all TWENTY SEVEN MORE OF THEM...going by the name Kind Mistress gave her pretty slave.)

ANYWAY. There's some dumb bullshit about a plot by the Kurii to conquer Gor. The Kurii are giant werewolf aliens who eat people, and I think Tarl bottomed for one once but that's a different book. They're the enemy of the Priest Kings.

Tarl then fixes the depression he's sunk into because he is Utterly Useless And Pathetic since his legs don't work. This somehow also fixes his legs? Who the fuck knows. He decides to go investigate. This whole baffling intro takes seventy pages.

Anyway.

This takes him to the north, where we find him in a Not!Catholic church. As in, it is exactly like a catholic church except it's to the PK's and not God. The head priest is the most overblown caricature of a greedy evil priest ever set to paper. Calling him one dimensional would be adding a dimension.

Naturally, the Shitty Terrible Vikings attack and loot the place.

Now, they don't attack at FIRST. Norm, thinking himself terribly clever, rips off a move from a saga written by actual good writers and steals the 'smuggle weapons into a church in a coffin with a viking leader who is totally dead you guys, we pinky promise' scheme. Our co hero with Tarl for the book, Ivar Forkbeard, is naturally not dead.

Ivar and his crew promptly loot the place, and also take slave all the pretty women they can find. Tarl, of course, impresses Ivar with his immense fighting ability (dodges a thrown spear) and Ivar decides to take him along with his crew, because Tarl has the thickest plot armor ever seen. They burn the church down and fuck off with their loot. We find out here that the Shit Vikings still follow their gods. Odin and Thor are the only two mentioned. They use a salute that would be very familiar to anyone who has watched WW2 documentaries or, more recently, Elon Musk.

On the longship, we learn a few things. One, that John Norman doesn't know shit about longships, because he gives them rigged sails. Two, that the shitty vikings eat snails raw out of the bilges, which seems like it would give you ten different diseases. Three, that they break slaves by tying them to the oars and dunking them into the north sea repeatedly for several hours, in a move that would totally not kill someone.

At Ivar's holdings, we see more slaves, and the new slaves are branded. Norm spends an immense amount of time and loving detail on this. Tarl is still having a great time. He happily feasts and drinks and rapes...his words, not mine...slaves left and right.

At one point, to discipline a woman, Ivar has her tied naked to a block of ice. For hours. This somehow doesn't kill her, and yet we are told women are weak.

They capture the daughter of a Jarl and enslave her, because she told Ivar to fuck off once and Norm is convinced that this means a woman is burning with a secret passion to literally lick a man's feet. Seriously. There's so much foot licking. In every book. It's in every book. Naturally she falls in love with Ivar and becomes his happy slave. This takes hundreds of pages and it's all horrible. All the poor women get names like Honey Cake, Pudding, ect.

Tarl and his new bestie and their slaves go to what is clearly an Althing, except worse. Ivar is an outlaw, see, and he wants to shove his dick in people's faces that he raised enough money to pay his fine but isn't gonna pay it anyway, because Real Men Don't Do Shit Like Participate Constructively In Society. Norm is INTENSELY culturally WASP, even though he claims to be an atheist. The whole rugged individualism he admires more than anything oozes like slime off most of these books. No, Ivar is clearly supposed to be someone we should aspire to be like, As Men, and Tarl has a huge crush on him I'm pretty sure. And he's a total piece of rat shit.

Ivar and Tarl win a bunch of contests because of course they do, and we see Free Women being unpleasant as Norm writes all free women. Namely, not taking any shit and talking back to men, which Norm calls 'haughty arrogance'. Ivar shows he has the cash to pay his fine, but refuses to. This amuses everyone enough though that they lift his sentence rather than just chucking him off a cliff for some reason.

The head of the Kurii on Gor comes to treat with the jarls. They all decide clearly this is a trick, because of course it is it's not subtle. The Kurii say that they have an army and will take Shitty Viking Land and also the south of Gor. The Shitty Vikings are like fuckit let's fight.

They do. It's somehow boring, in a way that vikings fighting space werewolves should actually find impossible to be. The vikings win by stampeding a herd of cattle over the space werewolves and also maybe some 800 year old legendary figure shows up?

Tarl, having reassured himself that he is a True Man, heads back to Port Kar.

The end.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 19

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“Don’t you dare take the medicine they gave you!”

Your voice came out sharp, panic twisting every syllable. Your hands gripped the hospital bed's railing so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Ransom frowned. “What the fuck is going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“This will be the third time.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ransom… My dad was diagnosed with cancer here by Dr. Stark. Almost a year of chemotherapy and medication. But I kept noticing something—cancer patients always seek second opinions. So I took him to see Alan.”

Ransom’s jaw clenched. He knew that name. Alan was a top-tier specialist, the kind people flew across the world to see.

You took a shaky breath and continued, “And my friend—misdiagnosed, too. The first doctor told him he wouldn’t be able to use his hand for six months. Then the second doctor checked and said it was bullshit—his injury wasn’t even that severe.”

Ransom’s stomach twisted. His back was already screaming in pain, but now a new fear crept in—was he even injured as badly as they claimed? Were they experimenting on him?

“That’s terrifying,” he muttered. His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want to fucking die because of this.”

You grabbed his wrist, your fingers pressing into his skin. “I’m afraid too. I don’t want you to become their test subject.”

Ransom exhaled sharply, then nodded. He squeezed your hand, his grip firm, steady. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he added, “You should come with me.”

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Are you nuts?” His voice was sharper now, laced with frustration.

You exhaled. “Ransom, I have something to deal with.”

He was about to argue, but then you said it.

“The audit is incomplete. Needs an extra review.”

Ransom froze. His expression hardened. He wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what that meant.

It was a code. A system you both had built working in finance, a way to alert each other when things got dangerous. Because let’s be real—most people with obscene amounts of money were crooked, and sometimes, that meant walking into situations that could get you killed.

This was Code One: "I’ve got an investigation going on. I’ll call you when I need help."

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Without another word, you turned and made a call. Right now, you were grateful you’d left this town and built connections that could make things happen with a single request.

Exactly one hour later, the sound of whirring blades filled the sky. A medical helicopter descended onto the hospital’s landing pad.

Ransom smirked as he sat up, wincing at the pain but pushing through it. “I’m only one call away.”

You met his gaze, your lips pressing together. “I knew I could count on you.”

As the helicopter doors slid shut, you stepped back, watching as the aircraft lifted off the ground and disappeared into the sky.

“Why did he leave so suddenly? He still needs treatment,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you.

You didn’t turn around. “His mother sent the helicopter for him.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Bucky asked, “You’re not going with him?”

You finally turned, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

His eyes studied you carefully.

“I’ll be staying to continue the deal.”

A small, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “Good. I assure you, your bank won’t regret investing in this town. Especially with the new hospital—it’ll help a lot of people.”

“And your dad could come back and get treated here.”

You froze mid-step at the mention of your father. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “Yeah.”

Bucky hummed, watching you. “Are you heading home?”

“Yup.”

There was a pause. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… so, actually—”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“I was planning a surprise.”

Your stomach dropped. “What did you do, Bucky?”

His smirk deepened. “Well… I decided to renovate your house.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. “What the fuck?!”

Bucky lifted his hands in defense. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But don’t worry—it's all on me.”

“What gave you the right to renovate my home without my permission? Or my dad’s?”

He didn’t flinch, staying perfectly calm. “Did you forget your dad agreed to give me the funeral home when he retired?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Yeah? But he’s not retired yet.”

“I bought it.”

The words hit you like a punch. Your mouth went dry. “So all this time… my dad’s just been living there for free?”

Bucky exhaled, his expression unreadable. “It’s… yeah. And I have no problem with that. I would never force Tom or you to leave.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you turned on your heel and headed toward your house.

He wasn’t joking.

The second you arrived, your stomach twisted. Construction workers were everywhere. The house had been completely renovated—even your room. Fresh paint, new furniture, everything different from what you remembered. It was like walking into someone else’s home.

You rubbed your temples. “Where the hell am I supposed to live now?”

Bucky stood beside you, unfazed. “You can stay at the hotel again.”

A deep sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

His smirk returned. “This one’s on me too. I’ll give you the best suite in the hotel.”

You shot him a pointed look. “You better.”

As you made your way downstairs, something caught your eye—a dusty old photo frame sitting on a table. You stepped closer, your breath hitching.

It was a picture of your mother.

The first time you’d ever seen one.

Other kids were in the photo, kids who were obviously older now. Your gaze traveled over their faces—there was a boy who looked like Bucky, which had to be Alex, then Tony, the mayor, and Mr. Rogers. And then, at the very back of the group, barely fitting into the frame, was your father.

Like an outcast.

Your mother, on the other hand, stood at the center like a queen, beautiful and radiant. It made you wonder—why did she choose your dad?

She could have had anyone.

“Don’t worry about Tony.” Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts. He must have assumed you were staring at Tony in the photo. “I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You glanced at him, nodding. “Thanks.”

That night, your new hotel suite was undeniably luxurious. Soft sheets, the perfect temperature, the best accommodations money could buy.

And yet, you would have preferred your old home.

What made it worse?

Bucky leaned casually against the doorway and smirked. “If you need anything, just knock. My room’s right next door.”

Your stomach sank.

Shit.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

You sighed, glancing at the door. If it was Bucky, you’d pretend you didn’t hear it. But when you peeked through the spy hole, relief washed over you—it was Jake Jensen.

You quickly unlocked the door and pulled him inside before he could even finish saying, “Hi—”

“Oh…” He blinked, adjusting his glasses. “I heard what happened to your friend. I’m sorry.”

“He’s fine.” You shut the door behind him. “Please tell me you’ve got something.”

Jake hesitated. He had the information you needed—you could see it in his eyes. But something was off.

“Yes.” His tone was uncertain.

Your stomach tightened. “But…?”

“I think it’s better if you meet my mother instead.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “She wants to meet you.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course. Miss Gossip herself.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Sloane sat in her worn armchair, knitting with steady, practiced hands. The dim lighting of the small parlor cast long shadows, giving the place an eerie, timeless feel. She barely glanced up as you and Jake entered, but you could tell—she already knew you were there.

With a quiet sigh, she adjusted her glasses and let her sharp gaze travel from your head to your toes.

“No matter what she did, you still look like her.”

You raised an eyebrow, cautiously taking a seat on the couch nearest to her. “You mean my mother?”

“Yes.” Her voice was calm but laced with something deeper—something knowing.

You exchanged a glance with Jake before turning back to her. “I heard from Jake that you have information about Stark and the mayor.”

Sloane gave a small nod, her fingers still working the yarn as if the conversation meant nothing. “It all comes back to your mother. Luna.”

Your stomach twisted at the name. “What did my mother do that made everyone in this town hate my dad and me?”

Sloane chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not hate, child. It’s fear. Guilt has a way of turning into fear.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, setting her knitting down for the first time. “It all started the moment she arrived in this town.”

“Arrived?” You frowned.

“You probably don’t know this, but your mother was adopted.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A cold chill ran down your spine, and for a moment, you thought you misheard her. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in.

Sloane watched your reaction carefully. “Judging by your face, I was right. You didn’t know.”

You could only shake your head.

She leaned forward slightly. “Your mother was adopted by the previous mortician—your step-grandparents.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably beside you, clearly as shocked as you were.

“It happened fifty years ago,” Sloane continued. “A car accident on the outskirts of town. A young couple died on impact, but their child—Luna—survived. She was only three years old.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“The ones who took her in were your grandparents. They saw her as a blessing, a miracle, because they couldn’t have children of their own. And in a town like this, adoption was difficult—there were hardly any orphaned children. Even when there were, no child wanted to live in a funeral home.”

Sloane smirked slightly. “It scared them.”

You swallowed hard, your hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“But Luna… she was different. Your grandparents gave her everything—beautiful clothes, the best toys. They finally have a daughter so they spoiled her to death. And everyone noticed. Every child was jealous of her. And when she grew up, she became the most beautiful girl in town.”

Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “This is when she met Alex, right?”

Sloane nodded. “Not just him. Everyone. Everyone wanted to be her friend, to be near her. But they were jealous, too.”

She exhaled, eyes distant, as if recalling an old memory. “She was beautiful, just like her name. Like a goddess of the moon. People couldn’t look away. Men were drawn to her—sometimes against their better judgment.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Did they…?”

A grim expression crossed Sloane’s face. “Sadly, yes. More than one man tried. And their eyes… they never hid their lust when they looked at her.”

Your stomach churned.

“Alex,” Sloane said after a beat, “Bucky’s father… I remember him and Luna being a power couple. But he was possessive. He had to be—his closest friends wanted her, too.”

Your lips parted slightly. “You mean the other three? Including Mr. Rogers?”

Sloane scoffed. “That man? Please. He could only admire her from afar.”

She sighed, setting her knitting aside completely. “One day, Luna broke up with Alex. And she chose Tom instead.”

“Why?” you asked, almost breathless.

Sloane’s next words made your entire world tilt.

“Because she found out the truth.”

Your body tensed. “The truth?”

Sloane’s gaze locked onto yours, unflinching. “About the car accident that killed her parents.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Alex was involved?”

“No. But his father was.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Along with the other fathers in their little gang.”

Your breath hitched, your hands gripping the armrests of the couch. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.

Sloane’s voice was quiet but razor-sharp. “Bucky is just like his father. And Alex? Just like his father. Like father like son. They were reckless. Popular. Untouchable. They drove like they owned the roads, ignoring every warning. The sheriff tried to stop them, told them not to drive under the influence.” She scoffed. “They didn’t listen.”

Your mind reeled. It all made sense now—why your mother left Alex, why your family was treated like outsiders.

Your mother’s real parents were killed by Alex’s father and his friends.

No wonder she couldn’t stay with him.

No wonder they feared you and your father.

You exhaled shakily. “And my dad?”

Sloane smiled faintly. “Ah, Tom. The quiet one. He was a runaway, just a lost boy. Your grandfather took him in, trained him to be a mortician. Nobody noticed him.”

Your chest tightened. “And when he got close to Luna?”

“He became their favorite punching bag.”

A deep, aching anger twisted inside you. Your nails dug into your palm.

Sloane studied you carefully. “Do you want to know why she truly chose him?”

You shook your head, but she told you anyway.

“Because he was the only man in town who didn’t look at her with lust. He respected her. Gave her space.”

She also chose Tom so her future children wouldn’t inherit her beauty. Luna saw her beauty as a curse. She doesn't want her child to suffer like her. But if she were still alive, she would be disappointed that her plan had failed. Look at your daughter now, Luna, Sloane thought as she watched you step into her house. She’s not as beautiful as you, but she carries the same confidence—the kind that draws everyone in, just like you did.

You inhaled sharply.

“That’s why they fear you,” Sloane continued. “Every time they see you or Tom, they remember what they did to her. And to him.”

Your jaw clenched. Every piece of the puzzle fit perfectly now, and it only made you hate this town more.

Sloane leaned back. “Now, about Stark. You should know—he was obsessed with your mother.”

You barely had time to process that before she dropped another bombshell.

“And the mayor?” She smirked. “Everyone knows he’s corrupt. But what people don’t talk about is the fact that he’s Thor’s real father.”

Your mouth fell open. “What?”

Jake finally spoke, his voice low. “Wait… how do you know all this?”

Sloane chuckled, picking up her knitting again. “Honey, I own a hair salon. My mother owned it before me. Do you know what that means?” She raised an eyebrow. “I hear everything. And let me tell you something—rumors? They’re always based on truth.”

Jake sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mom…”

“What about Natasha?” you asked.

Sloane’s mood soured instantly. “That snobby brat. She insulted my salon. I never liked her.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Thank you for telling me all this. But why now? Why are you helping me?”

Sloane grinned. “Because I heard you’re rich.”

Jake groaned. “Mom!”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sloane shrugged. “I also saw your car.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. At least this made things easier. “What do you want, Mrs. Jensen?”

Sloane’s eyes gleamed. “A cruise. Around the world.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. “Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

You chuckled, standing up and extending your hand. “You got it, Sloane. I’ll book you the best cruise money can buy. You won’t ever want to leave the ship.”

Sloane smirked, holding up the business card between her fingers. “This is what I’m talking about.”

You reached into your wallet, pulled out another card, and handed it to her. “Call this number. Give them my name. Then tell them exactly what you want.”

Sloane took the card, flipping it over with mild curiosity. When she read the title, her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Vice President of Drysdale Co."

“Awesome.” She grinned, tucking the card into her apron pocket before standing up. Without another word, she headed toward the stairs, disappearing onto the second floor.

Jake let out a long breath beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I’m sorry about my mom. She can be a bit much.”

You leaned back on the couch, stretching your arms over the backrest. “I don’t mind. Actually, I got everything I needed.”

Jake blinked at you, clearly surprised. “You did?”

You nodded. “More than I expected, actually.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah… that was a lot.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Could you get someone to meet me?”

Jake’s posture straightened. “Of course. Who?”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Natasha.”

At the Arcade

The neon lights flickered against the scuffed tile floor, casting an eerie glow over the buzzing machines. The scent of buttered popcorn and cheap soda lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of coins and the distant beeps of arcade games.

You leaned against a pinball machine, arms crossed, watching the entrance. People came and went, laughter and shouts filling the space, but you weren’t here for fun.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“I heard you wanted to see me?”

You turned your head, meeting Natasha’s sharp gaze. She stood near the entrance, arms crossed, exuding her usual air of arrogance.

“I am,” you replied smoothly, straightening up.

Natasha stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “Well, here I am. So, what do you want?”

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@read-just-cant

@loki-laufeyson68

@anixerz

@ghalouha

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@emerald-writes

@mcira

@barnesxstan

@bxtchboy69

@lokislady82

@mrsnikstan

@calwitch

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@calwitch

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@chimchoom

@winchestert101

@raajali3

[luvfae]

GHOST OF US

summary: you run into your ex inside the games

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: angst, typical squid game stuff, death, swearing, drug addiction

The second you saw him, your heart stopped.

It wasn’t just the familiar face—it was the memories, the pain, the betrayal that came rushing back all at once. Su-Bong.

You ducked behind a group of players, keeping your head down as the crowd milled around after the massacre of Red Light, Green Light. Blood still stained the dirt. People were sobbing. Some were in shock. And then there was him.

He stood out like he always did—shoulders squared, chin high, an air of unbothered arrogance even in the face of death. He was scanning the crowd, as if looking for someone.

As if looking for you.

You turned, ready to slip away, but it was too late.

“Oh my god! Señorita!”

His voice rang out, loud and unabashedly thrilled, like you were old friends who had just run into each other at a café instead of exes trapped in a nightmare.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest in an embrace that was far too warm, far too easy.

“Is that really you, baby?”

You shoved at his chest, barely managing to put space between you. “Get away from me, Su-bong.”

“Baby, it’s Thanos now, remember?” He grinned like that name didn’t make your stomach churn.

“Of course, I fucking remember that stupid fucking name.” Your glare was sharp, your chest heaving.

His grin only widened. “So feisty. Just like I remember.”

You wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. But more than anything, you wanted to get the hell away from him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you bit out, turning on your heel.

But before you could disappear into the sea of players, his voice stopped you.

“I missed you, you know.”

You froze.

He said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t ruined everything.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you walked away, ignoring the way your heart pounded, ignoring the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

But what you didn’t realize was that Thanos wasn’t going to let you slip away so easily.

Not this time.

The second game was hell.

The Six-Legged Pentathlon had left you gasping for air, your legs burning, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. But you survived. You and your team had scraped through by sheer will, and when the final whistle blew, relief crashed over you like a wave.

Thanos spotted you before you saw him. His eyes lit up, and in seconds, he was running toward you, arms outstretched like a lover reunited after war.

“I’m so glad you made it, babe.”

You barely had time to react before he was right there in front of you, grinning like an idiot.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

He pouted but didn’t back away. “Come sit with me, Thanos will protect you.”

“I said fuck off!”

But he didn’t. Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you close, his touch hot against your skin.

“Baby, no,” he cooed, eyes locking onto yours like he could sweet-talk you into anything. “I’ve been calling you since we broke up. You’ve been dodging my calls.”

You snorted. “I blocked your number, you idiot.”

His smirk faltered. For a second, just a second, you saw something raw flicker across his face.

“Baby, I was going to jump off the Han River Bridge.”

You stiffened.

His grip on your wrist didn’t tighten, but you felt it like a noose around your throat.

“I couldn’t go on without you,” he continued, voice too light, too casual for a confession like that. “Then some dude gave me a business card. Same one you got, I assume. And now we’re here together. It’s like fate.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m here because of you. I’m in debt because of you, Su-bong.”

His gaze softened, but you weren’t sure if it was guilt or something else.

“You were really going to jump?” you asked, the words barely a whisper.

He nodded. “I was, babe. ‘Cause I lost my fucking perfect angel baby, and you were the only thing worth living for.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Don’t be so stupid, Su-bong,” you muttered. “You have plenty to live for.”

His lips curled, something dark and amused in his expression.

“Like what?”

You froze.

You actually didn’t know.

He lost his fame. Had no money. His family had cut him off.

He had nothing.

“Exactly,” he whispered, smiling down at you like it was funny.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

The room buzzed with murmured conversations, but none of it reached you. You sat alone, barely touching the bland rice and cold soup in front of you, stomach twisting from the weight of the day. People had died. Some in an instant. Some screaming.

And yet, here you were, expected to eat, expected to sleep, expected to go on like it was normal.

A shadow loomed over you before a tray clattered onto the bed.

“You look lonely, angel.”

You tensed at the voice, at the way Thanos slid into the bed beside you like he belonged there. He nudged your tray toward you, his eyes scanning your untouched food.

“Eat,” he ordered.

“I’m not hungry.”

He clicked his tongue, grabbing your spoon and scooping up some rice. “Eat,” he repeated, pushing it toward your lips.

You glared at him, but when he didn’t back down, you reluctantly took a bite. It tasted like nothing, but he watched you chew, satisfied, before setting the spoon down.

“That’s my girl.”

You hated how warm his voice was, how easily he slipped back into old habits.

Hated how, when your vision blurred with tears, he was the one who pulled you against his chest.

“I got you, baby,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “I got you.”

That night, he stayed close.

His arm was draped over your waist, his body curled protectively around yours. You weren’t sure how you ended up like this—whether it was his doing or yours. Maybe both. But in that moment, as the room buzzed with tension and quiet sobs, you let him hold you.

Just for tonight.

The next game was Mingle.

The moment the rules were explained, panic set in.

You scrambled, moving through the crowd, grabbing onto shoulders, onto sleeves, searching for anyone—anyone—to take you in. Every door shut too fast, groups locking themselves in just in time.

The number dwindled.

Four.

Then three.

Then two.

And suddenly, you were alone.

Your chest heaved, your eyes darting around the room, searching, pleading—

A rough hand grabbed your wrist.

Before you could react, you were being yanked, dragged across the floor, shoved into a room.

Two people inside barely had time to protest before Thanos kicked them out, slamming the door shut just as the final buzzer went off.

Silence.

You were safe.

Alive.

Because of him.

Your breath came out shaky as you looked at him, his chest rising and falling, his grip still firm on your wrist.

“You saved me.”

“I’ll always save you, señorita.”

You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

Back at the bunks, Thanos sat beside you in silence.

For once, he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t smirking. Just… waiting.

Then, finally—

“I’ll get clean.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“I’ll do it for you,” he said. “I miss you. You mean more to me than any drug, and I fucked up so badly last time.” He exhaled, his hands curling into fists. “Give me another chance, baby. Please.”

You stared at him, searching his face for lies, for manipulation.

But all you saw was desperation.

“I’m not making promises in here,” you said quietly. “I could be dead tomorrow.”

He flinched.

“But if we make it out alive,” you continued, “I’ll consider giving you a second chance. But one wrong move, and I’m gone. Forever. Understood?”

“Understood,” he nodded.

And for the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—he meant it.

That night, he was killed.

A fork. A fucking fork to the neck in the bathrooms.

You heard the commotion. Heard the shouts, the panicked gasps. But by the time you got there, he was already slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him.

You stood frozen at the entrance of the bathroom, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air.

Thanos’ body twitched, his fingers weakly grasping at the wound in his neck, as if he could stop the blood from spilling out. His breaths were shallow, his eyes unfocused, struggling to find you in the dim light.

You should’ve walked away.

Should’ve turned your back, let him bleed out, let fate finish what it started.

But your feet carried you forward.

You crouched beside him, pressing your trembling hands against his chest as if that could do anything.

His lips curved into the smallest smirk. “Angel…” His voice was nothing more than a breath.

“Shut up, Su-bong,” you hissed. “Save your fucking strength.”

His eyes softened, a sadness settling in them that you weren’t ready for.

“Wasn’t… supposed to end like this,” he murmured. “Not before I—” He coughed, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth. “Not before I proved it to you.”

Your throat tightened.

He meant getting clean. He meant being better.

But now… now he was dying.

And you couldn’t stop it.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Who did this?”

Thanos’ bloody hand grasped yours.

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Just… just get out of here, okay? Win this thing.” His grip weakened. “Live.”

Your breath hitched.

And then, just as suddenly as he had crashed back into your life, he was gone.

The rise and fall of his chest stilled. His fingers went slack. The light in his eyes flickered out.

You stared.

There was no relief. No satisfaction.

Only a hollow ache, one that settled deep inside you, twisting and festering like an open wound.

You reached out, brushing a hand over his bloodstained cheek, your vision blurring.

You should’ve hated him. Should’ve felt nothing.

But instead, you felt everything.

And you hated him for that too.

With a shaky breath, you stood up, stepping back, leaving him there.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

[whatonearthisgoingon]

Demon Giyuu AU

I've been obsessing over Demon Giyuu and SaneGiyuu, so have a little rant/fic about the idea.

There is also some past SabiGiyuu mentioned, but it's minor. Word Count: 2,151

Okay, so Giyuu is on a standard mission against a Lowermoon or minorly powerful but not ranked demon, when out of nowhere someone in the Upper 3 comes along as a reinforcement for the first demon.

Giyuu tries his absolute hardest to kill the demons, to the point where he unlocks the mark. In the end, with the combination of the Uppermoon and lower ranked demon, Giyuu eventually looses, but he's not dead yet, barely conscious and struggling to move. The Upper demon he's against, is pretty impressed with the fight Giyuu gave, and gives him blood, Giyuu too weak to fight back against it. The two demons leave, not waiting to see if Giyuu survives.

Giyuu, feeling the changes, calls Kanzaburo to send a message to the Master and the Hashiras, before eventually passing out from exhaustion as the transformation starts.

Eventually the Hashiras find Demon Giyuu where he's relatively calm for a recently turned demon. He found a stream nearby and is calmly sitting in the water. He found out pretty early that he can control the water, so he's making it form into a multitude of pretty shapes. The Hashiras approach with caution, but their guard is soon dropped as Giyuu brightly talks to them, stating how he's happy they found him.

The only Hashiras who aren't convinced are Sanemi and Obanai. So what does Sanemi do? He walks up to Giyuu, and slashes his own arm open, the Marechi blood dripping down. Sanemi: "You're still so human, right? So surely this has no effect on you, huh? Go on, you know you want it!"

Giyuu is trying his hardest to resist, backing away as Sanemi merely gets closer, taunting him with the blood. Giyuu's eyes are transfixed on the wound, and his breath is becoming more labored as he tries to resist the demonic urges. Eventually, he's able to turn away from Sanemi, refusing the blood; that's enough to convince the other Hashiras of Giyuu's trustworthiness, just as it worked for Nezuko.

As the night is still high, they bring Giyuu back to the Water Estate, where the Master is waiting. They have a long discussion over Giyuu's new condition; how he can't be in the sun, the Blood Demon Art, how missions with non-hashiras should be avoided, a supplementary beef and pork diet to hopefully substitute any cravings for human flesh, etc. After the big topics are discussed, the biggest question arises; who will stay with Giyuu, and make sure he doesn't go crazy and hurt anyone for the next few weeks or months, as he has only recently transformed? Who is strong enough to keep him in check? All eyes turn to Sanemi.

Sanemi: "Why is everyone looking at me?" Obanai: "As much as I hate to admit it, that prick is stronger than all of us, minus you and Gyomei. But I think we can all agree that Gyomei won't be the best at watching a demon." Sanemi: "I'm not watching over the demon fuck- I hate him! There's no way that I'll be taking care of him-!"

-----------------------------------------------------

Giyuu watches as the door shuts when the last Hashira leaves, leaving him and a fuming Sanemi in a room alone, after the Master commanded Sanemi to stay with Giyuu. It's quiet for a minute, when Giyuu finally speaks.

Giyuu: "Do you have a certain type of tea you like? I can make a pot-" Sanemi: "Shut the fuck up, this is all your fault." Giyuu: " ...... I'll just make myself one then.." He says as he stands up and walks out.

Sanemi eventually joins Giyuu, because he has nothing else to do, and he's stuck with the damn idiot, so why not have some tea while he's at it. The two sit in silence, drinking tea, until Giyuu speaks.

Giyuu: "I don't have much set up in my estate, so we can live together in yours." Sanemi: "Excuse me?" Giyuu: "Well the Master said we had to stay together, so you can watch me- so I presume we'll be staying in the same estate?" Sanemi: Loudly sighs. "Whatever you dumb shit, sure. My estate or whatever. Just don't make a mess, you hear me?" Giyuu: "Of course."

Giyuu goes quiet again, just drinking his tea, but he has a small smile. He doesn't know how to explain it, or why he's feeling it, but he's really happy that he gets to hang out with Sanemi now.

When tea is over, they pack up some of Giyuu's clothes, and they go to Sanemi's Estate before the sun rises. While Giyuu is putting his stuff in the guest bedroom, Sanemi goes around his Estate, making sure all the windows are shut and covered with curtains. There's no way he'd let Giyuu see him doing something nice or caring for him like that, so he rushes to get it all done before Giyuu is done unpacking.

Later Sanemi goes to bed, as does Giyuu, as they had been up all night dealing with demon nonsense. The next night, they go on their first mission together.

As they are now eating meals together, going on missions together, and living together, the two start growing closer together. The animosity and tension is still there, but it has become to change. Rather hating Giyuu's whole dumb face, Sanemi specifically hates that dumb, stupid, disgustingly pretty, blue eyes. Giyuu's opinion on Sanemi's anger has shifted from one of irritation to a minor annoyance with a small hint of fondness to it; it's what makes Sanemi, Sanemi.

One night, Giyuu is calmly sitting in his room, reading something, when he hears a yell and a crash from Sanemi's room. He gets up and goes to Sanemi's room, finding him freshly woken from a nightmare.

Rather asking questions, Giyuu just sits down, gently taking the shaking Sanemi's hand. He's quiet, and just sits there, being a comforting presence as Sanemi's racing heart rate slowly lowers. Sanemi squeezes and relaxes his hold on Giyuu's hand many times, Giyuu's presence grounding him.

After a few minutes, Sanemi does something surprising. He hugs Giyuu. Giyuu is shocked at first, but doesn't fight against it, hugging Sanemi. They sit like that for a few minutes, until Sanemi mumbles a quiet "Thank you."

That night, Giyuu lays back down with Sanemi, holding him in that hug, his hands wrapped around Sanemi's waist. The two fall asleep together as the sun rises, and they are still holding each other when they awake in the evening.

They have a meal together, acting like nothing happened, then go on the night's mission. When they return they do their usual routine of a meal, getting ready for bed, etc. But this night, Giyuu follows Sanemi to his room for sleep. Sanemi, although confused at first, doesn't argue, letting Giyuu lay down with him. He would never admit it, but last night was the best he'd slept in years.

This routine continues, neither man willing to bring up the developing intimate relationship between them. It's easier to stay quiet and let it happen. But over the next month, they grow even closer. Hugging and hand holding around the house is becoming common. They pick food off each other's plates. They cook their meals together in the kitchen, or over a fire on missions. They spar together at night when they don't have a mission.

A few times when the two are talking and are close together, there is a want for more, when the two's faces are only a foot or so apart. Sometimes when they hug, the hands trail a little lower than they're supposed to.

Sanemi is pissed at these feelings. Giyuu is a man- and he's not even a human man. He's a demon. A relationship like that would be an abomination on two levels. They'd be executed for this shit, Giyuu much more instantly than Sanemi would. Sure, they could run, but neither of them want that, do they?

Giyuu on the other hand, is less mad that he likes a man, but that that man is Sanemi. Because he knows why its Sanemi specifically. Sanemi... Sabito... The aggressive personality, the purple eyes with so much emotion behind them, the scars formed in battle from strength and courage. He fell for the same person all over again. And just like all of the other people Giyuu loved, Giyuu is scared that something drastic will happen to Sanemi.

The two continue their "friendship," while both holding these feelings inside of them, refusing to speak to each other, too scared of how the other will feel, and how the world will react.

Some of the Hashiras started noticing the shift in the two's relationship. Iguro notices that Sanemi isn't irritated by the mere thought of Giyuu anymore. Shinobu notices that Giyuu's fascination over Sanemi has only increased into a shared friendship; she is very happy for Giyuu. Mitsuri is happy that there is less tension in Hashira meetings now, because they are getting along.

The only Hashira who really notices that the two men long for more, is Tengen. And he's pretty sure he is more accepting of that idea, than the two men infront of him are.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ubuyashiki: "I trust Giyuu to be by himself now. He has been a demon for about 5 months now, and has proven that he is safe to be around, and safe to be on missions by himself." Looking at Sanemi and Giyuu "Sanemi does not need to watch over Giyuu constantly anymore." He pauses then smiles. "If the two of you.. wish to separate, Giyuu can return to his own estate."

Ubuyashiki says that with a certain tone, and a soft smile on his face, suggesting that he knows the two will most likely not want to separate. He makes it clear that this is an option, not a requirement. He dismisses the meeting, and Sanemi and Giyuu return to the Wind Estate.

Sanemi: "So? Are you staying or going?" Giyuu: "Well.. I mean, all my belongings are here anyway.." Sanemi: Nods a little "Yeah, they are.. but.. you want to stay here still?" Giyuu: "Do you want me to leave?" He says with a slightly sad tone Sanemi: "No!" Realizes he was way too quick and loud with his answer. "I mean, you make my life easier, help with cooking and cleaning shit.." Giyuu: Smiles a little. "Well, I'll go get started.. I'll make sure there's some ohagi for dessert.." Sanemi: "Yeah whatever, I'm getting a shower.." He walks off, not letting Giyuu see the smile on his face, now knowing that Giyuu wants to stay. After living together, fully on their own choice, for a few weeks, Giyuu decides that it's finally time to talk about what the two of them are. On a night without a mission, Giyuu takes Sanemi outside to the backyard of the Wind Estate, at around 11:50 pm. They're sitting quietly looking at the scenery under a full moon, when Giyuu speaks up.

Giyuu: "Sanemi, what are we?" Sanemi: Confused. "What do you mean?" Giyuu: "Well.. we've been living together for a few months. We go on almost every mission together. We eat meals together. We hug and hold hands. We sleep in the same bed. Is it wrong of me to assume there is something more than friendship between us? We are acting like a couple." Sanemi: He freezes up for a minute, not responding. His first instinct is to tell Giyuu off, 'How dare you think of me as a fag.' 'What on earth are you talking about.' But he doesn't. Instead he thinks about his words, before responding. "What do you think of our relationship? How would you react if a name was put on it?" Giyuu: He's quiet while he considers, then sighs. "I.. I wouldn't mind the title.. But if you do mind the title, then I think we should try to distance ourselves into a normal platonic relationship, because that is not where we are at right now." Sanemi: He considers Giyuu's words, then softly whispers. "I wouldn't mind the title.. saying we're.. together" Giyuu: He finally looks at Sanemi, then takes Sanemi's hand in his own. "Well, can I say 'I love you' then, Sanemi?" Sanemi: Laughs a little as he turns red in the cheeks. "Maybe give it a day, but sure.." He smiles, still avoiding eye contact with Giyuu; if he met his gaze, he would probably explode. Giyuu: "Alright.." He stands up, letting go of Sanemi's hand as he does, then turns to the door. "I'll be in bed. Take as long as you need." Looks inside and sees as the clock strikes as midnight. "And, I love you.." He says as he walks inside. Sanemi: Laughs "You're a fucking dick, Tomioka!" He smiles fondly at Giyuu's antics, before quietly whispering once Giyuu leaves. "I love you too.."

[ravewulf]

I was thinking about the fact Tyler Hoechlin was told that Derek had only ever slept with Kate right before he was about to film the scene where Derek and Jennifer sleep together for the first time.

Where did we get this info? It's also incorrect because Derek did have sex after Kate and before Jennifer.

Eli was 15 in 2026, meaning he was born sometime before Fall 2011 (start of the school year). Wind the clock back another 9 months and Derek had to have had sex with someone in 2010 before season 1 (season 1 started in January 2011).

(I have a headcanon that he also got into New York's gay club and/or kink scene since Jeff mentioned Derek going to Splash Bar, but that's a headcanon and apocrypha respectively, not canon)

That's enormously important information that he needed to know for his performance and not letting him know earlier than that was incredibly disrespectful.

If Hoechlin was told this (and I do not know if he was), you're correct on the first part but way off base on the second. Acting is a job, they tell him what he needs to know when he needs to know it. That is not a sign of disrespect.

In this case, they needed him to act as if it was the first time since Kate (even though it wasn't) because Jennifer was using the power of the virgin sacrifices to magically influence him. They may not have come out and said it like that because that knowledge would also have an impact on his performance, potentially making it less genuine if he knew Derek was being manipulated.

(He also said he knew the thumb hole shirt was totally wrong for Derek, but at that point he was so tired of fighting TPTB for character consistency that he just gave up in that instance.)

Source for this? And how is the thumb hole sweater wrong for Derek? I love Hoechlin, but the writers have the final say as far as what is "right" for a character (though we can always disagree with them, and I have on other decisions they've made). Derek has a soft side and we see more of that during 3B (getting candy and scaring kids on Halloween, etc).

On the other hand, Derek was possessed by the Nogitsune's fly at the time and it's a different outfit than he was wearing when the fly crawled into his wound back at the loft, so it could be chalked up to that if you don't think it fits Derek's character.

After Kate and Jennifer a part of Derek must have expected Braeden to try and kill him too, and when she didn't I can see him imprinting on her like a baby bird. His parents had a good marriage, and that was something he always wanted and expected he would have too. That is one of the reasons Kate was able to con him. It wasn't just sex and teen hormones for him.

Correct about what Derek expected, to some degree, as he's had pretty shitty luck there, but he absolutely did not "imprint" on Braeden.

The part about Derek's parents is completely made up. There's absolutely nothing about that in the show. If Hoechlin has a headcanon about it, then that's cool but it isn't any more or less valid than a headcanon you or I could come up with. Canon is strictly what happens in the show, nothing else.

Whatever his parent's marriage was like, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Talia did some pretty fucked up things to Derek (manipulating his memories), Peter (manipulating his memories, ignoring his warning about the Argents, taking Malia from him), and Corinne (forcing her to carry Malia to term/making her lose her powers). Derek's dad isn't mentioned and we don't see him, so he may not have been in the picture at all. Peter is the one who helped raise/train Derek, for better or worse.

Kate was able to get to Derek because it happened not long after he had to mercy-kill Paige, which left him in an extremely vulnerable state. (The Paige incident was in Derek's Sophomore year, according to Peter, which puts Derek at 15 in Fall 2004. He'd turn 16 in November, then the Hale Fire happened in January 2005).

Braeden on the other hand, thought they were just friends with benefits. She did not want a serious relationship, and broke up with him when she found out he did.

Derek knew from the start that it was only a casual relationship. He saw her looking him up and down as a sex object back when she rescued him and Peter in 3B.

Most importantly, Braeden didn't break up with Derek, it's the other way around. Derek implicitly broke up with her in the season 4 finale when he rejected her guns. That final kiss they shared was a kiss goodbye, ending their relationship before they headed off on a rescue mission he didn't expect to survive.

He broke it off partly because she didn't understand him as a person. While he was losing his werewolf abilities, she made assumptions that it was about power/what he can do in a fight. He tried to correct her that it's not about power, it's about being a werewolf in addition to being able to protect people. The enhanced senses and every other part of it, not just what can be used as a weapon. It's who he is and a critical part of his identity. Some more reading on this here

It was still a good relationship for Derek, proving that not everyone he gets involved with has to betray him and/or die, and helped him overcome what Kate did to him so he could stand over Kate, proud and unashamed, later that episode. It's also something that may have helped with his evolution into the full wolf form.

As for Cora, Derek and Peter took her back to South America as Beacon Hills wasn't safe. (but the real reason is Adelaide Kane left to play Mary, Queen of Scots, in Reign)

I was thinking about the fact Tyler Hoechlin was told that Derek had only ever slept with Kate right before he was about to film the scene where Derek and Jennifer sleep together for the first time. That's enormously important information that he needed to know for his performance, and not letting him know earlier than that was incredibly disrespectful. (He also said he knew the thumb hole shirt was totally wrong for Derek, but at that point he was so tired of fighting TPTB for character consistency that he just gave up in that instance.)

After Kate and Jennifer a part of Derek must have expected Braeden to try and kill him too, and when she didn't I can see him imprinting on her like a baby bird. His parents had a good marriage, and that was something he always wanted and expected he would have too. That is one of the reasons Kate was able to con him. It wasn't just sex and teen hormones for him.

Braeden on the other hand, thought they were just friends with benefits. She did not want a serious relationship, and broke up with him when she found out he did.

Leaving Derek alone again.

(Are we ever given a reason for Cora going away? What if she found out about Kate and Derek, and blamed him for what happened? Even though it wasn't his fault, and he was the victim.)

By the time Derek and Stiles become a couple, they bicker as usual, but angry, yelling, fights are actually rare. The first time Stiles slams out of their place to cool off, Derek thinks it's over, that Stiles has left him because that's what always happens to him. He doesn't deserve Stiles anyway. It was only a matter of time until Stiles realized that.

When Stiles comes back hours later, he finds Derek curled up in the corner in the dark. He's stunned when Derek quietly says he'll pack up his stuff tomorrow. Stiles can have the house.

They talk, and after Stiles reassures Derek that this is it for him, he's not going anywhere, they eventually lay down some mutually agreed to ground rules. (Derek leaves when he's upset too, but he always says he's going for a run, and that he'll be back. He normally does it when he's feeling emotionally overwhelmed and scared rather than angry though.) The next time Stiles storms off, he pauses at the door to add, "I love you. I'll be back." Sometimes he even shouts it, but he always says it.

Luckily they know each other well enough by the time they get together that those instances really are unusual though, and they talk things out. Sometimes snarkily, but they talk, even when it's hard.

It takes time, but Derek eventually believes deep down that he's not alone anymore. :)

[resident-idiot-simp]

Based off of a comic that I swear to God I can't find. Soapghost where I think it is Ghost that slips a ring onto Soap tags and doesn't tell him. Only when someone pointed out to see freak out and ask what kind of proposal was that.

Anyways that but deadclaws courtesy of @shy-canadian-snowflake for starting off this version of the idea and @orcadork4ever for helping

When the tags get thrown to the ground when Logan quits he pauses as he sees the ring. He stares wide eyed before taking the ring off and putting it on. He knows who did it but he's not here right now.

He leaves and when Wade finds the tags he sees the ring gone and smiles.

THEN THEN THEN AFTER EVERYTHING he put the ring on his new tags and where is it. But after the memory wipe half of what he is trying to learn about what happened to him is also about learning with a ring is from.

The idea of rogue when she's in the car looking at his tags and seeing the ring 😭😭😭

Does Jean still try to make moves despite it? What happens what do people think?

"Does it count as cheating if you don't even know who the ring belongs to?" Then Logan getting pissed because he might not know where it belongs. But he sure as hell knows the feeling of love he gets when he looks at it.

What about the other people whispering about how someone could ever marry someone like him

Logan has no idea where the ring came from but somewhere in the recesses of his mind he feels so much love for whoever the ring is from.

He knows whoever gave it to him means the word to his past self so he wouldn't dare taint it

I also imagine this is a similar universe to the other fic where Wade is in the X-Men movies.

So Wade but not origins just ends up our normal Wade. He's probably searching for Logan too

Rogue being so curious about the ring and asking incessantly. In Logan not so secretly hopes it will jog something in his memory.

Out of everything Rogue pities Logan for the ring is the worst one. How horrible it is that something so special to him is lost from his memory. How dare the world take away this obvious source of happiness.

Imagine her finding Logan outside one night crying silently as he clutches at the ring and muttering curses at the world for taking away the love of his life 😭

Rogue demanding Xavier to figure it out because Logan doesn't fucking deserve to be dragged along with the carrot on the stick being his happiness

Od-

Xavier tries to use the essence from the ring but can’t find him because he’s mutated by now and shows up different he tells Logan he can’t find him and they take that to mean he’s dead

He just lives in a haze. Going through day to day. He knows by now that he can’t kill himself anyways, even though he wants to. He’s lived this long in misery before, he can keep doing it.

He hears about Deadpool and goes along with Colossus and NSTW to make sure this guy isn’t a total fuckhead.

Seeing him fight… there’s something so familiar about it. A dancer’s grace, the lethality and deliberateness of his movements.

He watches as Colossus warns him about not taking the life of the man who tortured him. Already knowing it’s a lost cause even not knowing the backstory. Whatever this fucker did, he deserves it.

Snorts to himself when Deadpool just shoots the guy in the head. A snicker cutting off short at the harsh call of “Wade!”

“Wade…?”

This close he can hear him. Hear the constant stream of innuendos and puns. And it comes flooding back. All of it. Nights spent pressed together on a too small cot in the too hot jungle heat. Slipping off to swim in the river. Promises breathed against parted lips of a future and forever.

Dropping to all fours he gallops at Deadpo- at Wade. His Wade, knocking him over and sending the two of them tumbling.

“Whoa! What the fuck?!”

Sobs ripping out of the yellow mass gripping him, a ragged and familiar “Wade!” making him freeze. “L-Lo? Is it really…!”

Logan ripping off his gloves and cowl with tears streaming down his face. “They made me forget. I forgot. I didn’t know who it came from but I still Knew”

Wade watched him in awe, his mask growing wet with his own tears as he reached to hold Logan’s hand with the ring. “You kept it…~”

“Of fucking course I kept it. You gave it to me.”

Me: Logan's face just buried into Wade's scare neck as he sobs and clutches at his back. Wade isn't much better off as he claws at Logan's back in a vain attempt to crawl inside the other man

Wade hesitantly stopping Logan when he goes to take his mask off. “It’s not what you remember, Peanut.”

“Good thing I don’t remember. It’s just you”

Me: the others watch on is stunned silence because this is the most emotion they had seen either man exhibit ever

Vanessa watching from the side and just crying in joy for her friend. She’s his best friend. They fuck around, but they’re friends first. He’s spent many a-night whispering to her about his Logie Bear

Me:

She then devoted herself to trying to help him find Logan but got caught in the crossfire

Logan couldn't be fucking happier. He won't let Wade out of his grasp and doesn't plan to for a long while.

The X-Men can't comprehend it. This was Logan the man who hated people just existing. Why is he now sobbing into a mercenaries neck?

Od:

Colossus being the one Adult insisting that Vanessa come to the mansion to be checked out and make sure she’s okay.

Logan and Wade settled into each other in the back seat of Dopinder’s car with Ness in the front

Me:

"lo lo fuck." Wade mutters as he pulls back to cup Logan's face. Logan just melts into Wade's grapes and he purrs fucking purrs. LOGAN DIDN'T KNOW HE COULD DO THAT!!

"There is the good kitty I have missed so much."

Od: They’re just in each other’s laps, completely tangled together

Logan just purrs harder to the point he coughs and Wade just laughs delightedly and pepper kisses across Logan's face.

Logan's claws sneak out when Wade pulls back slightly and Wade gasps as he grabbed at Logan's hand. "What??? Metal?! What happened baby??"

Logan just blinks stupidly up at him. "I don't remember." Wade frowns and pulls Logan close

Od: “It’ll be okay. We’re okay. Were together. You’re here. Fuck, I missed you so much. There’s so much I have to tell you.”

"it doesn't matter what happened right now. What matters is your here. We can figure out everything else later."

Od: “Exactly. Fuck, Lo. Can I kiss y-“ just getting cut off by Logan pouncing and kissing him senseless, the two of them laying down in the backseat

Rogue is beyond extatic when Logan comes in with wide wonder filled eyes dragging a man behind him. She knew then this was who the ring was tied to and she wasted no time launching herself at him in excitement.

"YOU DID IT YOU DID IT!! LOGAN YOU FOUND YOUR OTHER HALF!"

Logan just hold her close as he cries silently into her hair before yes he did.

Od: “Omg Lo-Lo! You have a kiddo?! I knew you were Daddy material, both ways~ I’m Wade~”

Rogue is definitely surprised by Wade. She must admit she hadn't expected someone like him to be who Logan had tied himself to. However the way they looked at one another and interacted was undeniable

Jean and Scott are LIVID and discussed because really this? THIS?! Was who Logan had chosen all those years ago??

Od: Wade: Wow. Jealous, judgmental, AND prejudiced. Yall are the whole fucking package ain’t ya.

Rouge does not take kindly to them. She had quickly become super protective of Wade. She had quite a few times tore into them for daring mess with what she had worked for for years

Od: Rogue: He wasn’t yours even then. You do not get to shit all over his happiness!

Rouge: have you ever seen him smile like that??? Have you ever heard him purr??? No? I didn't think so. So why are you plotting against him?

(You might get more later but that's it for now)

[batcavescolony]

I was talking to an idiot and I need validation.

[xylatox]

Dark Water | cbg

I've made it!! I've been excited to read this one too, I've read Jjae's work before (Strawberry Land Event) ( I literally only just realized but I'll talk more about that after lol), but I'm so excited to read more of your work!!

The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble rings, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop-off point. — the beginning is already amazing. It already creates thus suspense that has you uneasy but also filled with wonder yknow.

You leaned back on your elbows, pearlescent tail absently flicking ahead of you being the only thing that could give away your position. The long, gossamer-like fins tapered into pretty, elegant points. Delicate. That was a good way to describe you. Though, you supposed your given title was a bit more apt than you'd like to admit. — the descriptions?? immaculate.

The way reader is the Pearl of the Sea, a title that clearly has a weight to it and ironically feeds into the temptation? I love it.

To be your own thing, your own merman, free from your peoples watchful eye, from your father’s. — I love when characters have parental issues, because it becomes such a driving force plot wise.

Your brow creased as you read further on, eager for the context behind the title, The Banishment of the Dark Cecaelia.  — the title??? how do you come up with this omg.

I am such a loser when the theme of cannibalism comes up. Like whether it's literal cannibalism or used as an expression of love, it absolutely drives me insane.

Oh? That gave you pause. This was the first time you had heard someone speak of the Dark Cecaelia in such a manner. Was that… thirst you detected in that woman's tone? How peculiar. — oh this has me giggly

THE LITTLE ONE NICKNAME????? WHAT IF I DIED.

“You could say that.” Fuck. Right. Of course. Who else were you expecting it to be? Perhaps you were hoping for it to be a younger merman, playing pranks on passerbys. How unfortunately wrong you were. — I love how intense this feels

I love that Gyu is misunderstood when referencing the scrolls, like it makes you wonder more about his kind.

Hehe Gyus entire reveal! I'm absolutely obsessed with the tension between them.

“Easy, pretty. Easy.” A hand gripped your chin gently, much more gently than you could have ever expected, and guided you to look into his eyes. Gods those eyes, you could get lost in them forever, fall and fall and fall and never escape their depths. Your body immediately relaxed upon the eye contact, turning as soft as kelp in his hold. — what if I go insane and die.

“You will disappoint me no longer. You will become King someday, and I will be damned if I let childish rebellion be the end of our powerful kingdom. Leave me.” Your father waved his wrist, not even sparing you a glance. — shitty dads always annoy me, it hurts that despite all that, reader continues to yearn for his approval.

Suckers pulled at your skin, leaving angry red blooms across your soft skin, and it fucking burned. Gone were the sure, strong touches you were yearning for, all was replaced by the way this cecaelia seemed to want to rip you to shreds.  — this is insane???? the way reader is literally fighting for his life, insane.

“You are not like your father.” He spoke with finality, like he was unsure of the truth of the statement before, like you had just proved him wrong. Perhaps you had. Perhaps he saw you differently, now. The thought should make you preen, but it only served to make you glower, anger slowly simmering back to life. — despite the literal hell readee went through, I love that Gyu just wants reader to fight, it's kind of sweet.

“Once we are home, I will tell you,” He soothed, like he was speaking to a fussy infant. The implication of his tone made your ears warm. Home? He must have seen your expression at the word, and your subsequent confusion over it, but he made no move to clarify. As far as he was concerned, it seemed his home was now yours. Maybe that was enough for now, your thoughts grew too muddled to properly sort them, so you succumbed to the urge to return to the safety of his neck. — this is absolutely insane??????

Reader finally learned Gyus name :((( I'm so fucking soft rn, the way they're together?? obsessed.

“My pearl,” He replied in kind, delicately cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He had that soft, awed look on his face again that made you feel wholly wanted, wholly desired. You sighed against his palm, leaning into it to press a kiss to the skin closest to your lips. “If you do this, you can never go back. You know this, right?”— god I love their dynamic and relationship so much what the fuck.

They got their happy ending :((( I'm so glad reader took control of his life and is happy. Jjae!!! this was a wonderful read! I had the pleasure of reading your fic for the Strawberry Event, back when I started to become active and it was literally the most insane thing I read like???? it was so good??? (i was also slow as fuck (i skip most warnings ngl) and i didnt even realize you wrote a male!reader but youre so fucking cool for that??)your writing is so intense and insane I absolutely love it. I'm so glad I got to read another one of your works!

Dark Water.

pairing; cecaelia!beomgyu × merman!reader

genre; horror/thriller (??? I think??? theres a lot of tension.) Suggestive, no explicit smut. Hint of fluff.

warnings; lots of tension, implied/referenced sexual content, light petting, this is basically 90% foreplay and tension, mentions of cannibalism, blood and injury, reader gets attacked yk the vibes, character death (but not main!!!), older gyu/younger reader vibes, merman/kingdom au.

synopsis; The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble circles, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop off point. ― The Pearl of the Sea, you were called. A pretty little prince, beloved by all within the city. You followed the rules. Plans had been made for your whole life, all you had to do was stick to it.

Beomgyu was never part of those plans.

wc; 10,847 (oof... longest fic to date.)

jjaes comments; *slaps roof of fic* this bad boy can fit so much unnecessary lore in it. sorry theres no smut in this one. I want to eventually circle back and turn this into a full blown chaptered fic. in the words of serene, kills myself.

[m.list] [event m.list]

The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble rings, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop-off point. 

The drop-off point which was, funnily enough, immediately before you. You lounged on a soft bed of seagrass, your short platinum hair floating along to the whims of the warm current around you. You were decently tucked away from view, having found a small alcove just off the main seagrass plains. You leaned back on your elbows, pearlescent tail absently flicking ahead of you being the only thing that could give away your position. The long, gossamer-like fins tapered into pretty, elegant points. Delicate. That was a good way to describe you. Though, you supposed your given title was a bit more apt than you'd like to admit.

The Pearl of the Sea, you were called. A pretty little prince, beloved by all within the city’s gleaming mother-of-pearl walls. You were a treasure among treasures, the only son of the Iron King sat upon the gleaming throne of the sea. Your father had a commanding presence, far more than your own, but you didn't seem to mind that. No, a pretty little thing like yourself was occupied with little else than keeping your head down and getting your work done perfectly. You held perfect grades, you were the shining smile present at every charity event, a giver to the people who fawned over you. That favour seemed to compound when you remained oblivious to it, a humble, delicate thing. 

Who was currently breaking one of the most serious rules you had ever been given. It wasn’t even your idea, something had called you here. Perhaps not vocally, but there was a siren song around this forbidden area. How could something so beautiful be so condemned? So after a particularly stressful day of studying and volunteer work, you finally gave in to the sweet temptation. 

The sight wasn't as captivating as you expected it to be. Sure, the overlook to the deeper waters, far more dangerous than the shallows you've spent your life in, were fascinating. You witnessed aquatic life, both plant and animal, in a way you had never taken the time to do before. Just observing, watching the way natural life unfolds when it is too far from your fathers influence to be contained. 

Though, after the sun's rays began to turn the surrounding water to honey hues, you had begun to grow bored with just observing. Part of you longed to know what it felt like, even for a moment, to be away. To be your own thing, your own merman, free from your peoples watchful eye, from your father’s. 

Oh, gods. What would he think if he knew you were here, now? He would surely be angry, surely would demand an answer that you didn’t have. Why did you come out here, anyway? You weren’t entirely sure yourself. You glanced up to the water's surface, the sunset refracting through the gentle waves and bathing you in the gentle warmth of the last light of day. Your eyes slid shut for a moment, basking in the peace. You had to savour moments like these, stolen seconds that you kept close to your heart when the stress of your structured life got too rough to handle. 

With a sigh, a pretty trail of bubbles spilling past your lips, you pushed off of the seagrass, the blades tickling your fingers as they dug into the silt below for leverage. 

You left a gentle cloud of disturbed sand in your wake as you made to leave, casting one longing glance over your shoulder to the group of young flounders playing beyond the drop-off point. You’ll have to return soon, if not to be sure they remained unharmed. That was a noble enough cause for return, right? Something your father would be slightly more hesitant to deny you if you brought it up as defence, surely. 

Content with the newfound addition to your schedule, a strong flick of your tail helped carry you closer and closer to home. 

–

The scroll room was a quiet place, compared to the hustle and bustle of the city just outside its walls. Shelves upon shelves, chests on chests were overflowing with information ripe for the picking, and you were a near permanent fixture here. Small and eager, tucked between shelving units as you delved into another scroll. This was a more recent historical account, it seemed, from the first years after your birth. You could hardly be expected to remember much from that time, your memories being mostly of your mother and the gentle tingle of your favourite shell toy.

You had no idea those years were so.. Dangerous. 

Your brow creased as you read further on, eager for the context behind the title, The Banishment of the Dark Cecaelia. 

Cecaelia? That rang a bell. Octopus mermaids, you recalled. Fearsome chimera not too unlike your own people in appearance, but worlds apart in behaviour. You recall bedtime stories about the drop-off point, lessons hidden in rhyme of the dangers that awaited those who ventured too far into the deep water. But what dangers were you warned of? You struggled to remember. 

The cecaeliae were once a proud people, fearsome in both behaviour and sheer number. They populated every inch of our kingdom, they ran shops, held office not unlike the rest of us do. But there was always something different, something darker in nature about these chimera, that we civilized mermaids simply could not abide by.

The issues came to a head during the Great Famine. Food was scarce, resources were far scarcer. Mermen, women and children alike were floundering in hunger, and the kingdom fell into despair. Our great King was working tirelessly, attempting to solve our issue. Our top scientists blamed the issue upon overpopulation and the rising water temperatures, both of which we could do little about.

But the Dark Cecaelia had a plan. He held high office, the King's right hand in both peace and wartime, and he claimed to have devised a solution to our problem. Something he claimed would reduce our numbers in a controlled way, and would solve our hunger problems simultaneously. 

Your eyes widened upon the sight of the next word. 

Cannibalism. 

No, that couldn’t be. Sure, mermen were omnivorous, capable of eating a wide variety of foods, but.. turning to cannibalism seemed too barbaric. Too uncivilized. Apparently, this Dark Cecaelia held no such opinions. Now that you think about it, were cecaeliae omnivorous like other chimeras? Octopi were carnivores… So did that imply that cecaeliae followed by the same rules? You shuddered at the thought of sharp teeth and venom.

He sought an audience with the King, and brought before him a properly devised plan. Down to the smallest detail, the way they would select the expendable and feast on their flesh, using cecaelia venom to minimize the agony of the selected. “Humane” methods, he claimed. The court was horrified at the extent to which this plan had been drawn to. In a fit of righteous rage, the King demanded how the Dark Cecaelia could have drawn up this horrific solution on such short notice, to which he shrugged, claiming it was the most logical and obvious solution to our societies' issues.  

The senate convened, terrified that if they denied the Dark Cecaelia his plan, that it would come to fruition in the form of a coup. The decision to banish all Cecaelia from the kingdom was immediate and unanimous. The Dark Cecaelia himself was brought before his kin and his hair was cut in a ceremonial message of disgrace before he, too, was banished to the deep water beyond the drop-off point for the rest of time. 

You snapped the scroll shut with shaking hands, eyes wild with fear. The drop-off point. The place you were lounging by with ease, the tips of your fin teasing over the edge of the cliff… The thought made you sick to your stomach. You could have been seen by your father, sure, but the thought of being seen by the Dark Cecaelia himself brought shivers down your delicate spine. How could you have relaxed there so flippantly, ignorant of the dangers lurking just below you, just out of sight? You could never return. That much, you were sure of.

–

“Did you hear?” 

“...Another sighting…”

You sighed loudly, bubbles tickling your cheek as they dissipated around you. News traveled fast, it seemed. There were more rumors now than ever before, though you paid no mind to it, preferring to stay in the comfort of your study material. 

“I heard the tentacles were blacker than any squid ink…”

“I heard they are as big as your forearm..! How terrifying…”

You’ve been reading the same line over and over for the past 5 minutes, the words failing to leave any lasting impression on your brain. It had been well over a full moon-cycle since you found yourself at the drop-off point, and apparently there had shortly thereafter been a poor merman who supposedly saw tentacles retreating into the inky blackness of the deep water. You had heard all the salacious (hyperbolic, too, no doubt) details, causing you to heave a bubbled sigh and continue with your work. You had more important things to do than to entertain such stories. You still feared the Dark Cecaelia, that much was true, but you began to grow apprehensive of the public’s view of him. They spoke of him as a legend, as a fable, treating him like he was merely a story instead of a recent blight within the kingdom. It had been 19 years since his removal from society, why were your people so confident about his absence to speak of him so freely? 

“Oh! And I heard–” 

You snapped your scroll shut, hands pressing palm-down onto the driftwood table before you. Your eyebrows pinched together in frustration, eyes squeezed shut to drown out the passerby’s comments. 

“I heard he’s hot. Devastatingly so.” 

Oh? That gave you pause. This was the first time you had heard someone speak of the Dark Cecaelia in such a manner. Was that… thirst you detected in that woman's tone? How peculiar. 

You shook the thoughts from your head. No, that was a most improper train of thought. You needed to focus, and this scroll room seemed to have no peace left to give you. With a delicate huff, you gathered your things and fled the room.

–

It seemed nowhere was safe from the mumbles about the Dark Cecaelia. The whole city– the whole Kingdom, it seemed– had heard of the recent supposed sighting. The comments within the city walls ranged from abject horror to… other topics. You don’t think you could stomach hearing another theory about what those tentacles could do. 

You had fled the Kingdom’s walls with no destination in mind. You only knew you needed to get out of there, to finally find some peace to continue your studies. If you were going to rule one day, you had to be perfect– there was simply no room for error. 

Though, perhaps you spoke too soon. You, in your panicked fleeing, had managed to get lost. Horrifically so. You were still in the shallows, it seemed, but night was approaching fast and you had no idea which direction home was in. Your heartbeat quickened to a dangerous pattering, fast and dangerous like the sound of a storm cloud emptying over the sea. Your head spun. How were you going to get home?

You pressed your shaking hands into fists, attempting to use the pressure to ground yourself. It seemed to work… Perhaps your studies about keeping your head under pressure like your father was paying off. You had half a mind to thank your tutor when you got home. When, yes. Not if. You’d make sure of it. What was it your father said to do when you got lost as a guppy? Breathe. Take stock of your surroundings.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the fading light of day still reaching beyond your closed eyelids. You sucked in a cool lungful of saltwater, letting the feeling wash over you before you opened your eyes slowly. 

Adjusting to the light, you slowly began focusing on the open shallows around you. The seagrass was sparse here, but you dont think youve ever seen such a large grouping of coral before in your life. There was all matter of aquatic life surrounding the reef, anemones and small schools of fish swimming about, playing together. The sight reminded you of the flounders at the drop-off point. You wondered if they were still safe, still playing just beyond your reach. 

Your eyes turned to the sections of kelp, swaying in the sea current and stretching up to the water’s surface. The current was moving west, you noted. Might be helpful to remember should you choose to follow it to see where it leads. Hopefully home.

When you glanced up to the water's surface, you could just barely make out the beginnings of stars in the dark expanse above it. What was it the scrolled called it? The sky? That sounded about right. A place where water floated in light groupings called “clouds” and sprayed their weight back into the sea where it belonged. You felt quite like the water in those clouds now, actually, far from where you belonged. That was when you heard it. 

You could almost convince yourself that it was a trick of the ears, but the deep gurgling behind you made the repetitive motion of your tail still. Something was behind you, something big. You didn’t want to turn around. Here you were, all alone, so far from home that you didn’t even know where you were, but–

The gurgling changed. It sounded repetitive, mirthful. A laugh? So it wasn’t a something but rather a someone. You weren't sure which was worse, really. A rogue sea creature or a sentient being. But the area around you appeared barren save for the small sealife. Who would even live out here? Who could?

“Little one.”

You bristled at the tone. The voice was deep. It rolled over you like too-warm water, thick and heady. You didn’t dare turn towards it.

“Lost?” 

The words seemed stunted, like they were coming from lips that were unsure of their form. This stranger couldn’t have been from the kingdom. Or, if they were– your brain supplied– they hadn’t been there in a very long time. 

“No,” Was your eloquent reply. You were hoping you sounded sure of yourself, like a future king. Like your father. The words fell flat, shaky and hesitant, betraying your nerves. The gurgling laughter began again with gusto.

“No? You seem lost. Frightened?” The voice sounded amused, like an angler toying with its food. The comparison made you uneasy. You were top of the food-chain, here. You should act like it.

With your shoulders squared, face set in a carefully blank expression, you finally turned.

Only to be met with nothing. Were you imagining the voice? Were you hallucinating? You had to be. You turned around, looking left and right–

Oh. To your right, just far enough away that it wasn't noticeable at first glance, was the drop-off point. The jagged cliff edge was unmistakable now that you saw it. Your shoulders did not lose any tension upon the new knowledge, though you were glad to be in a familiar place. Home wasn’t that far away.

But then the situation clicked in your head. The unfamiliar cadence of a voice unused to speaking in the common tongue, the location, the laughter.

“Are you the Dark Cecaelia?” You were unable to stop the words from tumbling from your lips in a rush of bubbles. You had half a mind to slap your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from endangering yourself further. What were you doing?

The laughter came again, deep, guttural, twisted. You swallowed thickly, flicking your tail to back away slightly. You couldn't see over the edge, you were too far away. But even that distance seemed too little. Too close.

“You could say that.” Fuck. Right. Of course. Who else were you expecting it to be? Perhaps you were hoping for it to be a younger merman, playing pranks on passerbys. How unfortunately wrong you were.

“You were here before,” The voice continued, unperturbed by your fearful silence. You felt your blood run cold, like polar water had been dunked over your unsuspecting head.

“..You saw me.” It shouldn’t be surprising. Of course he saw you. Why wouldn’t he? If this is where he was banished to, why wouldn’t he see you lounging prettily at his doorstep? The idea that this faceless evil had been watching you from afar, while you sat unsuspecting, made you suddenly want to cry. 

“I saw you.” The cecaelia confirmed. He sounded much too amused for your taste, causing your brows to crease in frustration, lips drawing into a pretty pout.

“Why can’t I see you?” The unknown was too scary. It left your imagination to run wild, piecing together all the little rumors you tried to ignore upon first listen. They all came to you now. Ink-black, large tentacles, sharp teeth, venom, deep voice. You couldn't even begin to picture his face, what the rest of him looked like. Perhaps knowing, having concrete evidence of his appearance would vanquish the worst of your fear. You were skilled enough in combat, could probably flee with relative ease should this turn sour, but something was rooting you to the spot. Something deeper than fear, something stronger. 

Curiosity. The need for knowledge, the desire to know everything. It held you fast in your spot, unable to hide behind anything. You were in the open, with nowhere to run but away, as fast as your fins could take you. 

“Why do you want to?” That was a fair question. Why did you ask that of him? Why couldn’t you keep your curiosity to yourself? Why couldn’t you be stronger, fearless– …Like your father. Why couldn’t you be like him? What would he do now? You paused for a moment, considering your options. Running like a coward was lower on your list than ever, unwilling to experience the shame of such an act, lest your father find out. That only left confidence, something that was failing you presently. You cleared your throat, hoping it would find you now.

“Because it is impolite to not look one in the eyes when speaking. We are speaking, no? Why do you hide?” Fuck. Now you’ve done it. Directly confronting the Dark Cecaelia himself, taunting him to reveal himself when he was already being kind enough to spare you the terror of beholding him. Why did you want that confidence, again? It seeped from your body like blood from a wound. Could he smell blood? …Could he smell fear?

“Politeness is useless out here.” His voice still held the air of amusement you detected previously. That was good. You hadn’t made him angry just yet. However, his reply only brought about more questions. If the customs of your home were null and void out here, just beyond the kingdom’s reach, what did matter? How should you conduct yourself? You were used to rules, your whole life was planned before you. How should one behave in a vacuum of that security, without that safety net to fall back on? Your confusion must have been clear as day upon your face.

“Power is what matters. Survival. Base instincts.” He sounded closer, yet you still couldn't see him. He must be lingering somewhere nearby, taunting you. You felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity burning your scales like scalding seawater from a thermal vent. Where was he?

“Power, of which you have none.” His words cut you deep, a painful laceration to remind you of your place, here. You had nothing. You were at his mercy, and apparently he thought it imperative to remind you of it, to let the knowledge of your own helplessness seep into your body like venom.

“Power? I–” You hesitated. He was right, you were essentially powerless. This was, in fact, his home, his domain. You were the stranger here. Even more worrisome was the fact that while you were skilled in combat, you had never fought a cecaelia. All of those extra, powerful limbs.. Realistically, what could you do in the face of that? He was entirely correct. That gurgling laughter bubbled up again. It didn’t matter what direction you turned in, it felt like he was surrounding you. He was close, and it was making your heart race to know that you wouldn’t even see him coming should he attack.

“Name.” It wasn’t a request. He did warn you, you supposed. There were no formalities out here. No societal niceties where there was no society to begin with. Your hands trembled at your side as you clenched them into fists. Somehow, you could feel his gaze dip to watch the movement. 

The second your name fell from your lips, you could sense a shift. Something darker, much more dangerous swirled in the water around you. You had the gnawing feeling that you had just made a critical error. The laughter reached a fever pitch, near hysterical in its glee. 

“The King’s son.”

You nodded in affirmation, the movement jerky and hesitant. Your tail twitched with the desire to flee, but the weight of that gaze kept you pinned. 

“Come to the cliff edge.” Another command. From his reaction to your name, you knew better than to try anything. He seemed on edge, now. Like a predator rearing back slowly, preparing to strike. You’ve never felt more like prey in your life, shivers licking up and down your spine and making your tail tremble as a result. That same shaking tail that carried you closer to what you could only assume was an attack. 

But no attack came. You peered over the edge slowly, big eyes wide so as to not miss a single movement in the water below. What your gaze caught on, however, was that same school of flounders you had seen before. They were playing again, tumbling around each other happily. Your eyes caught on something else floating around them, something you slowly began to recognise as fish food. You had a shell-full of it at home to feed your own pets–

Pets. 

These flounders were pets. His pets.

“You like them. You watched them play.” He was definitely watching you the entire time you were here last. But if he was right there watching you, why…?

“Why didn’t you come out last time?” You had to know. None of it made sense. Why wasn’t he attacking? Why did he not attack last time, either? Why was he so content to just sit and watch?

“Pretty,” was his simple reply. As if it was obvious, as if you were stupid for not figuring it out. Pretty..? Sure, you were familiar with the term, were used to it being used to refer to you. But like this? From his mouth, the word coated in that thick accent– it felt different. 

It felt good.

“That doesn’t–” You stumbled over your words, pink heat kissing the apples of your cheeks. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you come out?” You felt a bit like a child right now. Petulant. Demanding. You normally never acted like this, like a whiny brat seeking attention, but the very idea that he was right here and chose to stay hidden and watch just rubbed you the wrong way. He should face you. He should watch you where you could s–

Oh. That’s a new thought. You wanted him to watch you, you didn’t want him to stop. What’s worse is you seemed to want to watch him watch you. Gods, what was happening to you? 

“I do not owe you an answer, little one. Do you need to be reminded again?” Heat continued to flush your cheeks, spreading down your chest and up to the tips of your ears. You burned with embarrassment, yet you still had half a mind to smack your tail against the silt out of childish frustration. Tears pricked your eyes, becoming one with the water around you.

“But, I–”

“But nothing. If there is something you want, you must say it with confidence. Anything less will get you killed out here.” He didn’t sound angry. On the contrary, he almost sounded amused, as if he was gently scolding a confused guppy. The feeling made your stomach turn in a way you were unfamiliar with. “The others are not nearly as kind as I am.”

Others. You had entirely forgotten that there was a whole group of cecaeliae out here, waiting to exact their revenge on the child of the King directly responsible for their exile. But that begs the question…

“Why are you so kind? The scrolls paint you as a heartless monster…” You trailed off, belatedly realising what you had just admitted. You had actively sought out information on him, you just admitted to wanting to know more. That knowledge was dangerous. 

“Why am I not what the scrolls say I am?” He finished for you, no doubt watching you closely when you nodded in affirmation. He paused for a moment, the contemplative silence stretching between the two of you. You ached to see him, to see what he looked like when he was so deep in thought, mulling over his next words with careful consideration. “Why are you not like your father?” 

Answering a question with another question? Classic deflection. The bratty guppy within you reared its ugly head again, this time you did not act quickly enough to tamp down the urge to show your frustration. An irritated groan spilled from you before you could stop it.

“Reveal yourself! I grow tired of this. Let me see you.” You whined, high and needy. You couldn’t control it. Everything this cecaelia said and did pulled these impulses up to the surface, coaxing your worst behaviours out of you with ease. He seemed to have greater control of you than you expected. 

“Hm.” He said nothing more. Silence stretched once again, but there was no contemplation, only stillness. As the seconds swam leisurely by, your anxiety only grew. How badly you wished to eat your words, to fix it, to hide those bitter impulses and bury them where they belonged. 

A hint of movement. Your eyes snapped to it immediately, catching the barest wisp of something in the depths. A tentacle, large and terrifying, slipped just out of view. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

There was another. Then another. You watched them as they squirmed and shifted in the dark water below the cliff, eyes following their lengths to where you hoped he would be. Up, up, up, your eyes followed until–

Eyes. Sharp, piercing, beautiful. Pretty lips and sharp teeth below a sculpted nose, stretched into a carnal grin.

“Thank you, pearl.” Oh, watching his mouth form the words, watching them fall from his lips like a bubble fountain. Gods, all the rumors were right, yet simultaneously did not do him justice. He was stunning, captivating in every possible way. He was so beautiful it was disarming, enough to distract you from just how sharp those teeth really were. No, you were too focused on the pink tongue that darted out to slide along their jagged points. 

Thank you..? Fuck. You said that out loud? You hadn’t been keeping track of yourself since you locked eyes with the Dark Cecaelia. You were much too entranced.

By the time you snapped out of it, you were far away from the cliff edge. You turned around in a flash of panic. How had you moved so far without feeling it? You had to squint your eyes to see the drop-off point, now. You–

Warm. Something warm and big was wrapping around your waist, circling around you entirely and holding you firmly. You looked down at it, stupefied. You should be scared. You should be fighting. You should do something– 

But why would you? It would be futile to fight, and instead of following your mind, you allowed yourself to fall into instinct. You went lax in the grip, allowing the cecaelia to turn you around to face him again. 

Hazy eyes met sharp ones, and you felt thoroughly scrutinized under his gaze. Like a flayed fish before him, stripped bare and vulnerable. You shuddered at the thought. Why? You had no idea. All sensible thought flew out of your mind the second you laid eyes on him. It was much easier to surrender to the feeling rather than fight it. 

He seemed to see something he liked within you, because he drew back with a cocky smirk stretching his lips. Your eyes followed the movement, enraptured. You took him in fully, seeing every detail up close. Shaggy hair fell around his shoulders, looking as if it were shorn by the dullest of blades. His skin was soft, almost begging you to touch. You wanted to touch, so you reached–

A tentacle grabbed you by the wrist, steadfast and secure. You tugged against it experimentally, once again going limp once you were sure the hold wouldn’t budge. By the time your eyes lazily made their way back up to meet his own, his face was much closer again.

“What spell is this..?” You croaked, voice thick and heavy. You couldn’t even begin to explain why you were so affected, only that you were. 

“You are lucky that I was the one who found you.” He easily ignored your question, and you watched in open fascination as his eyebrows creased in worry. You yearned to touch again, to smooth it out for him. Where were these urges coming from?

“Lucky..?” You echoed, cocking your head to the side. Something flashed in his eyes at the movement, and you swore you could feel the tentacle around your waist grip you just a little tighter. You squirmed. “Do that again.” You felt breathless, sounded breathless. You needed to feel that again. You needed to understand that feeling. Before you could clarify any further, a bell sounded in the distance.

A Bell. The belltower from home, signalling the turn of another hour. Home, where your father was no doubt waiting for you to return from the studies you abandoned. If the Dark Cecaelia noticed the way your entire body tensed at the sound and subsequent realisation, he didn’t mention it aloud. Instead, he just watched. His eyes trailed over every inch of your body as it remained stiff as coral under his touch. 

“Home…” You whispered. Your eyes were glazed over, clearly lost in a terrifying spiral of thoughts about what your father would do to you if he ever found out about this, about where you were, about who you were with– Shit. You had to get out of here, you had to–

“Easy, pretty. Easy.” A hand gripped your chin gently, much more gently than you could have ever expected, and guided you to look into his eyes. Gods those eyes, you could get lost in them forever, fall and fall and fall and never escape their depths. Your body immediately relaxed upon the eye contact, turning as soft as kelp in his hold.

“That’s it, pearl…” He soothed, voice deep and smooth, easing over your every worry like a healing salve. What were you so worried about, again…?

“You're going to go home in a moment, pearl– no, do not look at me with such fearful eyes. You will go home, but you will return to me. I expect you here by the second low-tide cycle every day, am I understood?” It was the most you had ever heard him speak in one go, and you were helpless to do anything but nod along. You’d agree to anything he said, it was far too great a temptation to give your assent when you were being held so firmly and spoken to so gently. He clicked his tongue behind razor-sharp teeth. He followed the sound with another command, “Words.”

“Yes…” You trailed, unsure of how long your voice would remain available to you. It felt like everything about you was fading in the face of such comfortable power. He cocked an eyebrow, expectant. You didn’t even have to think before the correct sentence bubbled past your lips, ticking both of your faces upon their exit from your pretty lips. 

“Yes, sir.”

–

“Where the hell were you? Do you have any idea how many guards I had scouring the Kingdom for you? Have you any clue the uproar your little vanishing stunt is going to cause?” Your father boomed, his voice slicing through the usually peaceful water within the pristine walls of the throne room. You kneeled before him, an acceptable distance away, head bowed in humility. Your hands were clenched together in fists in your lap, and you willed yourself to remain as perfectly poised as you had spent your whole life training to be.

“Father–”

“Save it. I do not wish to hear whatever feeble excuse you have to offer. My opinion remains the same. I have been far too gentle with you, allowing you to study in spaces of your choosing and on your own time. No more. You will adhere to a stricter schedule, and you are not permitted to leave your chambers until I deem you fit enough to be seen by the public once again.” Your father pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and the hot shame of humiliation seeped into your bones slowly. What were you supposed to do? You could never raise a word against your father. While your subjects regarded you highly, they had no idea the power imbalance that occurred behind closed doors. They had no idea the treatment you truly faced within these gleaming walls, which, to you, seemed more akin to a prison. 

A gilded cage. 

“You will disappoint me no longer. You will become King someday, and I will be damned if I let childish rebellion be the end of our powerful kingdom. Leave me.” Your father waved his wrist, not even sparing you a glance. You sucked in a slow gulp of seawater, trying to steady your shaking limbs as you pushed yourself up from your place on the floor. You were used to this, but the humiliation never ceased. No matter how much you disliked your father, part of you continued to yearn for his approval, to be told you were enough, that you did well, that you were loved. But you knew your place. You may be related by blood, but the weight of the crown overshadowed any allegiance. 

So you accepted your fate with your head bowed, and made your way silently to your chambers under the watchful eye of a guard you had never bothered getting to know the name of.

–

Once the doors had been closed and locked behind you with a resounding finality, you allowed yourself to sink pathetically onto your bed. The soft sponge gave way under you, cradling your body as you tried to burrow deeper into its comfort. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to hide from it all. 

You groaned. It was fruitless, of course. Running was never an option for you. You had a kingdom to take over one day, to rule over your subjects with an iron fist like your father and his father before him. Was that really you, though? The Pearl of the Sea, ruling like your father, the Iron King? It was unlikely. You knew you weren’t cut out for the same method of ruling, but he refused to hear it. What he wanted, he got, and that included you. You’d become whatever he wanted you to be, and you had no choice over the matter. When you lifted your head, your gaze caught on the closed shutters of your windows. 

If you were trapped here, you might as well be productive, right? Perhaps even enjoy the view? With limbs that felt like the lead on a fishing line, you eased yourself up and swam closer to your windows. You eased the shutters open, watching the waves far above you dance and refract the light of the sun above. You remember from your studies and first-hand sightings that creatures lived up there, whole civilizations thrived above water. Though part of that couldn’t quite make sense in your brain, especially when you were younger. How could one swim above water? How could one breathe? You knew better, by now, but it still seemed funny to you. You rested your head upon your hand, leaning against the windowsill as you continued observing and contemplating the world around you. Far off to the east, you could barely make out the looming shadow of the mainland, the grey rocks forming the cliffside were unmistakable. You remember seeing creatures with long appendages instead of tails, even recently hearing a group of merpeople set upon bullying a poor humanoid while you sunbathed on a nearby rock. You wouldn’t call them friends, not really. Friends aren’t as cruel or power-hungry as those merpeople were. You considered their behaviour to be much more in line with sirens than mermaids. In that case, the bullying wouldn't have surprised you. Sirens were tricky, fickle creatures. A darker variety of chimera like the cecaeliae.

Upon the thought of him, your eyes darted immediately to where the drop-off point was. You could just barely see the grass plains that lay before it. Sometimes, when the water currents were at ease and the water pollution was low, you could clearly see the outcrops of shale and volcanic rock that made up the drop-off point. To your knowledge, the area itself was set on the edge of a vast crater, deep and dangerous. No civilized merman would venture down there, not voluntarily. You had to be truly cruel to survive in such an environment, where most places within the crater not even the light dares to touch. 

Anything less will get you killed out here…

You shuddered at the memory of deep-voiced warnings, of warmth and the security and strength that came with being held fast and still by something bigger than yourself. The second low-tide cycle was usually around the few hours surrounding midnight, when the sky and sea were as dark as void. You were trapped up here, unable to leave the rooms that comprised your chambers. How were you supposed to honour your promise? Leaving the Dark Cecaelia waiting was simply not an option. You were not stupid enough to make an enemy of him.

This left you in quite the dilemma. You were at a crossroads, knowing either way could spell your ruin. Just what chances were you willing to take?

You shifted your gaze to the kingdom below you– or, more accurately, the ground far below your window. The sun would be setting soon, and with it, the tides would change. You sent one glance behind you to the doors, which remained untouched as they were when you first were locked inside. Your father had never loved you. No amount of following his commands would change that. But his enemy..? 

You would need to wait for the cover of night to find out.

– 

The eerie quiet of the seagrass plains were unsettling to say the least. You shifted the bag on your shoulder, your minimal items clinking together quietly. It was a good thing you had the foresight to wrap them in cloth first before absconding out your open window. Of course, you stuffed pillows under your sheets to make it appear you were there should someone open your door to check on you, but it was merely a precaution. You knew no one would. 

You didn’t have much, just a few essentials. Your pouch was filled with seashells, emergency rations and a few select weapons. You came out of your room with a goal in mind, and you were going to see to it that it was accomplished. 

Everything looked different under the glaring lack of illumination breaking through the waves overhead. The churning of them made you uneasy. There must be a storm kicking up. You frowned, finding it harder to swim toward your destination when the currents picked up more and more, the further you swam along. Your arm came up to shield your eyes from the silt that mixed in with the more aggressive currents, trying and failing to aid your view of the area surrounding you. Just a bit further, you could almost see the cliffs edge–

Warm. Something warm and big slithered around your waist, and you immediately wanted to relax into the touch but… Something about it. Something about the weight of it, the warmth, the feeling–

Wrong. It was all wrong. Immediately you began to thrash, to shake off the hold on your waist, but it was already too late. You were being dragged, harshly, through the churning water. You tried opening your eyes, willing to brave the onslaught of sand in order to free yourself, but you stopped short. Ink. You were surrounded by ink. You couldn't see out, and the chilling realisation settled in your body that it also meant no one could see you. Even if you managed to cry out for help loudly enough to catch someone's attention, cecaelia ink alone would dissuade them from coming to your aid. You were on your own, here. 

Suckers pulled at your skin, leaving angry red blooms across your soft skin, and it fucking burned. Gone were the sure, strong touches you were yearning for, all was replaced by the way this cecaelia seemed to want to rip you to shreds. 

“Evil thing,” The voice mocked you, unfamiliar and scary. “You will pay for your fathers crimes with your blood.” You couldn’t afford to be rendered still by fear, you had to move. You swung your arm out, reaching blindly for the bag you were carrying. If you could reach your weapons, if you could reach anything, you could better your chances of survival. You felt the brush of the familiar material against your fingertips, and you slammed your hand down on it, hoping it would give you enough leverage to grip the knife inside without leaving yourself too open to attack–

Crunch. 

White-hot pain seared up your arm. A scream bubbled from your lips, unbidden and guttural in its anguish. You didn’t need to see the damage to know that your forearm was broken. Quite badly, if the feeling was anything to go by. You had bigger issues to worry about. Snickers seeped into the inked water around you, amused by your pained cries. The grip on your waist loosened just enough for you to seize your chance. Swallowing the bile rising in your throat due to the pain, you reached again with purpose. Your fingers found purchase around the cold hilt of your knife. You were infinitely glad that the damaged arm was not your dominant one as you fixed your grip on your weapon. What was it your instructor always said?

Find an opening, strike.

You needed that opening. An opening you did not currently have, not with the way this cecaelia was ripping at your waist and tail. Sharp teeth and nails found your skin, tugging with the intent to tear you apart. It was working, clearly. The tangy smell of your blood mixing in with the disgusting smell of ink in the water. You were surely going to attract other predators if you didnt get out of here fast– assuming you lived long enough to do so.

Luckily, the bloodied wounds marring your skin proved to be just the opening you needed. The substance made the cecaelia’s grip slip off of your torso, leaving him unsteady and open for attack. Your previous combat practices rung in your ears. 

Strike.

You swung your good arm, striking the cecaelia and burying the knife deep into the side of his ribs. Clearly not anticipating the return of violence, he fell back just enough that his tentacles released you. You stood your own ground, now, falling into a much more familiar fighting stance. Your body was weary, coated in blood and your arm hurt, but the adrenaline settled into something worse than instinct. You were a predator, after all. 

Act like it.

You didn’t give the cecaelia time to recuperate. You took your opening and lashed with furious precision, a sick satisfaction blooming in you as you watched his blood seep into the water and mix with his own ink every time you drove the knife into him. Tentacles tried to grasp at you, but a harsh slash of your knife through the gummy flesh of the appendage, severing it from its host, took care of that problem. You couldn’t hear his screaming anymore, couldn’t hear him pleading for you to let him go.

Your previous fears about attracting predators in the nearby water were all but forgotten. You were the one with the scent of blood in your nose, and you wanted more. 

Slash, slash, slash– 

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t even know if he was still trying to attack you anymore, but you didn’t take the chance to find out. You just kept stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing–

“Little one.”

You whirled around, a crazed look in your eyes. You must have been quite the sight to behold; blood seeping from your wounds and into the water in delicate whisps, arm broken and turned in a way that looked wrong, bloodied knife clutched in a white-knuckled grip that you immediately raised upon instinct. 

“...How long were you floating there?” Your tone was flat, not truly asking a question. It was a demand– like your father would make. The Dark Cecaelia made no move to reply, instead studying your body as if taking inventory of your injuries. The action only stirred up the dark depths of your fury.

“I said…” You approached, chest heaving with the effort it took to keep yourself upright and battle-ready, “How long have you been fucking floating there!?” You were nearly on top of him now, face to face with the cecaelia you came here for, the one you just risked your life to meet at his behest. Your mind flew to wild places, accusatory voices in your head spewing volatile words towards him, ones that you were powerless in your current state to stop. 

“Where the fuck were you!?” You seethed, fist clenching around the hilt of the knife harder, preparing for a strike you had no control over. You were mad with rage, head clouded with bloodlust and self-preservation. Anyone around you was a threat, especially someone who sat there and watched you get attacked and did nothing. Watching. Was that all he ever did? It seemed that way, now. All he had ever done with you was observe, and it never failed to make your skin crawl. The weight of his gaze was too much, too overwhelming, too disarming. Go for the eyes–

A sting erupted in your wrist, forcing you to drop the knife. You were unable to do much else than watch it slowly sink to the sea floor. Your breathing remained uneven, body poised to strike even without the weapon in your hands. You raised the only good one left– Or, you tried to. It didn't move. You strained harder, staring down at the unresponsive limb. You grew frustrated, a growl rumbling in your chest at the mark on your wrist. At first glance, it might seem like a remnant of your earlier fight for your life, but you knew it was much too small to have come from one of your attacker's suckers. No, this was smaller, pointed, like a pinprick.

“Did you just sting me…? What fucking right do you have to do that–” 

“Little one.” He sounded insistent, now, imploring. The tone immediately doused the fire within you like a cool rain, snuffing out the embers of your rage with gentleness. You swallowed, jaw snapping shut.

“You did well. You defended yourself. You took a life in exchange for your own.” He paused, weighing the words in his mouth until he seemed to find the ones he was searching for. His eyes trailed from you to the heap of cecaelia meat behind you. To call it a body would be too kind. He met your eyes again, the moment stretching between you uncomfortably. You didn’t dare speak. He stung you already. It wouldn’t take much else to snuff your life out entirely right now. 

“You are not like your father.” He spoke with finality, like he was unsure of the truth of the statement before, like you had just proved him wrong. Perhaps you had. Perhaps he saw you differently, now. The thought should make you preen, but it only served to make you glower, anger slowly simmering back to life. 

Your arms dangled uselessly at your sides, one from your injury and the other due to his potent venom, but you ached with the need to attack. You were still too high-strung, too deep in your panic for survival. Without your arms, you felt far too vulnerable. You bared your teeth, nose scrunching when he made to approach you further. You snapped at his hand when it approached your face. Too fast, your mind panicked. Threat.

But the touch was soft. Reverent, gentle in a way that sent your fight-or-flight ridden brain into a tailspin. Just as you began to ease into the touch, his grip turned colder, tightening around your chin to force you to look at him. Your eyes snapped open. When had you closed them?

“Not at me. Never at me. If you are to learn to hold your ground properly against a cecaelia and escape unscathed, you will never bare your guppy teeth at me. Am I understood?” His tone was icy, commanding in a way that sunk into your skin like oil. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest still, yet his presence seemed to help even out your breathing anyway. You nodded shakily. His grip softened again, gathering your shaking form up and cradling you close in his arms.

“Close your eyes.” You didn’t really need the instruction, eyes closed as soon as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. You barely knew this creature, but the grip he held you in felt suddenly like safety, a welcome respite for your battered and stressed body. You felt water rush around you, the movement reminding you that you were being taken elsewhere with neither your knowledge nor permission, but you ignored it in favour of nosing against the column on his throat to seek out more of his body heat. 

A chuckle bubbling from his chest should have made you nervous, perhaps even shy, but you were too overwhelmed to react accordingly, to behave as proper as you should be. Customs were left at the Kingdoms gate as far as you were concerned. In his arms, traveling who knows where with this cecaelia… No longer were you a prince, and he your kingdom’s mortal enemy. Instead, you were just you, and he was just… God, you didn’t even know his name. 

“Your name..” You prompted, voice sluggish with exhaustion as it settled deep in your bones, “You never told me.” 

The laughter you had grown familiar with now rang out again, like what you had said was truly amusing. You lifted your head from its comfortable resting place with great effort, and he outright cooed at your bewildered expression. You pouted.

“You know mine, can I not know yours? It’s much too formal to call you by the title my father gave you. It feels insulting…” You confessed, eyebrows pulling together in a furrow. His thumb rubbed gentle patterns into your still-numb arm. 

“Once we are home, I will tell you,” He soothed, like he was speaking to a fussy infant. The implication of his tone made your ears warm. Home? He must have seen your expression at the word, and your subsequent confusion over it, but he made no move to clarify. As far as he was concerned, it seemed his home was now yours. Maybe that was enough for now, your thoughts grew too muddled to properly sort them, so you succumbed to the urge to return to the safety of his neck.

–

When you finally blinked your eyes open, you found yourself in a cave of some sort. The first thing you noticed was that the walls were smoothed out purposefully, little shelves carved into them to hold little bottles of glowing fluids and other interesting trinkets. Magic, your brain sluggishly supplied, cecaeliae can wield magic. 

The second thing you noticed was that you couldn't move. It wasn’t a frightening realisation, somehow your body knew before you looked down at yourself that you were still safe in the Dark Cecaelia’s hold. You took stock of yourself, your body felt… much better. Gone was the bone peeking through your non-dominant arm, it was just as it was before the attack, blemishless and supple skin returned to its former glory. You marveled at it for a second longer before your gaze trailed to the mass of tentacles wrapping around every part of your body. You followed them up, eyes lazily trailing up to meet the eyes of the Dark Cecaelia himself, who was already watching you with an unreadable look in his eyes. In the back of your mind, you registered that he was still rubbing soothingly over your no-longer-numb arm. 

“Beomgyu,” He spoke, voice deep and thick and settling over you as beautifully as his tentacles did. You blanked for a second, blinking at him with sleep still clinging to your lashes. What?

“Beomgyu?” You repeated, head lolling to rest against his shoulder. You were now eye level with his jaw, which you sleepily trailed your finger along the line of, feeling the stubble. It helped remind you that this was real, that he was here and holding you so safely. He smiled.

“My name.” He stated it simply, the hint of a shrug jostling your head ever-so-slightly. You frowned at the movement, which he somehow must have picked up on because he laughed. You wiggled in his grip in retaliation, testing how much you could move and– 

Oh. That felt nice. You felt his grip tighten on you when you struggled, though he knew your struggle was only for show and testing limits. The added pressure made your stomach flip in a way you were beginning to become familiar with. It only ever happened with him. With Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu.” You echoed it again, feeling the weight of it on your tongue, wrapping your lips around the vowels. You liked the way it felt to do so, to say his name and hear him hum in response. You didn’t have the brain power quite yet to notice that you sounded a little too breathless, a little too whiny.

“What is it, pretty?” He prompted, though you could tell by the way he spoke that he wasn’t quite looking for an answer. Your hand was splayed against his chest, and now that you noticed it, you simply couldn’t look away. Your fingers twitched against his skin, nails just barely biting into the flesh. He hummed again, the sound deep and stirring something within you again. 

“Do it again,” you breathed, echoing a request you remember uttering a day prior. Was it only a day ago that you felt this inexplicable pull, a dangerous desire for more? It was hard to wrap your mind around. Surely you were under some sort of spell, but by this point you didn’t care. You needed more. Needed more of Beomgyu.

He tilted his head, as if confused for a moment before realization dawned on him. Ah, yes, he remembered the last time you begged for him so sweetly like that, with not a clue in the world what you were truly asking for. It was adorable, truly. His grip tightened around you once again, pressing against your body from torso to tail. You choked on a gasp.

“Little one.” You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, head too fuzzy from the affect his actions had on you. All you could manage was a distant-sounding hum, and little else. He seemed pleased with that, if the rumble in his chest was anything to go by. You wiggled in his grip again, needy. Needy for what, you didn't quite know. 

“Little one,” He tried again. You hummed again, a bit faster this time. Why wasn't he doing it again? What was taking so long? “Do you even know what you want, right now?”

You shook your head. No, you didn’t. But you didn’t really care to, as long as he continued. 

The tentacles removed themselves from your body, and you keened high in your throat, indignant at being denied. Warm hands shifted your weight, making you sit up. You slowly met his eyes, and the intensity in them froze you in your place. His gaze trailed down, and the image of him staring at something near your lap, slack-jawed and wanting left you feeling like a red-hot iron. Hot, searing the water around you to a boiling point. You squirmed under the weight of it, and found yourself slowly following his gaze. What your eyes finally landed made you freeze.

A slit. Something you knew was there, realistically. You knew biology, of course, but the normally closed opening was open and dripping something thick. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You were aroused this whole time? God, if that's what it felt like, you no longer judged those who spent their lives seeking this pleasure. You found yourself gnawing at your lower lip upon the realisation. You hesitantly looked back up at him, hands moving to cover yourself. 

“I– I’m sorry if I made you uncom–” He cut you off, snatching your wrists and pulling them away from your lap. 

“Do not hide yourself from me. Tell me what it is that you want.” His words left no room for debate. They never did. He took command over you like it was as easy as breathing, and with how frequently he did so, it might as well be. You swallowed, trying to combat the lump settling in your throat. You let your hands settle by your side obediently. You wracked your brain, trying to figure out how to answer him. What did you want? Everything, you knew. You wanted everything from him. You wanted to leave your fathers image behind. You wanted to be held again. You wanted to be wrapped up in his tentacles again, unable to escape. You wanted to learn to fight back. You wanted to make Beomgyu proud.

A cheshire grin spread on Beomgyu’s face. Shit. You said that aloud, didnt you? You seemed to do that around him without intending to. His power over you was truly astounding.

“Flattery, my pearl, will get you everywhere you wish to be.” The smile remained, unwavering. It seemed to grow sharper, predatory, and it sent heat licking at the base of your spine. 

“You want to make me proud, want to learn to fight like a real cecaelia? Your father always was hesitant to follow my suggestions, brilliant as they were... But it seems I’ve gained something far greater after my exile.” He trailed a finger along your arm, watching in thinly-veiled amusement as gooseflesh erupted in the wake of his touch. He followed an invisible line, tracing up your shoulder, collarbone, neck, jaw. At last, he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes locked hungrily on your lips. 

“I gained you.”

The words stole the breath from your lips. He.. thought you alone were worth all the torment he went through at the hands of your father? You struggled to wrap your mind around it. Surely this was all just sweet words designed to ensnare, to trap you, keep you pliant against his every whim. If it was, it was working. You were doomed.

“You gained me,” You echoed, unable to look away. He had bewitched you, mind, body and soul, and you were powerless to say no. It was useless to deny it, to pretend he did not possess you wholly. “I am yours.”

A groan tumbled from his mouth, and he leaned forward just a fraction more. You could feel the warm water of his breath rushing over your face, and you suddenly ached for him to be closer, yet his grip held you right where he wanted you. Just a breath away. 

“You have no idea what you do to me.” He whispered it like a secret, like reverent devotion meant only for you to hear. Your heart swooped dangerously in your chest at the words, squirming slightly. You needed to be closer, needed to feel how true his words were. You needed him to prove it.

“So show me.” Your words were simple, perhaps too simple. You couldn’t stop them if you tried, far too breathless and high-strung to deny the desire any further. You were tired of the tension, of the gaze on you from afar. You needed him up close, needed him to do more than just watch. You needed him to touch.

And touch, he did.

He surged forward with no warning, pressing his lips to yours in a searing, claiming kiss. You immediately yielded to it, allowing him to take what he needed, and give you everything. You thrilled at the contact, the way his lips pressed to yours before he grew too greedy for anything remotely chaste. Sharp teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, creating tiny cuts that made you hiss into the contact, yet you didn’t dare pull away. You couldn’t now, even if you tried. He held you fast against him, a crushing grip against your arms to keep you in place. His tongue traced along the duller edges of your teeth, pressed over the roof of your mouth, tangled with your own tongue, and you were helpless. You wined, high and desperate in your throat. You had never even been kissed before, much less did you imagine your first kiss would be such an intense claiming. You reveled in it, the electric feeling dancing through your body and settling hot and heavy at the base of your stomach. That thick liquid continued to make a mess of your lap, and you outright sobbed when a finger trailed gingerly over the edges, spreading the fluid. 

You felt positively dizzy, pliant and vulnerable to his every whim.

“Beomgyu…” You cried against his lips, though you weren’t exactly sure what you were calling for. You needed less, you needed more, you needed everything. He was somehow able to understand you, smiling against you before finally pulling away. You rocked forward, attempting to chase him. He laughed.

“My pearl,” He replied in kind, delicately cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He had that soft, awed look on his face again that made you feel wholly wanted, wholly desired. You sighed against his palm, leaning into it to press a kiss to the skin closest to your lips. “If you do this, you can never go back. You know this, right?”

Never going back. To the castle, you assumed. The idea of never returning to your father should scare you, but it didn't. You were safe out here, tucked up close to Beomgyu, far from your father’s influence. His power stopped at the drop-off point, the same place where Beomgyu’s began. You would be safe as long as you had him to keep you that way, and there was no doubt he would teach you what he knew, turn you into a fearsome fighting machine. Someone he would be proud to show off to the others. You preened at the idea, nodding your head vigorously.

“I never needed him. I only need you.”

–

If someone had told you just weeks ago that you'd be the lover of the Dark Cecaelia, that you had given up your crown for dark water and uncertainty, you would have laughed them out of the room. There was no way you wouldn’t follow in your fathers footsteps, becoming just like him atop the throne. There was no way you'd give up your whole life for this stranger, for this danger made so obvious by the texts you grew up reading. But Beomgyu was nothing like the scrolls, and you were nothing like your father.

You were happy, and perhaps that was all you ever needed. 

[hana-bobo-finch]

i feel the need to mention that my cat has a perfect pacman eating a dot shape on his back and it’s the cutest thing ever

[millidew]

maizuru and milsiril are my favorite fucked up dungeon meshi mother figures

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Fanfic, for how I imagine the Butcher would proceed after that:

Chief Pete Jones was used to dealing with the dregs of society. He’d arrested all types of criminals for over a decade before he’d become chief. And sometimes he associated with the wealthier criminals in a more business-like manner. Not honorable, perhaps, but when those same criminals were deciding on the department’s budget, it ensured his job was safe and often gave him extra cash here or there.

Still, it meant socializing with some people whom the chief never quite felt safe turning his back on. Dennis Collins, for example. The first time Jones had seen his work, the chief had vomited into a waste paper basket and needed to take off the next day. The man wasn’t human, and if Jones had any spine, he should have put a bullet in Collins’ head. Yet, Jones had still made sure the investigation faltered because Collins’ employer at the time had demanded it. And Jones hadn’t come forward with what he suspected the first time another of Collins’ employers had put a hit on one of Jones’ own employees because that would have led to Jones miss out on a few grand and likely would have ended with Jones in the Hudson.

Still, it was not a pleasant surprise to come into his office late one night to find Collins in Jones’ seat, feet propped on his desk.

“Evenin’, Pete.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jones cursed, his hand flying instinctively to his service revolver.

The Butcher tsked. “I wouldn’. I’m here as a friend, but that can change.”

Jones didn’t remove his hand from his gun, but nor did he draw it. It was unusual for the people he did business with to use Collins as an intermediary; usually requests were made over lunch or dinner. There was nothing suspicious about a politician or philanthropist taking a police chief out for a meal to discuss a department’s progress and needs.

“Well? Why are you here?”

The Butcher tilted his head slightly. “Why, on account o’ our mutual friend, of course! I’ve been worried about ‘im. Isn’ it only natural I pay you a visit to find out what ‘appened?”

Finley. Of course it would be because of Finley. The detective was currently laid up in a hospital bed with a stab wound to his shoulder and a nasty gash to his temple. Doctors said he’d survive and would make a full recovery, but whoever had attacked him was still at large.

Jones wasn’t exactly sure of the nature of Finley’s relationship with Collins. Finley had never said anything, and Jones wasn’t going to ask. The less he knew about Collins, the safer he’d be. But in retrospect, it was natural for Collins to take an interest.

“He was stabbed. Other than that, we don’t know.” Jones said. It was true, though not for lack of trying. He took attacks on his own seriously, unless he was paid to look the other way. “We’re looking into it.” The Butcher didn’t reply, just looked at him with those cold eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say. If we knew who it was they’d be in custody.” Still silence. Jones sighed. “Look, he’s being guarded 24/7. Until we get more leads, we can’t bring anyone in. We’re doing the best we can.”

Finally, Collins smiled. “Oh, I know you are, Pete. Yer a smart man, an’ you know I’m fond o’ this one. If I thought you were slackin’ on the job…” He shook his head. “As I said, yer’ smart enough to know better. I’m here because I want the files to the cases Finley’s workin’ on.”

“I… that’s not poss-” Jones forced himself not to take a step as Collins expression went grim and he swung his feet off the desk. “That will take a bit.” He amended. “I’ve already given the files to different detectives to look into leads. It might take a while to find them.”

The Butcher’s grin returned. “O’ course. I understand. Luckily, I have no where else t’ be. I can wait.” He looked at Jones expectantly, and Jones realized Collins meant for him to get them right now.

Jones decided that it was best not to complain about how it wasn’t out of the question for detectives to take files home with them and finding the ones still in the building would require rummaging through multiple desks. How it was one thing to write off evidence for one case going missing, but quite another to find a convincing explanation for multiple case files vanishing. Instead, Jones slowly backed out of his office and headed toward the first desk. Something told him that Collins wouldn’t take kindly to excuses. It was best to just get him what he wanted.

Imagine if Noel got hurt and was taken to the same hospital the Butcher tried to kill Daniel in.

I feel like there's no way Dennis would stay away, which means he'd need to get creative with his disguise.

He would definitely be able to pull it off.

Depending on how out of it Noel was, he might not even recognize Collins, which could lead to some interesting conversations:

Dennis: (presses a kiss to Noel's forehead) Get well soon, love.

Noel: (pulls away) Don' do that, doc.

Dennis: Why not?

Noel: I have a boyfriend.

[puppppppppy]

Atla live action 😐