#perhaps peach patches

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: a power outage, Jungkook being a menace as per always, getting stood up for Valentine's Day, falling on a patch of ice, alcohol, curses, peach, OC gets a little jealous, explicit content: teasing?, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, sex toy (vibrator), male and female masturbation, praising, cum play (don't be stupid), fingering

☆word count: 13.2k

☆a/n: this is like one of my fav chapters in this whole series, and also the one inspired by jungkook's iconic live with the candle and the white dress shirt and oof :') hope you enjoy it!! Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, February 14th 

Sometimes, the universe aligns to create such a shitty day that you think your life is a joke. A cruel joke, and you’re just the sitcom character that people use to make themselves feel better.

Today has been one of those days. You woke up late, somehow not hearing your alarm, and got to your midterm so late you didn’t have time to finish. At least you were confident in the answers that you did write down, so you think there’s a chance you’ll still pass. 

Then, you forgot your student ID, and the lady at the cafeteria refused to let you eat even though she’s seen you almost every day of the semester so far. Nabi offered you some of her salad, but you felt bad and barely ate.

Then the rain started – freezing rain at that – and you had to run to the other building for your genetics class, ending with your hair half frozen and the knowledge that you’re going to get sick by tomorrow.

Genetics class in and of itself is fine. Your stomach gurgling all through the class isn’t, and you’ve noticed people looking at you where you’re sitting, every time your stomach thinks it’s a whale and it needs to sing to its fellow mates.

During break, someone offers you a protein bar, and you take it with cheeks burning, thanking them profusely. Though you hate the taste of protein bars, and you struggle to finish it without puking on the desk. You power through, and then the class resumes, and you try to focus. It’s hard, and when you receive a text from Hoseok, you stop pretending that you’re listening.

[2:47 pm] Hobi: have u seen the weather outside? [2:47 pm] You: yeah it’s trash. I think I’m still half frozen [2:49 pm] Hobi: don’t have power at my place anymore [2:50 pm] Hobi: and it looks dangerous to drive

You know exactly what’s coming. It shouldn’t even come as a surprise – you don’t know why you agreed to meet up on Valentine’s Day. Yet, you’ve been looking forward to it all day, perhaps because it’s been so shit even hanging out with Hoseok on this day of celebration of love seemed better.

[2:50 pm] Hobi: any chance I can get a raincheck?

You want to bash your head on the desk, and of course, the professor chooses this exact moment to call you out for being on your phone. You flush a deep red, mumbling an apology as you put your phone face down on the desk. Everyone’s looking at you, and from where you’re sitting at the back of the class you can see that half the people aren’t even taking notes. You think they’re full of shit for glaring at you, but you can’t help the way you turn crimson, and Nabi stifles a laugh next to you.

“Shut up,” you whisper through gritted teeth, elbowing her in the ribs. 

She shrugs innocently, and then her eyes slide back to the professor as he resumes the class. Not wanting to risk it, you focus too, and it seems the shame is what you need to finally concentrate because you find yourself typing away on the computer, describing the pictures in the PowerPoint slides so you can understand them later.

The lights go out five minutes before the end of the class. The projector shuts down in time, a clear indication that the college has run out of power too – something that rarely ever happens unless it’s the end of the world outside.

There’s a series of gasps, and the professor looks so jaded at the front of the class that you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made of the actual precious stone. He looks towards the door, where you can see that the light has also gone out in the hallway.

Without even a glance at the class, he slams his laptop shut, heaving out a sigh.

“Class dismissed for today, we don’t have enough time left to wait for the power to come back on.” 

It doesn’t even take half a second before everyone is starting to put their stuff away, the class suddenly overcome with a cacophony of sounds, and Nabi turns to you.

“Who were you texting during class?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up.” You put your laptop in your bag, chugging the rest of your water bottle before you stuff it next to the laptop. “Hobi cancelled on me.”

Of course the whole friend group now knows about you two. You have Hoseok to blame for that, and his incredibly good idea to have sex at a party last week, where Yoongi walked in on the two of you. You’ve never seen Yoongi look more uncomfortable before in your life and, to your surprise, he’s been teased about the situation a lot more than you or Hoseok. It’s still a relief because you were afraid the friend group would go to shit if people knew, but now it seems it’s only solidified it even more.

“Bruh,” Nabi lets out. “Why?”

You motion to the dead neon lights over your heads. “The weather. He doesn’t have power anymore.”

“Shit.” You finish packing your stuff and you’re walking out of the class when she continues, “That’s wild though, didn’t think the freezing rain would hit that bad.”

A girl in front of you turns as if summoned. “They’re saying it’s going to be the worst storm of the century.” She points her phone towards you and Nabi, screen first. “Look, tons of trees have already fallen.”

Your eyes widen, because indeed she’s showing a picture from a group chat, of a tree having fallen on someone’s poor car. You wince in time with Nabi.

“RIP to whoever’s car that is,” you answer.

The girl nods, a wistful expression taking over her features. “That would be my boyfriend’s.”

You don’t talk more after that, and she jogs to join her friends closer to the stairs. You take that as an opportunity to finally reply to Hoseok, grabbing your phone out of the pocket of your coat.

[3:59 pm] You: power even went out in college so yeah, np!

Hoseok is quicker to reply than you’ve expected, saying that he’d like to meet up some time this weekend if you can. You don’t promise him anything, though you don’t really have plans as of right now.

You’ve just got a feeling that, if the storm is going to be the storm of the century, you won’t be hanging out for at least a few days. And the moment you step outside, you realize that it might even take more than a few days.

Trees have fallen everywhere. The sidewalk is entirely iced, and just by the time you’ve made it to the bus stop in front of the building, you’ve seen a car accident, both cars unable to stop at a stop sign. You figure taking the bus would be dangerous right now, and you settle on aiming for the pedestrian trail that leads to a park near your apartment, while Nabi parts to head towards the dorm, where apparently the power is still on. She tells you to let her know if you have power at home, and then you turn to head towards home, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

At least it’s not raining heavily as you walk. It’s the only positive thing in your day, and you hold onto your phone, sending a text to Taehyung to inform him of the situation.

You’re two minutes from home when you slip on a slab of ice, and you fall in a puddle of mud that stains your pale pants. You don’t even know how there can be mud when everything else is frozen, but of course, you had to fall in it. You assess yourself for a second, making sure nothing hurts too bad and then you mutter, “Of fucking course.”

You don’t even feel like getting up. If it wasn’t for the fact that the mud in which you’re sitting is freezing, you think you’d sit there until you died. You feel drained, and the weight of the day finally hits you head-on, bringing tears to your eyes.

Or maybe it’s just the embarrassment of walking home with your favourite pair of pants ruined. You don’t even know anymore; too much has happened in just a few hours for your brain to accept to be working anymore. You angrily blink the tears away, knowing you’ll break down the second you step inside your own home.

You can only hope that Jungkook is not going to be there. You hold onto that hope as you get to the building, and when you see the lights are out, the tears win against you. You carefully walk up the stairs – even they are covered in a thick sheet of ice – and surprisingly, you make it to the top unscathed.

You try to unlock the door with shaky fingers, struggling to find the hole through the blurriness of your tears, and you almost consider breaking the door down when it suddenly swings open in front of you.

“Peach?”

You’re aware that you’ve got fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re aware that you probably look a mess – you are a mess – but all you can do is stare at Jungkook.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern as he steps aside to let you in.

You put your bag down, shrugging as he shuts the door behind him carefully, eyeing you as if you’re a specimen of a rare animal that’s going to run if he startles it. You refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to speak lest you embarrass yourself with crying even more. All you do is angrily wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Hey,” he says, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

You motion around. “What’s wrong?” You scoff, and out of spite, you force down the wave of tears that is threatening to meet the ones you’ve just dried on your cheeks. “Everything is fucking wrong.”

You glance at Jungkook, and he’s just watching, eyes widened. He seems startled by your outburst, and you think you see him gulp.

“Do you…” he trails off, glancing at the door. You only then realize that he’s clad in his winter coat, and he was probably on his way out when you arrived. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head no, hating yourself for the way your bottom lip trembles. 

His hand is still on your shoulder, and it slowly slides to your arm. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asks.

He’s only then realized that you’re half-covered in mud.

“I fell on a patch of ice,” you answer.

He makes you turn, assessing the damage. “If you soak your pants in water, I can get the stain out.”

“There’s no power.”

He turns you back around, offering you a small smile as he cocks an eyebrow arrogantly. “Astute.”

You want to punch him so bad, but what you do is laugh, which makes you think you’ve gone crazy.

“Water still runs, though,” he points out. “I’ll take care of it when the power comes back on. Doesn’t even need to be warm. You can save what’s left of the hot water for a shower if you want?”

He says it like a question, and you shrug your shoulders. A new tear rolls on your cheek, and to your surprise, Jungkook dries it with his thumb. He then points to your shoes.

“Take these off. You’re going to take a shower before the neighbours steal the water.”

“I don’t…” you trail off, as he’s just staring at you as if what you were going to say was going to be the stupidest shit he’s ever heard. As much as you want to hate him right now, the way his hand feels on your arm is making the anxiety lessen, until you realize that it’s going to be okay.

You can head to Ria and Nabi’s dorm right after a quick shower.

“M’kay,” you finally accept. “But you can go, you don’t have to stay.”

He shrugs, and when he lets go of your arm, you almost want to grab his hand and put it back there. “I was just going to charge my phone in my car. It can wait.”

You hold his gaze, feeling swallowed by his big doe eyes. It finishes drying the tears on your waterline, and you take a deep steadying breath. “M’kay,” you repeat.

At that he smirks, nodding his head once. He kicks off his shoes as you carefully take yours off, and then he makes grabby hands at you.

“What?” you ask.

“Your coat,” he answers. “I’ll put it in the closet for you.”

You slightly frown. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be nice?” When you remain silent, he chuckles. “You think I’m just going to let my best friend’s sister cry when she gets home?”

The words hurt, even though they’re just a statement of what you are to him. “You’re so random.”

He looks somehow offended. “Just give me your coat, peach.” He’s stern, and you have half a thought to mimic him, but you resist. When you hand him the coat, he offers you a grin. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Once again you surprise yourself by laughing, and the grin on his lips softens in a way that makes you warm inside.

“You’re annoying,” you whine.

He shrugs as he opens the closet. “Just go take a quick shower. Make sure to soak the pants too.”

“Yes, mom.”

He chokes on a snort. “Oof, no, don’t call me mom.”

You stifle a laugh, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. He faces you again, and you startle as he pinches your cheek. You push him off, as all he does is offer you a wide grin that makes dimples appear on his cheeks.

You’ve never really seen those dimples before, not while he’s smiling. You have to force yourself to look away, and as entrancing as they are, you manage to have your gaze drop to a random spot on the floor. “Alright then, I’ll grab my stuff. You can charge your phone while I’m in the shower.”

“All good, I’m at 65%,” he says. “I just checked online, and the power outage will likely last through the night so… figured I didn’t have anything better to do.”

You purse your lips. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence before he motions to the bathroom. “Aren’t you going?”

Your cheeks burn, and you nod once before heading towards your room as he snorts behind you, evidently laughing at you. You ignore him, quickly grabbing a change of clothes and bringing them to the bathroom. Jungkook’s moved to the couch, and to your surprise you see him with a book in hand.

“You read?”

The question is out before you realize, and Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction.

“It’s for a class.”

You nod once. “Right.” You then scrape your throat, glance at the bathroom and then settle your eyes on him again. “I’ll be right back.”

He smiles at you, and it’s the last thing you see before you walk into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you. Luckily enough, it’s still light enough outside for you to be able to shower without being in the dark, and as Jungkook advertised, there’s still hot water.

You take the fastest shower of your life, not wanting to risk running out of hot water, and then you put your dirty pants in the sink, soaking them in cold water. You put your clean clothes on – nothing impressive, just a pair of black sweatpants with a white t-shirt. You take one look at yourself in the mirror – you look like you’ve gone through hell, but at least you’re refreshed. 

With a steadying breath, you walk out of the bathroom, and your eyes immediately find Jungkook where he’s still sitting on the couch, looking like he hasn’t moved an inch. He glances at you before resuming his attention on his book. You feel awkward, yet you still walk in his direction because, frankly, what else is there for you to do when there’s no power?

“What’s the book about?” you enquire.

He raises it for you to see as you sit next to him. He moves too fast, and all you can see is something about trickle-down economy before the book is back in his lap.

“Looks boring.”

He laughs. “It is. Plus, trickle-down economics is bullshit.”

You nod wisely, even though your knowledge in the economy and business field is little to zero. All you know is that trickle-down economics is what rich people use to defend their actions, which immediately makes it so you don’t trust it one bit.

Eat the rich and all that.

“Right,” you let out.

Jungkook throws you a glance. “Feeling better?”

You don’t know how to answer. Because, yes, you feel somehow better now that you are clean and warmed from the shower, but you’re still very aware that the power is out, you’ve likely failed a midterm, and your date was cancelled.

“Sort of,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders. “Today was just a shitshow.” 

He says nothing, but his big eyes on you entice you to open up to him, making you feel more at ease than you’ve ever been around him.

Maybe because you just need someone to vent to after all.

“Like… I woke up late this morning,” you tell him. “Arrived so late to my midterm that I couldn’t finish. Then realized that I forgot my wallet here and couldn’t eat lunch. Got stood up for a date tonight, and now no power here? This day has been the worst.”

You sit back on the couch after you’ve finished your tirade, and Jungkook just looks at you curiously. You don’t register you’ve called hanging out with Hoseok a date until Jungkook says, “You had a Valentine’s Day date?”

You shut your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale loudly. “Sort of. Not really a date.”

“How can it not really be a date?”

You entirely miss the teasing in his voice, mostly because you’re appalled at yourself for the slipping. “It’s just… my friend with benefits, so not a date.”

“Damn, peach,” he says, and he bursts out laughing. You crack an eye open, your heart feeling like it’s been stabbed as Jungkook grins at you. “Didn’t think you were one to have a friend with benefits.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, and his gaze slides away from you as his brows furrow slightly. “You’re Tae’s sister, and the way he talks about you I just… I don’t know.”

Annoyance creeps into you as you cock an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t listen to what Taehyung says about me. He still thinks I’m twelve.”

Jungkook snorts, and to your surprise, it makes you smile, right as he glances at you. 

“Are you not?”

“Yah!” You punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs as he massages the spot. “I’ll have you know I’m an adult.”

His features turn somber, and he plays with his piercing for a time before he answers. “I’m starting to realize it, trust me.”

In the somberness of his eyes, a spark ignites, and you feel as if electricity is running on every inch of your body. You wish it would run into the building instead, bringing the power back on but unfortunately, you’re the only victim, and all you can do is hold his gaze.

The moment stretches until you grow uncomfortable, and your eyes slide to the Switch under the TV, as if it’ll find solace there.

“Anyway,” you say, scraping your throat. “Apparently there’s still power at the dorms so I think I’ll head over there.”

“You’ll abandon me?” he says, faking offence. “Right when I offered to take care of your pants? The nerves on you.”

You roll your eyes as the awkwardness fades to be replaced by the annoyance Jungkook usually brings out of you. “You’re a big boy, you don’t need me.”

“You sure you want to walk all the way there though? What if you fall again?”

You push him as he smiles wickedly, satisfied that he’s annoyed you. “I hate you.”

“You know what you hate even more than me?”

Your brow creases in confusion. “What?”

He shrugs his shoulders, a smirk growing on his lips. “You’ll have to stay for me to answer.”

You sigh deeply, folding your arms on your chest. You gauge him, watch as his smirk only widens while you ponder staying here. And you don’t even know why you’re considering it in the first place. There’s just something about being able to talk to Jungkook like this, about being comfortable next to him that makes you want to stay.

“Name a single reason why I should stay,” you finally say.

His smirk turns victorious. “I’ll cook something for you.”

“The power is out,” you feel the need to remind him. 

He throws you a no-bullshit look. “Really, peach, you need to find a bit of creativity in your life.”

“What?”

“The stove doesn’t run on electricity, it runs on gas.”

You look up at the ceiling. “How was I supposed to know that, I barely ever cook.”

“I cook!” he bursts, waving the book around. You didn’t realize he was still holding it, and you laugh as the pages flutter around.  “And you usually steal my food, so just let me make something for you tonight.”

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze as he looks at you, faking annoyance. “What do you want to cook?”

“I have chicken that I need to cook tonight if I don’t want it to go bad,” he says. “I can make noodles with it.”

It takes you all but two seconds before you realize that there’s no way you’re going to leave when Jungkook is suggesting to cook for you. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” You nod, and Jungkook beams. ��You won’t regret it.”

You laugh, slightly shaking your head as he puts the book away and gets up. He offers you his hand, the one with the tattoos on the back of it, and you furrow your brows. “What?”

“Go get changed,” he says, hand still extended between you. “I’ll give you a Valentine’s Day date, but you’re going to have to play the part too.”

Something stops in your chest – your heart, most likely – and you’re hit with the thought that this is a bad idea. That whatever Jungkook means by that is going to be the mistake of the century, yet you still find yourself accepting his extended hand.

He pulls you to your feet, and he doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, big doe eyes widening slightly as he looks at you.

“You…” you trail off, scraping your throat as you look away from his eyes.

It’s all you can do not to get lost in his gaze. 

“I?” he presses, voice low.

“You should dress up too,” you mumble, cheeks burning. “So I’m not alone.”

He lets go of your hand, and your fingers twitch as it falls to your side. When his index finds your chin, you think your blood stops in your veins. He makes you tilt your head back, enough so that you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“I will.” His voice is grave, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to your lips once as they part. “I’m going to make this worth it. You deserve it after such a shit day, don’t you?”

You gulp. “Yeah?”

He pats your cheek. “Yeah, you do.”

And then he’s walking away. You’re left standing there, heart racing in your chest, feeling so warm you think you’re about to catch fire. You watch him disappear into his room, and it’s only when he’s out of sight that you manage to move, making your way to your own room.

You shut the door behind you, resting against it as you take deep breaths to calm down. You’re not sure if it’s doing you any good, because this is Jungkook. Jungkook, with his tattoo sleeve and piercings, your older brother’s best friend. Your roommate, the man that’s been playing with you for weeks, for months, like you’re just some playdough. You think he’s doing it on purpose. He has to – he’s trying to make your life miserable because you’re Taehyung’s sister. You don’t see what else it could be. Because why the fuck would Jungkook act like this with you?

You’re not stupid enough to believe it isn’t your fault. Because you were there the night of The Incident, and you reckon things have changed with Jungkook since that night. 

You take a deep, steadying breath before pushing up from the door. No matter what it is that is making Jungkook act like this, you’re still curious to see what he’s preparing for you. Spending time with him like this, with no power and nothing else to do than talk…

Maybe it’s going to help you understand what’s happening in that thick skull of his. So you search for something to wear, something warm since the heating is also down. You settle on brown dress pants that you know make your ass look amazing, and you pair them with a pale beige wool turtleneck. You tuck the shirt in your pants, putting a belt on to make sure it stays in place, and then you take a good look at yourself in your standing mirror. Satisfied with your outfit, you make to move out of your room, but you stop with your hand halfway to the knob.

You can hear Jungkook humming in his room, a soft melody that’s making you think he’s taking a long time in there. Is he actually dressing up? It makes something terribly warm and soft settle in your chest, and you turn back around, grab your makeup pouch and head to your desk.

If this is a date, or whatever it is that Jungkook considers dates to be, you want to look good for it. So you put a little bit of makeup on, trusting your instinct to make it look great even though the light of your small mirror doesn’t turn on since there’s still no power. You hear Jungkook get out of his room before you’re done, and you hope he doesn’t decide to come here.

You doubt he would, but you somehow feel awkward as you’re getting ready. Because he’s your older brother’s best friend, because he’s a college fuckboy, because he’s been making you feel too many things lately – most of them you repress as if your life depends on it. And you think, your life does depend on it. Because nothing can happen between you and Jungkook; you wouldn’t do that to Taehyung. And mostly, you wouldn’t do that to Jungkook, because you know Taehyung would hate him if something did happen.

You sigh. It comes out shakily, a clear indication that you’re growing anxious, and you almost want to laugh at yourself. You want to tell yourself to get a grip, to just play along for things are bound to go back to normality when the power comes back. 

You only stop feeling anxious when Taehyung texts you, your phone lighting up where you’ve put it down on your desk.

[5:02 pm] bröther👽: jk texted me the same thing! Glad u won’t be alone tonight [5:02 pm] You: he’s gonna cook dinner [5:03 pm] bröther👽: lmao, jk doesn’t cook for girls, feel lucky

With that you realize that, indeed, you should feel lucky. Because Jungkook can be a friend, if not anything else. It’s reassuring, and you finish getting ready feeling lighter than you’ve felt all day, as if the hell that today was is all forgotten. 

You spray some perfume on the inside of your wrists, dabbing it on your neck before you finally declare yourself ready to head out of your room. You hope Jungkook won’t make fun of you – he’d be the kind of guy to make fun of you for this, you just know it – and you make your way to the kitchen, where you can hear him busying himself.

He’s brought his portable speaker out of his room. The one that also has a projector in it, and it shines northern lights on the walls and on the ceiling of the kitchen, giving it a cozy atmosphere. No music is playing as of right now, yet Jungkook is still humming, voice low yet melodious.

You rarely hear him sing, but anytime you do, you feel like your ears are blessed by an angel.

He reappears from where he was hidden in the fridge, and his mouth falls open as he catches sight of you. 

He’s wearing a white dress shirt. You think it’s made of linen – it doesn’t look particularly fancy. Yet the way he’s rolled it on his forearms is weirdly attractive, even though he’s only wearing grey sweatpants with it. It’s a look, a look you think only he can pull off. He’s taken the time to style his hair back, and he’s put on earrings you’ve only seen him wear a couple of times during parties.

He eyes you up and down, his doe eyes crinkling in appreciation. “You look good, peach.”

The compliment makes you blush, and you offer him a small smile. He echoes it right away, and he holds up a bottle of rosé that you bought two months ago and forgot all about since then.

“Wine?” you let out as you stop in front of him. You feel awkward because, obviously, it’s wine, but you still hold his gaze as he nods.

“It’s yours but…” He shrugs, glancing at the label. “I figured it’d work well with the chicken.”

You nod once. “Sure, we can drink it.”

It makes him happy. You can see it in the way he beams, and then he puts it down on the counter with the rest of the ingredients. When he moves, you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you feel your cheeks burn again. You glance outside – the rain has stopped, but grey clouds are still looming in the sky as the world slowly darkens. You wonder if they’ll go away some time tonight – without the light pollution, you reckon you’d be able to stargaze.

You end up helping Jungkook with the cooking, chopping some vegetables as he takes care of the meat. You’re not particularly hungry, so you take your time, talking about everything and nothing. Jungkook is good at this, you realize. He’s good at changing your mind, at making sure it doesn’t wander back to your midterm and to the rest of your shitty day. He makes you laugh, cracking stupid jokes whenever you do something, smirking at you when you roll your eyes.

Being with him like this also makes you understand why he’s Taehyung’s friend. He feels more natural this way, less fuckboy-ish, and it’s a side of him you’ve never really seen before.

You sit at the kitchen table, sharing a glass of the rosé wine while the food simmers on the stove. Jungkook’s put on an indie music playlist before you started cooking – something you teased him about. Who knew Jeon Jungkook likes indie music?

“How was Tae before college?” Jungkook asks all of a sudden when there’s a lull in the conversation. “He barely talks about high school.”

You know the exact reason why, and her name is Youna. Taehyung’s ex, his high school sweetheart. The one that moved to the other side of the country without ever once looking back.

“He was an idiot,” you answer, and Jungkook laughs. “No, seriously. He dated the same girl all through high school. Was convinced he was going to marry her.”

“That sounds on brand with Tae,” Jungkook says, nodding his head wisely. “He said that about every girl he’s dated in college, but most of them don’t last more than a few weeks.”

You wince. “Remember Hailey from last semester?”

She lasted about three weeks, but she spent most of those at the apartment. It was the only three weeks where Jungkook and you had talked more than just small talk – or his usual teasing. Mostly because you kept complaining about her, and Jungkook kept saying you were cute when you were mad.

Come to think of it, it still was teasing.

“Fuck, her voice,” Jungkook lets out, shaking his head. “I’m sure she was faking having such a high voice. I don’t know how Taehyung could deal with that.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and Jungkook smiles as he watches you. “I swear to God, I was about to kick Tae out of the apartment,” you say. “I’m glad she didn’t last.”

“Agreed.”

There’s another silence as the song switches on Jungkook’s speaker. You take a sip of wine, appreciating the taste, and Jungkook gets up to check the food on the stove. He comes back a moment later, sitting back next to you.

You think he’s closer. He feels closer, and the smell of his cologne fills your nose again. 

“You put on some cologne,” you state, and it startles you somehow. You weren’t expecting to say that and, clearly, Jungkook wasn’t expecting it either.

“Yeah.” He looks down at himself as if the cologne is visible on him. “Do you like it?”

You gulp. “Yeah, you smell good.”

He smirks, nodding his head. “You too, peach. I love the vanilla scent.”

You don’t know what to do with the compliment. You mutter a thank you before taking a large sip of wine, and Jungkook chuckles before following your lead.

“Do you think Tae and that girl in France will last?” you ask. “He still hasn’t told me who she is.”

Indeed, he’s remained evasive whenever you’ve asked. You stalked the people that are with him on the semester abroad, and you think two of the girls could be your brother’s type, but it’s hard to tell.

“Oh,” Jungkook lets out. He grabs his phone, resting his forearms on the table as he opens it. He goes on Instagram, and as it loads, he glances at you. “He’s told me. Let me show you.”

“What!” you exclaim. “How come he told you and not me?”

Jungkook chuckles. “No idea. But here.”

He shows you the girl’s profile, and you take his phone as you scroll through the pictures. To your surprise, she’s not one of the two girls you stalked. She looks shy, barely showing her face in her pictures, most of them being of nature anyway. Come to think of it, you do get a romantic vibe from her feed, and you reckon that would work well with Taehyung. 

You’re about to give Jungkook his phone back when it vibrates in your hand, a notification appearing at the top. 

[6:05 pm] Shelly 💦🍒: are u gonna be here soon?

It’s not your fault that you read it, and your gaze widens as you look up from the device. Jungkook hasn’t noticed, and he smiles at you, seemingly expectant.

“So?” he asks.

“You had a date tonight?”

His mouth falls open. He looks guilty, eyes widening and taking a sheepish expression. He remains silent, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he thinks of what to answer.

You don’t know how to feel. You feel bad for the girl – Shelly – who’s clearly waiting for Jungkook somewhere. You feel bad that he chose to stay with you because you were upset, but mostly you feel strange that he’s doing all of this for you when there’s someone waiting for him. 

The emojis next to her name are enough of an explanation of what she is to Jungkook. Still, you feel increasingly uncomfortable, even more so as he says nothing.

“What the fuck, JK?”

“She’s no one,” he says when you get up. “Trust me, I’ve only hung out with her a couple of times.”

You laugh, and it’s somehow void of joy. “Why would I care?”

He looks at the glasses of wine, and then at the food on the stove. “I don’t know… because we’re…” He motions between you, and then at said glasses of wine and food. “I just forgot to tell her I wasn’t going to come over.”

It’s enough of a reminder that Jungkook, for all his current kindness, is a renowned college fuckboy. It reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him fuck – was Shelly one of the girls? You feel disgusted, and you walk out of the kitchen, not wanting to look at Jungkook right now.

“Peach,” he says as he follows you out in the darkness of the living room.

The living room is also strangely cold, and you shiver as you turn towards him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “But why are you even reacting like this?”

You scoff. “I don’t know, Jungkook, you tell me.”

You can’t see his expression. But when he takes a step closer to you, you feel the heat of his body radiating in the space between you.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, and you hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” you say, and you scoff again. “I’m weirded out.”

“Because I was going to fuck someone tonight?” It’s his turn to scoff when you remain silent. “Weren’t you going to fuck that dude? Hoseok?”

You don’t know how he remembers Hoseok’s name, but he’s got a point. You wet your lips, tongue poking your cheek next. “Right.”

“Come on, peach, just come back in the kitchen,” he says. He grabs your hand, and your breath gets caught in your throat as he escorts you back to the chair where you were sitting. You begrudgingly follow, and when you’re seated he towers over you.

You tilt your head back. “What?”

He flicks your nose, and you dodge a second too late. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble. “I wasn’t jealous I was just weirded out.”

He smiles at you wickedly. “Of course, peach. Of course.”

He sounds so cocky you want to hate him, but all you can do is glare at the table. He pushes your wine glass towards you as he sits back next to you and you wordlessly take it to chug it.

“Now that that’s done,” he says once you’ve put it back on the table, “what do you think of Tae’s girl?”

You had all but forgotten why you were holding Jungkook’s phone in the first place. You recall her Instagram to the forefront of your mind, pursing your lips. 

“She looks chill,” you answer.

Jungkook pouts. “Just that?”

You shrug. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Well,” Jungkook starts. “For one I can’t believe she’s Tae’s type. She looks nothing like the girls he dated here. Like just think about Hailey?”

You just nod, because in truth you fully agree with him. 

“Her Instagram is a vibe though,” Jungkook continues. “Tae is big on vibes so… maybe it works?”

You nod once more, tilting your head to the side as you really think about it. Because frankly you’d like for Taehyung to find someone that lasts. As much as you know he’s been having fun in college, you know his happiness usually lies in a healthy relationship like the one he had with his ex. 

“Hopefully it does,” you finally say. “Tae deserves it.”

Jungkook looks at you, somber expression on his features as he plays with his piercing. It makes your heart cease in your chest, and you busy yourself with refilling the wine glasses as he remains silent.

“He does,” Jungkook eventually replies. “He actually really does.”

He sounds so serious you throw him a questioning glance. “Yeah?”

He blinks once, as if stepping out of a daze before flashing his infuriating smirk at you again. “Definitely.”

There’s an awkward silence, and you watch as he takes a sip of wine before getting up to check on the food. He deems it ready, and makes two bowls, one for you and one for him. He sets yours in front of you, a proud smile on his lips.

“Smells good,” you compliment him as he sits.

He winks at you. “Wait till you taste.”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, and you take a tentative bite, holding his gaze as he expectantly waits.

“Shit,” you let out, and you fan your mouth with your hand. “Why is it so spicy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re like your brother and can’t stand spicy food,” he complains as you take a long sip of wine.

You put your wine glass back down, wincing as it clinks against the bowl. It fortunately doesn’t break, and you push it away from the dish as you chuckle. “What’s wrong with not liking spicy food?”

He pouts. “You guys are so weak.”

You fake-glare at him. “This shit is so spicy it would wake the dead.”

He snorts, stifling his laugh until you meet his gaze and you burst out laughing at the same time. You think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him guffaw like this. His laugh is contagious, pretty, and you’re convinced it can have healing effects.

You’re convinced it has healing effects. Indeed, in that instant, you finally really forget about the day, the heaviness it left behind dwindling into nothingness. It’s replaced with happiness, and chatter with Jungkook becomes easier, more natural. 

You realize he smiles a lot. You make him laugh a lot too, and whenever he does you feel your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t like the feeling, know it’s a mistake, but with the wine, all you can do is try to make him laugh some more, and smile whenever he does.

You’re on your first beer after finishing the wine – and the overly spicy food, which Jungkook congratulated you profusely for finishing. You’ve talked about every subject that’s come to your mind so far, none feeling taboo with Jungkook. He eventually tells you about Shelly – she is indeed one of the girls you’ve heard him sleep with – and you laugh as he admits he’s really happy he didn’t have to see her tonight.

You can’t help but snort. “Jeon Jungkook, saying no to sex? I’ve heard everything.”

“Bruh.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Is your opinion of me so low you think sex is the most important thing to me?”

His eyes are gleaming with mischief in the light of his speaker, which will apparently run out of battery soon. You both don’t care, and you’ve lit a candle in case it does die. Its sweet fragrance has been chasing the smell of the food away, and it’s been giving the kitchen a homey vibe, even as it’s growing chilly.

“Is it not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at you. “Not at all.”

You throw him a no-bullshit look that makes him frown cutely. 

“How long can you go without having sex?” you ask him, holding in a laugh.

He narrows his doe eyes at you. “At least a few weeks.”

“A few weeks? That’s nothing!”

“Yah,” he bursts, and he laughs as you snort. “Peach, just because I have casual sex doesn’t mean I can’t stop if I want to.”

“Then stop,” you challenge him.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Give me one reason why I should.”

“To prove a point?”

His eyes narrow further, but if you’ve understood one thing about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he doesn’t step down from a challenge. No, as competitive as he is, you’re pretty sure he’ll do it.

“Peach,” he purrs, and it has something warm form in the pit of your stomach. “Is it really about me proving a point, or is it about you being jealous?”

You choke on the sip of beer you were taking, which only makes him laugh. You think it’s a little condescending, but you know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. You still punch him in the shoulder for it, unable to resist.

“Why would I be jealous?” you ask. “Hobi fucks me good.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes and his nose scrunches. He shakes his head once before looking at you again. “I didn’t want to know that.”

You smile as if you’ve never done anything wrong in your whole life. “Your loss.”

He laughs at that, gaze dropping to the table. Silence grows between you, but it’s comfortable, not like what silence with Hoseok feels like. With Hoseok you feel the need to speak whenever there’s a lull in the conversation but, right now, you’re content with just sitting back in your chair, sipping on your beer.

To your surprise, Jungkook starts singing over the song, gaze lost in his own glass of beer. His voice settles deep inside of you, resonating in your soul, and you just look at him, awe clouding your mind.

You’re not sure he’s realized he’s singing. Because when he meets your gaze, he lets out a small laugh. “Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You have a beautiful voice,” you whisper.

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but you’re pretty sure his cheeks have turned pink. “Nah.”

“No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I often hear you hum and… you sing really well.”

His nose scrunches up again. “Stop it.”

“Just take the compliment,” you say, laughing as he plays with his piercing.

You reckon it might be the first time in your life you’ve ever seen Jeon Jungkook shy. Because he clearly is, and he looks away from you, running his hand through his hair. It undoes the hairstyle, and a strand falls on his forehead.

You’ve never felt such a visceral need to brush your hand through someone’s hair before. You manage to resist, busying yourself with holding your beer instead.

“M’kay,” he lets out. “Thanks, peach.”

His voice is soft. Softer than the fur of a puppy, and it makes the warm thing in you grow. You gulp, wetting your lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance at your mouth, and he looks conflicted for half a second before he smirks again.

“We should have hung out like this before,” he declares.

“Yeah?” is all you can answer.

You feel yourself leaning in. You haven’t even realized how close you’re sitting to him until you’re leaning in. He does too. He leans forward, tilting his head to the side slightly. He looks surprised, even more so when one of your hands finds the back of his neck, pulling him closer until you’ve erased the distance between you.

You both didn’t close your eyes. And you both look startled from your lips touching, so much so that you let go of him, straightening away from him. He, on the other hand, hasn’t moved, and his gaze goes fully serious before he grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer to him again.

This time, when your mouths meet, you shut your eyes, sighing softly as he kisses you. His piercings press into your lower lip, and as his mouth moves against you, you feel the warm thing inside of you grow so big it bursts. It bursts the same way fireworks do – in an explosion of colours that leaves you waiting for more.

He doesn’t disappoint. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. His hand on your arm moves up until it rests on your shoulder before he decides better and moves it to the side of your neck. His thumb swipes at your jaw, gently, and it’s his turn to sigh in the kiss.

When his tongue darts out of his mouth, you meet it with your own. For a reason unknown, you expect it to make you both grow horny, but the kiss remains soft, slow like you have all of eternity stretched out in front of you.

Even though it’s languid, even though it’s soft, you grow dizzy, head spinning as you taste the beer in Jungkook’s mouth. As his hand moves to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You rest one hand on his chest, right above his heart, and you feel the organ racing under your fingers. It makes you grab a handful of fabric as if that will anchor you in the present.

As if that will make you forget that you’re kissing your brother’s best friend. 

It does, though you reckon it might be the way Jungkook shifts in his chair, moving so that you can straddle him. And he pulls you in, softly, tugging on your arm until you let go of the shirt and drape it over his shoulder. You sit on him, legs on each side of him, your toes barely even touching the floor. Still, your mouths move in unison, his lips petal soft against yours. 

Your other arm circles his neck too, until you’re holding him against you. His large hands land on your waist, gently, and his thumbs stroke you, barely even grazing you over the thick fabric of your wool turtleneck.

You don’t know how long you kiss. It just seems like you both don’t want to stop, like you both know the moment you stop will be a wake-up call, one you’d rather avoid while you get stuck in this bubble of eternity with him. The fireworks keep on shining bright, warm summer sun blooming in your heart as if this, this was always meant to be.

Oxygen is futile when you’re kissing Jeon Jungkook. Not needed, as if he breathes air into your lungs. You think he does, and you sigh once more as your hands get lost in the hair on the back of his head.

The next swipe of his tongue is sharper, carries more intent, and you both startle, finally parting from each other. Though you remain a hairsbreadth away, longing for his lips the moment your mouths aren’t connected anymore.

Immobile, you breathe in shakily, and you hear him do it too. He’s still stroking you, gently, and he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in. You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the clean laundry smell of his shirt, along with the scent of his cologne as you turn your face towards his neck.

The moment stretches some more, as you listen to the music. His grip around you loosens as you press a soft kiss on the mole you’ve discovered on his neck. He pushes you back, gently, until your back is against the table. Your gazes meet then, and you wonder if his eyes always shine like this. Do they always hold the light of the universe in them, or did you set fire to his gaze?

He gulps and his mouth falls open. His pupils fill with something you can’t quite put your finger on, yet it has clouds taking over the summer sun in your heart until the beating organ goes cold.

“Now you’ve had a fake Valentine’s Day kiss,” he murmurs, and the fireworks burst into a void that tastes like ash as you interpret his gaze.

He’s regretting this. It takes over all of his features, turning his big doe eyes into hearths of remorse. It finishes dousing the sun in your heart until the star goes to sleep, and all that’s left is the echoes of what once was.

“Fake?” is all you manage to let out.

He shuts his eyes, eyelids fluttering close softly. He looks like an angel repenting as he rests his forehead against yours, forcing your own eyes shut from the proximity.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he reminds you, reality sinking into his words. 

You nod against him before pulling away. You try to get up, but his hands on your waist hold you in place.

“Let me go,” you whisper. 

He does so, albeit reluctantly, arms falling to his sides in a defeated manner. You try to not let yourself think about it too much, try to forget what just happened as you stand up, moving away from him.

Without his body heat you shiver, and you hate yourself for the next words you say.

“We should share a room tonight. It’s going to be cold.”

His eyes shoot open as he turns his head towards you, surprise replacing the reality. As if he thought he ruined everything, and you think maybe he did. Maybe he did ruin everything, but you don’t even want to be thinking about it right now. You just want to go to sleep, to let the night pass.

Maybe the insanity will go with it.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.”

Jungkook slowly gets up, facing you. You gulp as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, hand going to your chin again. He leans in, forcing you to tilt your head back until his lips find yours again.

It lasts a fraction of a second, yet it leaves you scrambling for breath as he takes a step back. He nods as you meet his gaze, an eyebrow cocked in question.

“We can sleep in your room,” he says. “It’s smaller, it’s going to be easier to keep it warm.”

Right as he finishes his sentence the battery of his speaker dies, and silence surrounds you as the northern lights go to sleep. The light flickers in time with the flame of the candle, and you glance at it.

“Sounds good,” you agree, and you wet your lips as you look at him again. His big doe eyes still shine even with just the candlelight, and you wish the world was different. Wish that he wasn’t Tae’s friend, that you could just grab him and have him kiss you stupid again. But he’s right. You shouldn’t be doing this.

Sharing a bed is only practical. Only because it’s cold, and you have to survive the night. A voice at the very back of your mind tells you that you could head over to the dorms, but you don’t want to.

You want to remain here, in this instant outside of the linear timeline of your life.

“Maybe you should get your bed covers?” you suggest. “So we don’t get cold.”

He smiles, so far from his usual smirk and grin that you feel a pang in your chest. “Yeah. Yes, that’s a good idea.”

All of five minutes later, he meets you in your room. You’ve changed into your previous outfit, and he’s swiped his dress shirt for an oversized white Nike t-shirt. He’s holding his bed cover to his chest, just a white bundle that he offers you as if he’s trying to make peace with you. You motion to your bed, and he nods before walking over to it.

You shut the door behind him, turning to look at him as he debates for a few seconds where to sleep in your bed. He starts by putting his bed cover over yours and then chooses to sit at the foot of the bed, on the side that’s against the wall.

He then turns to meet your gaze, his profile cast in the flickering light of the candle from the kitchen and the few others you’ve lit while waiting for him.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been in this room since Jimin moved out,” he tells you, and his lips stretch into that same soft smile.

You glance around, pursing your lips. “Hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

“It doesn’t,” he reassures you as he imitates your action, observing your room. “It feels like you.”

Not knowing what’s that supposed to mean, you cock an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t explain further, and you shrug it off as you move closer to your bed to sit on the edge. The moment you’re in his vicinity your heart picks up in your chest. It’s hard to believe that Jeon Jungkook is in your bed right now, and you have to remind yourself that it’s purely because it currently is freezing in your apartment. 

“Should we…” you trail off, motioning at the bed.

He chuckles, a sweet sound that forces you to gaze at him, eyes widening as your heartbeat picks up even more. “You want me in your bed so bad, do you?”

You short-circuit, flushing fully red as you struggle to find something witty to reply with. Falling short on words, you end up shrugging your shoulders as you move under the covers, hoping he won’t tease you further. 

You highly doubt you’d survive him teasing you more.

To your relief, Jungkook ends up chuckling again, but he remains silent as he slides in next to you, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. You lie on your back, while he turns to face you, and you feel the weight of his gaze on your profile.

It makes you turn to look at him, and he offers you the same kind smile.

“Shouldn’t we blow the candles out?” he asks, and his gaze darts to where you’ve left the candles on your desk and night table. “Just to make sure we don’t burn the building down.”

“You want to go to sleep right away?”

You hate yourself for saying that. Indeed, a smirk grows on his lips and he jumps on the occasion to say, “You want to do something else?”

Something grows hot inside of you, and it’s not that same summer sun he ignited in you earlier. You wet your lips, burning from the inside out as you remind him, “We shouldn’t.”

He chuckles again. “Didn’t you say he doesn’t need to know?”

You meet his gaze, find the mischief behind his big doe eyes and roll yours. “You’re annoying.”

Right on cue you shiver. It takes you by surprise, because you feel your insides burning, yet the temperature in your room is low, winning against the warmth.

“Are you cold?” he asks, no traces of mischief left in his eyes. Only concern can be found in his pupils, and you want to hate him for it.

“A little,” you admit. “The covers are just cold.”

They actually are, as your bodies have yet to warm them. To your surprise, Jungkook sidles closer to you. 

“I can hold you, if you want. I’m always too hot.”

You burn a thousand shades of red as you wet your lips. “You don’t have to.”

“Come on, peach, I won’t let you freeze while I’m right here.”

Yet he doesn’t do anything, waits until you’ve nodded your head to slide even closer, and he loosely wraps his arm around your waist. His warm breath fans the side of your face, and you do your best to ignore it.

“Better?” he asks, voice low as he whispers in your ear.

You shut your eyes as electricity courses through your whole body. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Your brain zeroes in on the weight of his arm on you, and when his fingers start tracing random figures on your waist, you let out a small yelp.

“That tickles,” you tell him.

He does it again, and you try to push him away. Only, Jungkook is far stronger than you, and all you manage to do is end up with your back against him as he holds you firmly to him.

“Stop,” you beg, a little breathlessly.

“It’s warming you up, is it not?”

You roll your eyes, though you reckon it is. You don’t feel nearly as cold anymore, and you can feel the heat growing in you again. As an attempt to get away from him, you shuffle, and it earns you a breathless chuckle from him.

Just to make sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing, you move your hips again. Something twitches in his sweatpants and your mouth falls open.

“You’re…”

“Consequences of the position,” he’s quick to say. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t know how you possibly can not worry about it. It’s all your brain can focus on as you shift again, and this time he hisses.

“Maybe you should not do that.” His voice is low, husky, and it sends shivers all over your body. 

You bite your lips. “Why?”

He pulls you back in, flush against his chest. His lips ghost on the side of your neck, and you think you’ve been struck with lightning. “Because we can’t do anything about it.”

“Right.”

He rests his head on the pillow behind you again, sighing deeply. His hand holds you against him, forcing you to feel every inch of his hard body pressing into you.

Of his hard dick too, where it pushes into your ass.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” you say, eyes fluttering shut.

He nods. “We should.”

“I need to blow out the candles.”

His arm loosens around you before he fully lets you go. You prop yourself on an elbow, leaning towards the night table. You blow out the candle you’ve left there, and before you can move you feel Jungkook’s palm resting on your hip.

“Shit, peach,” he whispers.

You look behind yourself. Your position is explicit, as if you’re angling yourself to fuck yourself on him better. It makes you move your hips, and you see the moment something snaps inside of him.

“Why don’t you lie down next to me before we blow the rest of the candles out?”

There’s something stern, authoritative in his voice, and you immediately obey him. 

“On your back,” he adds.

You exhale shakily as you turn, not daring to disobey. His hand lands flat on your stomach, and he starts drawing circles around your navel. You inhale sharply as he nudges your cheek with his nose.

“You look stressed.”

“What are you doing?”

You hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Helping you fall asleep?”

“Jungkook…”

“Peach.”

You fall silent as he keeps tracing circles. He sighs next to you, almost longingly and he rests his forehead against your temple. His lips are so close you think you feel their softness on your cheek.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispers. His fingers still on you, under your navel. Some inch or so over the band of your sweatpants and he pushes your shirt up before resuming his actions directly on your skin.

“We really shouldn’t…” you trail off.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asks.

It’s rhetorical – he knows just as well as you that you won’t. “No.”

“It could help you sleep.”

You don’t want to know what the ‘it’ refers to. “Yeah?”

He wets his lips, or maybe he plays with his piercing. But from the proximity, you feel his tongue and you think you’re going to die right then and there.

“Doesn’t it help you sleep when you touch yourself?”

You’re soaking your panties. You’re burning up, caught on fire by every strike of lightning that Jungkook’s words ignite in you.

“Does it help you?” you counter-back, remembering when you heard him watching porn two weeks ago.

“It does. Always sleep soundly after.”

You slowly nod, gulping as his lips close on your jaw, and he sucks gently. 

He’s danger in human form. And he knows what he’s doing, he knows how to weave words to cause your undoing. You think he’s already started weeks ago, the night of the Incident. 

Taehyung is miles away from your thoughts when you say, “You want to touch me?”

He smirks against you, licks at the spot he just sucked on. “Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”

He moves his hand away from your stomach, and you moan softly when he parts your thighs open, resting his palm on the one closest to him as he presses it against his hard dick.

“Shit, Jungkook.”

“I know.”

You hate him. You hate him so much you slide your hand between your legs, pressing a circle on your clit.

“Good girl.”

You moan again, yet you stop your ministrations on yourself. “I want to watch you touch yourself too.”

He grunts, grinds his dick in the side of your thigh once more. “You want to see me come?”

“Want you to finger me with your cum.”

You’ve gone insane. You think there’s an asylum out there for you, yet Jungkook only chuckles manly against your jaw. “Peach, I won’t touch you tonight.” You whine, and he sucks on your jaw again. “You can do it yourself.”

He’s mad. So are you, and you untie the knot of your sweatpants so you can slide your hand in. You moan softly as you find your clit, and you dip two fingers inside of yourself before moving back to the bundle of nerves.

“Jerk yourself off,” you tell him. You try to sound commanding, dominant, but your voice is whiny. It earns you a smirk from him as he turns on his back. He takes off his pants and underwear, clearly not as shy as you. You can’t see his dick when you look down as he’s still under the covers, and you gulp as you imagine it.

Feeling bold, you push the covers off, needing to see him. And the sight doesn’t disappoint. His dick is large. Not excessively long, but the girth makes you understand why he’s got girls screaming whenever he fucks them. His tip is glistening with precum, and he runs his thumb on the slit before spreading the precum on his shaft. Large veins run along the length, from base to top, and you’re struck thinking he’s got the prettiest cock you’ve seen in your life.

“Like what you see?” he teases as he strokes his dick once, slowly but with a firm grip.

“Do you want to see me too?”

You really are bold. Far bolder than you’ve ever been with anyone before. Maybe because all of tonight Jungkook has put you at ease, and you think there’s nothing embarrassing about finally living out your fantasy. Especially not when he’s so pliable to it, willing to follow you into the land of insanity.

Scratch that – he’s the one leading to madness.

“It’s only fair if I see you too, no?” he teases with a smirk on his lips as he looks at you with his dark, intense gaze.

“Yeah.”

It’s all you say before you shimmy out of your pants. You don’t miss the way his eyes go to your hip, where you have a large dragon tattoo. He curses under his breath. “Didn’t know you were tatted.”

“Got it last semester,” you answer with a shaky voice.

He smirks up at you. “Hot.”

You gulp, unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. Shier than him, you keep the panties on. To your surprise, he sits up, runs his hand on the inside of your thigh before he lies down on the other side so he has a view of between your legs. His feet are next to your head, and you angle yourself away from them so that they aren’t in your face anymore.

“Touch yourself, peach.”

You nod, and you draw circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear. It’s a plain black thong, yet you feel immensely sexy when Jungkook’s doe eyes narrow dangerously as he watches you touching yourself, stroking his dick lazily.

You watch how he touches himself, heart beating out of your chest. You’re on fire, a wildfire raging through you, and you moan softly as you press harder into you.

“Why don’t you touch yourself under your panties, mmh?” he asks, gaze sliding up to meet yours before he goes back between your legs. “Won’t it feel better?”

You can’t resist him. You push your panties to the side, holding them with one hand as you go back to your clit. Your thighs instinctively want to close together, but he holds them open.

“Put your fingers in.”

You do. You push two digits in, arching them as you rub at the sweet spot inside of you. He watches, licking his lips as he increases the pace on his dick. You moan right as he grunts, the sound making shivers course up and down your spine.

“Why don’t you use your vibrator instead?”

You entirely stop moving, digits deep inside of you. “Huh?”

“I’ve heard you use a vibrator,” he explains. “I want to see you bury it in your tight little pussy.”

Your walls clench around your fingers at his crude words, and it doesn’t take any more for you to roll towards your night table so you can grab said vibrator. When you’re settled back in your previous position, you click it on, and the soft buzzing fills your room.

“Wait,” Jungkook says, stopping you before you’ve pushed your panties aside again. “Take this off.”

He pinches the fabric on your hip, over the tattoo, and all you can do is nod once before you do. He licks his lips, looking at you appreciatively through half-lidded eyes. He looks between your legs, where you just know he can see your juices glistening. Before he says anything else, you put the vibrator on your clit, legs twitching as harsh pleasure courses through you.

To your surprise, he moans, a low sound that has your pussy clench hard. Of course he sees, and he’s quick to say, “Put it in, peach.”

You obey, and you let out a breathy sound as you immediately rub your clit with your other hand. The next few minutes are a world of bliss, of pleasure and of Jungkook’s praises and grunts, entwined with your moans. You think your room is burning hot, or maybe it’s just his eyes on you. His balls are tight as he jerks off harder, faster, eyes never once moving away from the spot between your legs, where your vibrator makes squelching sounds as you push it in and out of you.

“You’re doing so well,” Jungkook tells you after you’ve moaned loudly. 

You’re nearing your high, but for some reason, you haven’t been able to hit it yet. His words bring you closer, yet it remains just barely out of touch.

“So fucking well,” he adds, breathlessly, and you notice he’s gripping his dick harder, moving so fast you barely can see his hand, except when it slows on his head with a flick of his wrist. He moans, grunts loudly. “You’re so hot, I’m going to come.”

“Fuck,” you curse as you watch him push his shirt up, and you catch sight of his defined muscles. They contract as he jerks himself off, and you think you’re drooling.

Maybe because you’re so close to hitting an orgasm that you can’t do anything other than drool.

He glances at your face once. You meet his gaze, blood boiling as you see his eyebrows almost touching over his eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes loudly. His eyelids flutter close as his eyebrows bunch up over his eyes even more, and then he moans out something that sounds like your name.

Not ‘peach’. Your full name. It makes your eyes water as you observe him, as you watch how he looks in pain. And then he curses, and your eyes fall to his dick to see white spurts of cum coming out, covering the tattoos on the back of his hand as he keeps moving, never once faltering.

Your walls clench tightly around your vibrator. You think you’re about to come, but the orgasm doesn’t want to hit, evading you frustratingly. Your motions grow inconsistent, the push and the pull of the vibrator clearly not enough for you.

As Jungkook comes down from his high, he surveys you once more, features blissed out from coming. He watches you struggle as his hand stops at the base of his dick.

“Look at the mess I made because of you,” he says, and you moan. He tilts his head to the side, pulls at his piercing, and then stops you. Puts his hand over yours between your legs as the vibrator rests deep inside of you. “Do you need help?”

You feel some of his cum as it spills from his hand to yours. You keep rubbing on your clit, meeting his gaze as he awaits your answer. “Yes.”

He smirks, and you let him grab your vibrator. He pulls it out of you, watches your juice on it with a hungry look on his features before he hands it to you again. “Put this on your clit.”

You obey, and you sigh in pleasure as he covers two of his fingers with his cum, even picking some up where it fell on his abdomen, decorating his defined abs. You know exactly what he’s going to do before he does, and it makes you curse.

He meets your gaze. “Are you on the pill?”

“IUD.”

He smirks. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes his cum-covered fingers inside of you, arching them to expertly play with your g-spot. You cry out, throwing your head back in pleasure. He fucks you with his digits for a while, and you press your vibrator hard on your clit, as if it’s going to make you come faster.

All it does is make you close your thighs on his wrist. He pulls his fingers out, forces you to spread your legs wide open again, and then circles your entrance with one finger.

“It’s so hot, to watch my cum dripping out of you.”

His digits are in again before you can reply, and he fucks you so well, you crash right into your orgasm, walls spasming around his fingers. You moan, loudly so, and tears prick at your eyes as the waves of your orgasm drown everything in you, making you shake with pleasure.

You ride the high for a long time. Longer than you’ve ever had before, and Jungkook whispers filthy praises to you all through it, until you cringe with oversensitivity and turn off the vibrator. You put it down next to you, and Jungkook pushes in and out twice more before he pulls his fingers out of you.

You remain silent for a while, both of you regaining your breath. Once you stop feeling like you’re seconds away from passing out, you prop yourself on your elbows, watching him. He’s still looking between your legs, and you instinctively close them.

His eyes shoot to your face, and he smirks. “You have no idea how hot you are with my cum dripping out of you, peach.”

You bite your lip, so hard you think you taste blood. “Shit.”

“I know.”

“What did we do?”

He shrugs, sucking on his piercing. “We made sure we’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

You sigh, nodding once before you lie back down on the bed. “Shit,” you repeat.

This time he laughs. It’s a soft sound, something that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. For some reason, it reminds you of the kiss in the kitchen, and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Even more so as he says, “Let me go get something to clean you up with.”

He pulls his boxers up and then gets up. You miss the way he winces as his feet hit the cold floor, and he’s back with a washcloth before you’ve had time to realize he was gone.

“I’m sorry, there was no hot water left.”

“Oh,” you let out.

He chuckles as he sits next to you. “Do you want to do it or…?”

You nod, and you grab the washcloth out of his hands before cleaning yourself up. It really is cold, and you wince, one eye shutting as you make sure you’re clean before handing it back to him.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I don’t know?” 

He laughs, still grabbing it before throwing it in your hamper. “Did you want to pee before going to bed?”

You nod again. “I should.”

“Are you okay to get there?”

You roll your eyes, finally finding some of your usual defiance. “You didn’t fuck me, Jungkook, I can still use my legs.”

“Right,” he lets out before chuckling. “I’ll wait for you here then.”

The trip to the bathroom is the worst you’ve ever experienced, with how cold it is in the rest of the apartment. You’re pleased that your room is warm when you come back, and your heart squeezes in your chest as you see Jungkook lying on his side, looking at you as you enter and shut the door behind you.

He smiles warmly at you. “Better?”

“Why is it so cold?” you complain, which makes him laugh that cute, giggly laugh of his. You immediately look away from him, not wanting him to see the blush on your cheeks.

You blow the rest of the candles out, and in the dark, you make your way to your bed. You slide under the covers, sighing at how warm they are now.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Jungkook says as you settle next to him.

You gulp. “What?”

“You said you were going to go to the dorms,” he reminds you, even though that was an eternity ago. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh,” you let out. You’re happy it’s dark because your cheeks burn so much you imagine you’ve turned purple. “I’m glad I stayed too.”

He sighs, and you feel the mattress move as he shifts. “Do you want to cuddle?” he asks. “For warmth.”

You snort, and even though you’re in the dark, you nod. 

“Sure.”

A few seconds later, you’re the small spoon again, and he holds you close to him. He sighs once more, and it ends with a yawn that has you laugh softly.

“Tired?” you tease him.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, nuzzling his face in your hair. “I’m going to sleep like a rock.”

So are you. Even if you shouldn’t, even if you and Jungkook probably committed a big mistake tonight, you still know you’re going to sleep soundly.

Especially as his breathing evens out behind you, interrupted by soft snores here and there. It forms a melody that lulls you to the land of dreams, to a land where you can forget that he’s Taehyung’s best friend, and where you can imagine that he’s yours after all. It’s idyllic, unreal, yet your sleeping form clings to it like it’s a lifeline in a storm.

You just know that reality is bound to hit again soon.

Prev | Chapter 3.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Oooooof yep. They really did that hehehe. What did you guys think? Did you like it? Let me know!!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[theostrophywife]

the crush theory.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: london boy by taylor swift.

author’s note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. let’s not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and rings…🫣

Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love. 

Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you. 

Until that one fateful fall morning. 

The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze. 

The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students. 

As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of you—the surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned. 

Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him. 

Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.

Today, you were front and center. 

Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d muck things up. 

Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzo’s ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him. 

“Lemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?” 

Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that you’d recited his exact order, which shouldn’t have been surprising given the fact that you’ve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment. 

You furrowed your brow in doubt. “Did I get that wrong?” 

“No, no, it’s right. It’s great. It’s perfect—“ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. “I’m just surprised that you remembered it.” 

“Of course I remember it, you’re one of my regulars. I’d be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.” You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?” 

“You know my name?” 

Enzo hadn’t meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.

“And your social security number too,” you deadpanned. Enzo’s eyes widened, which made you chuckle. “I’m just having a laugh. I promise I won’t commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.” 

You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous. 

"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."

“Right. Sure. Of course,” he stammered. “The tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.” The realization that you’ve never told him your name came a beat too late. “It’s on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasn’t just staring at your chest. Though I’m sure it’s very nice. Bloody hell, I’ll stop talking now.” 

Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. “You’re a strange bloke, Lorenzo.” You said as you began making his drink. “But I’ve got to admit, it’s oddly charming.” 

He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. “That seems to be my sweet spot.” 

"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."

"Is that good or bad?"

Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve. 

"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."

“You can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.” 

“We certainly can’t have that,” you said with a smirk. “Enzo. I like it. It’s rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.” He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"

"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."

"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"

Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."

"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. “Enjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.” 

Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didn’t look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldn’t have pegged you for a baker. 

“Oh, you really don’t have to—” 

“Nonsense,” you countered, waving off his protests. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Don’t hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Enzo said in reassurance. “In any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” you said with a serious nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.”

Enzo couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on. 

“Merlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.” 

Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadn’t even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.

“One could argue that I’m also a rich, smarmy arsehole,” Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. “Yet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.” 

“Yes, well, everyone knows I’m just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.” Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadn’t met you? Speaking of which, I believe I’m completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.”

“Marcus isn’t so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,” Enzo replied rather unconvincingly. 

“If by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.” 

“The French have this saying, petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.” 

“Except Flint isn’t a bird, he’s a twat,” you deadpanned. “The bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.” 

“One of us has to,” Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. “Given your proclivity to violence.” 

“Don’t make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.” 

Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world?” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else I’ll be very cross with you.” 

Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie he’s ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes. 

Granted, Enzo didn’t know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you. 

As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasn’t until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen. 

Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill. 

Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend. 

In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. “What’s good here?” 

You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. “There’s coffee, there’s pastries. It’s really not rocket science.”

The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It might’ve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheo’s fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm. 

“A bit feisty today aren’t we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.” 

Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. “The pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.” 

Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. “Merlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.” 

“Y/N isn’t really a people person,” Enzo supplied. 

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. “Let’s just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.”

“That’s probably for the best,” replied Enzo. 

Ignoring Mattheo’s glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten the dessert of the day. 

“One lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.” He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. “Have a good class, peach.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have your full report ready tomorrow.” 

“You better.” Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. “Later, Berkshire.” 

Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. “For Salazar’s sake, it’s like I don’t even exist.” He muttered before breaking out into a grin. “No wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.” 

Enzo’s cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. “What? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.” 

“Now I understand why you come here so often,” Mattheo remarked. “If the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, I’d be coming here every day.” 

“It's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isn’t mean. She’s actually really nice.” 

“Yeah, because she likes you.” 

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Does too.” Mattheo countered. “Why else would she bake you a scone?” 

“She wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,” Enzo explained. “It’s how we became friends.” 

“Right,” Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. “Friends.” 

Enzo rolled his eyes. “Can we just please get to class?” 

“Whatever you say, peach.” 

“I have a theory,” Mattheo announced. 

Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Not this again, mate.” 

The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldn’t seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.

“Berkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him. 

“Y/N,” Theo started, “You mean his mean barista friend? She’s proper fit.” 

“Don’t call her fit,” Enzo replied rather defensively. 

“A little touchy there, Berkshire.” Regulus said with a chuckle. “Is that jealousy I sense?” 

“For the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.” 

“Is that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?” Draco asked with a raised brow. “I’ve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheo’s right. Y/N’s sweet on you, cousin.” 

“Do me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.” Enzo retorted with a frown. “Y/N’s just being nice. It’s what friends do.”

“None of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,” Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy. 

“Yes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,” replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. “Besides, I think their friendship is sweet.” 

“Thanks, Pans.” 

“So you don’t fancy Y/N?” Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theo’s trap. 

“Like I said, we’re friends.” 

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked for her number, right?” 

As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising. 

“Knock yourself out, mate.” 

Theo smirked. “Alright then, let’s go.” 

“Go where?” Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin. 

“To Deja Brew,” Theo replied smugly. “We all need a study break, anyways.” 

“You want to go there? Right now?” With each question, Enzo’s death grip tightened on his notes. “To ask for Y/N’s number?” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.” 

Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. “I think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I don’t need an encore.”

“Riddle’s probably not her type.” 

Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m everyone’s type.” 

Theo chuckled. “Apparently not hers. Perhaps she’d prefer a handsome Italian, no?” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Nott.” 

“Now I’m intrigued,” exclaimed Blaise. “I’d never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure you’re ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?” 

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was born ready.” 

Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied. 

“You know, you can put a stop to this any time you’d like,” Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. “Just admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and I’m willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t it, Berkshire?” 

Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheo’s childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations. 

“Have it your way, Enzo.” Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. “Nott’s about to give us a show.” 

As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldn’t tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you weren’t at all impressed.

“Y/N, is it?” Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “My parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” 

“I know who you are,” you replied dismissively. “One of Enzo’s friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, December’s not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.” Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. “Certain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.” 

“I assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.” 

“That’s not what Katie Bell said,” you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “I believe I heard something about shrinkage.” Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I’ll tell you what, Theodore. Why don’t I fix you up a cappuccino? It’ll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.” 

Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table. 

Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. “Merlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.” 

Theo glared at Regulus in response. “I’d like to see you do better, Black.” 

Regulus winked. “Watch and learn, boys.” 

The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him. 

“It’s useless,” his cousin mumbled. “She hates everyone.” 

“Or maybe Y/N just doesn’t appreciate random blokes chatting her up while she’s trying to do her job,” Pansy said with an eye roll. 

“Oh bloody hell, here she comes.” Regulus muttered under his breath. “I don’t think my ego can take another hit.” 

The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo. 

“Last one, I promise. It’s finally perfect this time.” 

“You said that the last three times,” Enzo said with a chuckle. “They were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.” 

“You say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly I’m the best thing since sliced bread.” 

“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a shrug. “You couldn’t bake a single bad pastry if you tried.” 

“I’d like to try a pastry,” Mattheo interjected. 

You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” 

“Riddle,” Mattheo supplied. “Mattheo Riddle.” 

“Right,” you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My pastries aren’t for sale. You’re more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.” 

Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there. 

“Closing again tonight?” he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends. 

“Unfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,” you said with an eye roll. 

“Leave those lovebirds alone,” Enzo quipped back. “They’re in their honeymoon phase.” 

“I can’t for the life of me understand how they aren’t sick of each other by now.” 

“That’s because you’re a mean old grump.” You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. “Luckily for you, that doesn’t deter me. I’ll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.” 

“It’s not a hard task to accomplish, but I’ll take you up on it nonetheless.” 

“I thought you might say that,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?” 

You nodded and grinned back. “This is why you’re my favorite, peach.” 

The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade. 

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Just friends my arse.”

“I can’t believe she actually smiled at you!” 

“It’s strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while she’s trying to work yields such positive results,” Pansy retorted. “I think you all need to start following Enzo’s example. Clearly he’s had more success than you lot.” 

Blaise patted Enzo on the back. “Mate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but you’d have to be an absolute knobhead not to see what’s right in front of you.” 

He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.

When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.

Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you. 

The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Aren’t you glad Cedric bailed?” Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Now you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.” 

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. It’s always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.” 

“To be fair, the man could merely breathe and you’d still find a way to be annoyed by it.” 

“No one needs to inhale that much oxygen.”

“I rest my case, you mean old grump.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You know, if anyone else called me that I’d poke their eye out with a fork.” Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. “Besides, I have every right to be grumpy. It’s been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.” 

“I’m sorry about the guys,” he said earnestly. “I tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but they’ve got this crazy theory.” 

“Oh?” You asked, raising a brow. “What’s the theory, then?” 

Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. “They uh…” He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “They think you fancy me.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.” 

White noise rushed through his ears. Enzo’s mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadn’t heard you correctly. 

“You alright there, peach?” 

“You…” Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You like me?” 

You chuckled. “I have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.” 

“How?” Enzo muttered. “What?” He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. “Why?” 

At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. 

“Enz, I know your drink order by heart,” you explained softly. “I make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.” 

“Gods,” he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. “I really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.” Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. “I just thought you were being nice.” 

“Lorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?” 

“I am a bloody idiot.” 

“You never made a move, so I just thought you didn’t see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind being friends.” 

Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a crush on you for months. You’re the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re out of my league. You’re smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought you’d go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little more…” he trailed off, waving a hand over you. 

“Scary?” 

“No! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.” 

“Bad boys aren’t really my type.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “They’re not?” 

“No,” you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. “My type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.” 

Enzo’s smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."

You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.

"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."

Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yours—tasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.

Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.

It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you. 

“It’s about time, Berkshire.” 

“Hey,” Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. “You can’t blame me. I couldn’t even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. You’re so intimidating.” 

“Not so scary now, am I?” 

“Oh no, I’m still terrified of you. But I’ve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, you’re just a big softie.” 

You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street. 

Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.

If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.

“Gods, I really fucking fancy you.”

With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. “I really fucking fancy you too, peach.” 

Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.

[lilbunnis]

❛ ♡. gif credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ big brother!aemond is used to your sweet moans and whimpers, though he is reaching his breaking point--- he must have you, no matter the consequences.

author’s note᛬ hii! first time posting on here--- this is obvi a new acc (personal reasons) but i also just wanna strictly post my writing on this blog. first time writing incest, too! oh, & im in my witchy era. anyways, if u’re a minor then do not fuckin interact, thx.

warnings᛬ mdni! smut, angst, dubious consent, dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, incestuous relationships, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count᛬ 1.5k

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘.

oh, how sweet her lips were, so soft and plump, like the ripest of peaches during the middle of summer, ready to be kissed. gods, her eyes… so dark and tempting, yet warm and doe-like, a gift from their mother, the queen. her skin was pure and soft and untainted, almost whispering to him to touch, touch, touch--- touch her!

she was his--- since she was torn from their mother’s womb, bloody and screaming, a dragon come forth, his darling little sister.

he loved, he loved, he loved her.

the very epitome of a true born targaryen, made for him.

he knew since the day that she came into this cruel world that she would belong to him, that she would be his.

his, his, his.

“b-brother! no, n-no, i- nghh.. ‘m gonna—“ she babbled cutely, her voice like sweet music to his ears, a siren’s call, begging him to take her maidenhead.

the voices in his head were insistent and loud, screaming venomously at him, luring him to kiss, to touch, to take--- she was rightfully his by birthright, why shouldn’t he indulge?

yes, they hissed, encouraging him with their sweet, persuasive voices inside of his head--- had he finally gone mad? were the rumors of the targaryen madness true?

even so, he did not give a fuck.

his sweet baby sister was his, she always would be, and the way she clawed at his wrist, begging him to fuck her with his deft fingers faster, faster, faster!

or, perhaps… trying to push his hand away--- no, no. she loves him, and he loves her!

it was destiny, their destiny, to be together as husband and wife and bring forth a whole new bloodline of true born targaryens!

yes, his sweet little sister would give him so many babes, he’d fill her up and watch her as she’d grow round and fat with his many sons and daughters.

fire and blood, fire and blood, fire and blood---

then, a scream--- oh, so feminine and sweet; how he just adored his sweet little sister, his little darling.

aemond heard her cry out, the sweetest wail, fat tears falling down her flushed cheeks as he continued burying his long, nimble fingers inside of her sweet, drooling cunny, preparing her for his cock.

meanwhile, he kept pressing against that little patch of nerves inside of her that she could never reach by herself, stroking relentlessly--- meanly.

poor, sweet little lamb.

aemond was panting heavily, watching as her sweet little cunt sucked in his fingers greedily, making his lips twitch in amusement--- he could barely withdraw his fingers due to how fucking tight she was.

uncaringly, yet so lovingly, he would cruelly plunge them back inside of her, wet noises and her sweet, breathy little moans and whimpers filling his chambers.

“that’s it,” he cooed softly, his voice a raspy baritone, so convincing, “—doing so fucking well for your big brother, issa jorrāelagon.”

quietly, he continued into the night, moonlight spilling in through the glass windows of his chambers, his amethyst colored eye was fully blown wide and focused solely on her squelching cunt, watching as her little clit twitched and practically begged him for attention.

and who was he to deny his little sister such sweet, sinful pleasure?

not a second later, aemond moved to settle between his sister’s thighs, lowering his head until his breath ghosted over her wet, puffy folds, allowing him to inhale her feminine scent--- causing him to release a low, satisfied groan.

then, the prince nuzzled his sharp, prominent nose against her little, fleshy bundle of nerves, breathing her in further as two of his long fingers continued to wildly fuck her little virgin fuck-hole.

“b-bro-brotherrr! please, please! need.. n-need to--- please!” came her sweet, girlish voice which was higher in pitch than usual, making him let out a soft, amused hum.

“as you wish, sweetling,” he murmured against her clit, the vibrations from his deep voice causing her to squirm impatiently, before finally, she felt his plush, naturally curved lips wrap around her aching, throbbing clit, causing her to wail brokenly and clutch the silk sheets with tiny fists.

aemond, the kinslayer, could never deny her, could never say no to her--- perhaps, he should be furious at how weak she made him feel, but he could never find it in his cold, blackened heart to ever feel any sort of anger towards her.

his sweet beloved.

it was maddening how helpless he was against her, how deep his devotion to her was--- possibly, others would call it obsession, sinful, an abomination, but aemond knew the truth; dragons did not concern themselves with the likes of sheep.

oh, how he loved her, how he wished to possess her, to be the only person she would ever love, to be her one and only like she was his.

passionately and glowing, burningly real, her nude skin glistened in the moonlight, the few candles that were slowly dying out around his chambers and the burning fire in his fireplace teased shadows from the corner of his eye, the ghosts that still haunted the red keep were always watching and judging them viciously for their sins.

and oh, how their intertwined souls would burn in the brightest of flames, always together, even in the deepest pits of the seven hells, for all of time; for eternity.

still, he ignores the demons--- too drunk by the sweet taste of his little sister’s cunt.

“mine,” he purrs against her cute, twitching clit, suckling the nub into his watering mouth, which made his cock leak even more pre into his small-clothes, causing him to groan and harshly grind his loins down against his bed.

“say it, sweetling--- tell me that you’re mine,” he murmured, wrapping one of his massive hands around his sister’s smooth, left thigh, digging the tips of his calloused fingertips into the meaty skin possessively, holding her in place.

“ah, ah, ah— aemond, nghh..! oh-hmm, ‘m yours,” she babbled sweetly, her words slurring slightly as she began reaching her sixth peak of the night, causing more tears to spill down the sides of her face as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her blurry vision as she felt her big brother scissoring her weeping cunt open.

wailing in despair, she felt her brother’s skilled tongue flicking and rolling her clit into his eager mouth again, suckling at it and nipping at the little nub mercilessly.

gently, with such cruel, bloodstained hands, aemond squeezed his sister’s thigh harshly, causing her to squeal and thrash her head around on his feathered pillow, her back arching like a bowstring as she finally reached her sixth peak, crying out and babbling her big brother’s name over and over and over--- pleadingly.

“oh, oh, ohhh..! f-feels so--- so good,” she sobbed brokenly, her thighs shaking and clenching around his head, making him continue to dig his neatly trimmed fingernails into the pillowy skin of her left thigh that he was still clutching, while moving his head quickly back and forth, stimulating her little nub until his little sister saw stars.

aemond knew it was sinful, having his sister gush and leak and drool all over his fingers and tongue as he continued suckling at her now overstimulated clit, her skin glistening with sweat, making her skin shine so beautifully against his silk bedsheets--- she was ethereal, an angel, his.

“sweet girl, you’ve done so good for me this evening--- so fucking perfect, little darling,” he praised tenderly, removing his mouth from her clit, while still gently nuzzling the twitching bud with the tip of the cleft of his nose, his fingers still moving almost lazily inside of her cunt, curling his fingers inside of her.

…as if he wished to stay inside of her; forever.

a soft hum escaped him in content, while he continued to gently fuck her with his fingers, more slowly as he heard her soft, girlish pleas--- more like sweet little mewls of his name.

“i think you’re ready for my cock now, don’t you?” he questioned darkly lovingly, pressing soft kisses against her engorged clit, allowing his slightly swollen lips to trail open-mouthed kisses all across the soft curls covering her mound, then across her inner thighs which were covered in her slick, watching as they continued trembling in his strong, possessive grasp.

silently, he gazed up at her longingly, a low purr rumbling deeply inside of his bare chest, the thought of plunging his furiously hard, weeping cock into his sister’s tight little cunny was almost too much to bear for the kinslayer.

oh, and how all of my devotion turns violent, aemond thought wickedly to himself, but no--- not with his sweet, beloved little sister…he would take her as his lady wife, to love and cherish and breed her nightly with loads of his seed until she was pregnant with many of his babes.

even then, aemond would never stop, how could he? she was his everything, and whether or not she was too fucked out by him feasting on her cunny for hours was no matter, because he already knew.

she loved him just the same, even if she truly did not know it just yet, his innocent little sister.

hm, what a sick little head he had, how his love turned into obsession, into possession--- but nonetheless, it was still love.

pure, undying love.

fin.

[wri0thesley]

famous last words - dottore x reader x dainsleif (9.6k)

you can take care of yourself.

cw: dead dove, do not eat. not sfw, minors dni. non-con, drugging, syringes, mind control. yandere dottore and yandere dainsleif. reader is the traveller and has been travelling with dain. bondage, restraints, misuse of the akasha system, reader is traumatised and taken advantage of by dainsleif after being at dottore's mercy. reader wears a dress and has breasts/a vagina, but is referred to by they/them pronouns. please please heed the warnings.

a/n: please please (i am repeating it!) read the warnings on this one. one of my favourite yandere/dark content tropes is actually 'reader has a horrible experience and then a character who is supposed to take care of them takes advantage of them', and i don't think i've ever written it before, so this was super interesting to write!

this was a commissioned work.

Dainsleif has been on edge since the two of you crossed Sumeru’s borders. 

He doesn’t say it out loud - you have learnt, over the time the two of you have spent travelling together, that Dainsleif is a man of very few words even at the best of times - but you know his small quirks and foibles well enough now that you sense it. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way his eyes are constantly darting about wherever you go.

It’s somewhat in the way he walks closer to you, his height casting a shadow over your own, as if he can protect you merely by being near you. It makes a muscle in your jaw twitch - you are grateful for his care, of course, but surely he knows by now that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? You have gotten used to the feeling of a sword in your hand over your search for your twin - you have made a name for yourself in every nation you’ve traversed, and only some of the time has Dainsleif been by your side. 

You suppose that the newfound relationship between the two of you is clouding his judgement somewhat too--

Well.

‘Relationship’ might be too strong of a word.

Dainsleif is hesitant with you even now; checks with you, twice and three times, before he so much as touches your shoulder. But you hope you have made it clear he does not need to, with the way you have let your hand entangle with his and the way you have smiled at him when nobody else is looking, the soft confessions to him at camp overnight that he’s one of only two people in this world you would trust whole-heartedly . . .

All of that, perhaps, has made Dain even more protective over you than he was before, despite the truth of the matter being that you are almost equal in swordsmanship and combat ability. And he’s said enough to you, too, that you understand his hesitance. Other people he has loved have been taken from him - a whole nation, in fact. Dain has had to struggle on for years all alone, and walls built over such a long time do not crumble so easily--

But still. You wish he would not fret so when you walk away from him in Sumeru City to investigate an interesting looking fruit and to ask the stallholder some questions about their wares. 

You’re startled out of your reverie - handling the Zaytun peaches that lay in plump piles in round baskets upon this particular stall - by Dain murmuring your name. He has attracted some attention - he is tall and handsome and blond, an air of mystery and exoticism emanating off of him - but he is unaware of the giggles behind other people’s hands, his gaze set firmly on you.

He has always been like that - those piercing blue eyes, even through his mask-like patch - never fail to make you feel as though you are the only person in the world. You have woken up in the night at camp plenty of times, too, and felt safe in the knowledge that Dainsleif is there and his gaze will not falter. 

You toss some Mora to the stallholder and turn to Dainsleif, proffering one of the peaches to him. He takes it like a precious treasure.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, before you take a bite. His brow is furrowed - you sense something brewing in the wind. A kind of unease that lies hot and heavy in the humid Sumeru air. Dain sighs softly.

“I have some things I must do,” he says to you, his voice soft and low. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, smiling. You wonder what it is that he does not want to take you along with, but you do not push - Dainsleif will tell you in his own time, you are sure. You have no desire to push him too far when his hope seems such a fragile thing still. “I’ll meet you tonight, here?”

His shoulders untense, just a touch. 

“Will you stay in the City?” He asks you, and you laugh.

“Dain,” you say, smiling, just a touch of reproach in your voice. “I can take care of myself, you know! Go and do what you need to do. I will be absolutely fine. You know that! When have I not been?”

Dain does not look entirely convinced, but whatever it is that he has a need to do has a hold on him - he looks at you with those serious, piercing eyes and takes your hand. Your cheeks go hot all over as he bends to press a chivalrous kiss upon the back of it. The crowd of admirers that Dain has amassed are all atwitter over this - you cannot blame them. If you’d seen it happen to someone else you’re sure you’d be swooning. Even now, your heart is beating a double time march against your ribcage as you wonder how you got so lucky. 

“You promise me?” He asks. You can sense he is barely holding back the urgency in his voice; anxiety that tugs at the syllables like it is weighing them down. This errand he has to run . . . your curiosity runs rampant at what it might be that it is so clearly important to him.

“I promise I’ll be more than fine,” you say to him, smiling. There is the slightest snick of irritation, in the back of your mind - have you not fought dragons? Have you not befriended Archons? His concern is sweet, but he does not need to fret about you so. You say to him, trying to make sure your voice is as reasonable and convincing as possible; “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As it turns out, this proclamation will come back to haunt you.

They will become what are referred to in some places as ‘famous last words’.

You notice the earpieces that the Sumeru citizens wear as you wander around; when you ask someone about it, they look baffled as to your own lack of them.

“Usually you’re given one when you come into the city,” the young woman explains, as she kindly guides you back towards the entrance of Sumeru City. This explains it; Dainsleif always prefers to take the least populated way into anywhere, and most of the time you are happy to agree with him. Your exploits across Teyvat so far have occasionally resulted in some notoriety that isn’t always conducive to exploring new nations; you’re not surprised that Dainsleif had avoided the grand entrance of Sumeru City proper. Still, you’re beaming as the young woman brazenly walks up to one of the men standing at the entrance greeting newcomers. 

He has dark hair and a moustache, and is wearing the robes that you recognise as marking him out as a member of the Sumeru Akademiya; as the young woman explains that you two are without the devices - she calls them an ‘Akasha’ - you smile at him, as bright and hopeful and friendly as you can manage. 

He nods thoughtfully, and raises a hand to his own Akasha system.

“Just a moment,” he tells you, “I’m scanning the system for any information on you - just to ensure we don’t go around letting in criminals, you see?” 

As he does that, you ask a few more questions of the young woman - what it is that the Akasha system does, and whether your . . . unusual physiology (a far easier way to explain it, you’ve surmised over weeks of practise, than explaining that you are a traveller from beyond the realms of Teyvat) will effect it in any way. She is effluent with her praise - the Akasha, she tells you with a wide smile and genuine pride in her voice, has truly revolutionised what it is like to be a citizen of Sumeru. 

“This is unusual,” the man says, finally taking his hand from the complicated earpiece of the Akasha system. “I’m terribly sorry, but . . .”

“Is everything alright?”

You hadn’t wanted to mention it, of course - but you’d been afraid when he’d said he was scanning for information on you. Though you have mostly made peace with the nations you’ve travelled through, there have been plenty of misunderstandings too - and there are an unfortunate amount of activities that may be considered criminal in your past. Your heart beats just a little too quickly, as you carry on smiling and hope that your nervousness isn’t written too plain on your face.

You’d hate to get yourself into trouble after promising Dainsleif you would be absolutely fine on your own. 

“I’m sure there’s no problem at all,” the man assures you, as he tries to return your smile. “It’s simply that we do have a record of you - oh, please don’t worry, it doesn’t name you as a wanted criminal or some such thing! It merely asks that you be shown to the Akademiya to meet with one of our trusted scholars, if you are to set foot in Sumeru City.” 

This sounds a little more understandable, you think, as you let loose a small sigh of relief. Your reputation precedes you in several places - and this scholar would be far from the first person who has sought your help with matters. It’s strange that they couldn’t manage it alone with all of the resources of Sumeru behind them, but you are not in a position to judge. 

“Is it just me?” You ask. “I usually travel with another man, a different blond--”

He checks, the vine-like contraption of the Akasha pulsing over his ear, but then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, as he offers you his arm. “The only information we have is on you.” Another smile, clearly meant to reassure. “I really did mean it about not worrying; if you were a danger, I’m certain that this would not all be so civil. Sumeru maintains several forces of Eremite mercenaries to keep the peace, and the Akademiya itself has the Matra . . . If you were about to be in trouble, there would be far more of a guard than simply me.”

You still consider running. You let your eyes flash over the surrounding area to map out all possible escape routes, to see who you might have to fight if you need to - but in the end, you take the proffered arm. No matter how much Dainsleif might want you to lie low and not attract attention, you can’t help thinking that causing a scene like that would be far worse than going along with whatever it is you’re wanted for up in the Akademiya. 

You do not know it at the time, but it turns out to be just another decision that will come back to bite you. 

As the two of you walk, Panah - that is the man’s name, you find out - sends a message up to the Akademiya proper via the system, to let them know that the two of you are coming. He seems almost giddy when he is done, a smile playing beneath the moustache.

“I was permitted to speak to him myself,” he says, and you gather from the excitement in his voice that whatever man it is you’re about to meet occupies a place of high honour within the walls of the Akademiya. You’re impressed by the technology; you can’t help thinking how useful it would be, if you and Dainsleif had such a way to communicate when you were apart.

He’s not going to be happy about all of this - but with any luck, this will be a quick thing for you to deal with and you’ll be able to rake in some glory and reputation in Sumeru so the two of you don’t have to worry so much on your journey. A lost dog, perhaps. A band of Treasure Hoarders who need to be taken out--

If you had one of those Akasha systems, you think, you wouldn’t need to be trailing up all of these steps. You bring this up to Panah, and he laughs, still riding a high from speaking to whoever it was he was permitted to speak to.

“Ah, don’t worry about that! You’re going to be very lucky - he told me he even has an Akasha terminal set aside especially for you, with a couple of brand new features he’s been wanting to test out--”

Later on, you’ll curse yourself for these words not setting alarm bells off in your head. But right then, under the bright Sumeru sun and with the freedom of a day in Sumeru without Dain’s occasionally too protective presence, you just laugh brightly and daydream about the knowledge your very own Akasha will place at your fingertips.

There’s a little bit of pomp and ceremony when you make it to the Akademiya proper; the other staff members and workers and students who have been assigned to help you are all excited and chattering as they wave Panah off and begin to lead you into the labyrinthine halls. It’s a beautiful building, to be sure - but it’s deceptively large, and after going through lifts and corridors and being taken through door after door you begin to lose sense of where exactly it is you are. You feel a brief flare of panic inside; you much prefer to be in places where you have an idea of how to escape, should the need arise--

But everyone around you remains excited about the great scholar you’re about to meet, and their smiles and pats and their wistful proclamations about how lucky you are serve to soothe the fear, just a little. 

“Here we are,” says one of them, stopping outside a great wooden door with a complicated series of locks on it; some of them are easy to understand (you know what a padlock looks like, after all), but others seem to be rather more high-tech than you’re used to. Whatever it is behind this door, you think, it must either be very important or very expensive. “Oh! We have your Akasha terminal--”

He reaches into the folds of his robe to produce one of the vine-like contraptions that everyone in Sumeru wears on their ears.

“This one was designed by him specifically,” the man tells you in awe, as he reaches over and affixes it onto your ear. “It has a few brand new functions that he wants help testing out, and he said that your experience would be a huge boon in working out all of the kinks--”

Ah. So that’s what he wanted your help with. You wonder which of your exploits it is that has made this scholar think you’d be a good fit for this kind of testing; you wonder, too, why Dainsleif wasn’t included in this idea. The two of you have done so much together, after all--

You feel a brief electric zap that seems to flash over your vision and down to your spine. A little noise in your ear, a sense of heat that lasts barely a moment - and then, the man is stepping away from you and giving a strange little bow.

“It’s working, I think,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket to turn a key, swipe a card, as his own Akasha pulses to life and some of the locks upon the door respond in kind. “Ah - I’m afraid we’ll be leaving you. His temperament can be a little unpredictable, and I’m sure he’d rather meet you alone--”

“That’s alright,” you say, smiling. You wonder what kind of brand new functions this Akasha system is going to have; perhaps something for combat capabilities? Wilderness scanning, to be able to identify poisonous herbs and dangerous animals? The big wooden door slowly creaks open, as the entourage who have guided you into the bowels of the Akademiya all disperse, leaving you alone.

“Come in,” calls a voice. 

The voice is familiar; somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you recognise it. A kind of low, smooth drawl of a voice, that shivers with suggestion as it calls out to you. But it is not enough to deter you, now you’ve made it all the way here. 

You step into the room, walking further and further into it to see that it’s a . . . workshop, of some sort. There are a few tables scattered with various tools, deconstructed machinery lolling on the floor and propped against walls. There are a couple of remains of Ruin Guards, but in Sumeru this is hardly a surprising sight--

The door slams closed behind you. You hear the click and the whirr of the locks resetting themselves, trapping you in here, but even then you still do not panic just yet. You are in the Sumeru Akademiya, after all - what horror could possibly befall you at the hands of someone so well-regarded, in such a beacon of wisdom and hope in the nation? 

That’s when you spot the bed in the middle of the room. 

Sterile white sheets, white metal frame, restraints at the head and at the feet. An IV standing proudly beside it; a table to one side that is scattered with, instead of tools and screwdrivers, medical equipment. Needles and scalpels and pill bottles. Your throat goes dry. 

“Ah,” there’s that voice again, and out of the shadows steps a figure. Your brain snaps into action sickeningly quickly; this is indeed a man you recognise. This figure, in his doctor’s coat and long boots, with his hair falling over a masked face-- “You’re just as lovely as I remembered you.” 

You crouch, your body primed, your position ready to jump to attention at any moment. You reach behind you to will your sword into your hand - if you incapacitate Dottore quickly enough, perhaps you can knock him out whilst you search his workshop for tools to help you break the locks--

“Oh, my,” he says. “Such an unwelcome reception, my dear. Still. That won’t be for long.”

“Open the door,” you snarl, through gritted teeth. “Let me out, and I won’t ram my blade through your throat.”

He smiles beneath the mask, the tilt of his lips almost fond. 

“There’s that lovely fire,” he says to you, in a pleased purr. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you for what seems like forever.”

“I’m warning you--” Your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword. Your breath comes short; your heart pounds. 

You do not truly know if you could take Dottore in a fight - he is ranked second of the Harbingers, after all, and you do not think such a position would be granted without some combat capability. But you have to hold fast to your hope - and without Dainsleif here, all you have to rely on is your own skills. What might happen if he does overpower you doesn’t bear thinking about--

(You’d noticed, the last time the two of you had met, the way his gaze behind the mask had lingered on the shape of your body. The way he had spoken silky smooth, shivering with intent, when he had addressed you. The way his leather gloved hands had felt, on your shoulders, lingering there as if they wished they could be somewhere else--)

“Ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, chiding. “Now, darling. That won’t do at all.”

You realise too late that the Doctor himself is not wearing an Akasha system earpiece - but you are. 

And as you feel it pulse into life, as bright colours flash against your vision and you stumble, your sword slipping through your fingers . . .

Everything goes black.

“Now,” Dottore’s voice cuts through the blackness, as everything seems to slowly fall back into place like a jigsaw puzzle being re-assembled. “This might hurt a touch. Just a sharp scratch, my dear--”

You’ve been strapped onto the medical bed, just as you had feared. The straps are wrapped around your ankles and your wrists, binding you spread-eagle upon the thin little mattress. You can still feel the vines of the Akasha system wrapped around your ear, and your throat clogs with the fear of it - if it could knock you out stone cold, what else could it do? Your eyes flutter open, and Dottore pauses--

He’s leaning over you with a syringe in his hand, the liquid within glowing with the same blue glow as the earring he wears. As he sees that you’re awake, his mouth opens into a wide smile with just a hint of too sharp teeth.

“Oh!” He exclaims in delight. “You’re finally awake! My, you’ve missed quite the little drama.”

He carefully places the syringe down upon the metal table as he reaches over you and fiddles with some kind of control on the side of the bed. Slowly, it creaks upwards, propping you up a little so you are bent at the waist.

“That’s better,” Dottore coos. “Now we can all see one another. Look, darling. Your knight in shining armour.” 

Dainsleif. 

How long have you been out cold? How easy was it for Dottore to strap you onto this operating table - how deeply did the Akasha knock you out? 

Long enough for Dain to realise you were missing. Long enough for him to track you down - long enough for he, too, to be overpowered by the second Harbinger and find himself entirely at the Doctor’s mercy.

Your travelling companion sits across from the bed you are restrained upon, ropes tied around his broad chest to keep him lashed to a rusted metal chair. A gag has been crudely shoved into his mouth so all he can do is make a soft little distressed noise at the predicament you have found himself in; more ropes bind his ankles to each leg of the chair, just to ensure that he’s fully unable to so much as wriggle in his bindings. He stares at you, agonised. 

“We’ve been talking about everything I’m going to do to you,” Dottore hums - and something hot and sour crawls into your throat as he leans over, and his leather gloves caress your face like a lover and not like a madman. “Ah, sweet little traveller . . . I’ve barely been able to wait to get my hands on you. A pretty face like that, and that fighting spirit . . . Ah! You stick in a man’s mind.” His smile is just as wide and unhinged as ever as he taps your cheek fondly. “I don’t think your poor knight is going to enjoy it, but . . . well. I’m sure you will.”

You struggle in the bonds, as your strength returns to you. You try and use your not inconsiderable strength to see if you can loosen the leather around your wrists, as fear of the undercurrent of desire in Dottore’s words and anger at Dainsleif finding you like this and worry about Dain himself all war at once within you like a churning whirlpool.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you seethe at Dottore, tugging hard. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it would be better for everyone if you just let me go now, and we can pretend none of this happened--”

Dottore throws his head back and laughs. 

“Oh,” he practically purrs at you. “You’re so lovely when you’re enraged. But . . . ah. No, I don’t think I shall. Now, my dear. How shall we start? A kiss, perhaps? Your lips have been haunting my dreams recently--”

“I’ll bite your tongue off,” you snarl, and though you cannot see Dottore’s eyes you can tell from the way that his face moves that he has raised his eyebrows. He lets out a low, silky chuckle.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, if so . . .”

He reaches back over to the metal table, and in his hands now he lifts the syringe once more. He taps the barrel of glowing blue liquid once, twice, that infuriatingly calm and smooth smile returning to his face. 

“This won’t knock you out,” he tells you. “I want you to be aware of everything we do together, darling, so you remember how good it makes you feel . . . how much we belong together. But it shall . . . how should I put this? Take a bit of the edge out of you.” He leans in; finding the crook of your elbow, thumb smoothing softly and almost lovingly over the patch of skin. “I’d hate for all of your fire to go missing, but . . . perhaps we should at least dull your teeth a little, hmm?” 

Dainsleif makes some awful noise; a whimper crossed with a moan, a kind of noise you’ve never heard the stoic Twilight Sword make before, as the needle sinks into your skin with a sharp scratch. Panic flares in your mind white hot at whatever kind of concoction is being injected directly into your veins--

But the panic quickly dulls, as you feel the drug beginning to take effect. 

It adds a muzzy kind of quality to everything. You see Dottore and Dain before you - the Doctor smiling, Dain agonised behind his patch and gag and rope. You know that there is something terribly wrong with this scene, but your mind is too hazy to pull up the specifics. You go to open your mouth and put word to a question, but nothing comes out - your tongue is too heavy, your teeth feeling as though they’re in the wrong place in your mouth.

“Oh, lovely,” says Dottore with relish. “My, you took to that sedative better than even I hoped you would! Sweet dear thing, will you let me kiss you now?”

You know, in that hazy mess of your mind, that you do not want this man to kiss you - but as he leans forward, you cannot remember why. You cannot make your tongue move to say no, and before you know it a pair of lips have firmly pressed to your own, tasting of the smell of antiseptic and peppermint. Dottore kisses you as thoroughly as he does everything else - his mouth working against yours, sharp teeth tugging at your lower lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth and laying claim to the shape of it as if he is an explorer mapping out newly conquered territory.

From somewhere that seems very far away, you hear another angry noise, half groan and half moan. 

Dottore pulls back, his tongue tracing his lips as if he’s savouring the taste of you left on them.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs. “But . . . ah, my dear, don’t you want to kiss me back?”

There’s a pulse by your ear. Your mind short-circuits - and then Dottore is leaning in again for another kiss, and without you sending a single signal to your body you are kissing Dottore back, your mouth working against his, your tongues twining with one another as if possessed by an unknown force. Dottore groans into your mouth, at the same time as one of his gloved hands comes to land on your thigh, bare beneath your skirt. 

You realise dully that it is the Akasha, taking control of your body; doing exactly what Dottore tells you to do.

If you hadn’t been drugged with the sedative that the Doctor had used, perhaps this realisation would make horror rise in you - it clearly does in Dainsleif, who struggles desperately against his bonds. But to you, in your current state . . . it is merely a realisation that washes over you like a cool stream. An inevitability. 

“Ah,” Dottore says, and he smiles something horrific and tender down at you. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?” 

Those gloved fingers slide higher and higher up your thigh, the touch remaining soft. You think it would be better if he started pawing at you like an animal; if he ripped and tore at your clothes. Something about the softness of how his thumb moves over your inner thigh, the soft untouched skin there - something about the gentle way his thumb brushes over your underwear . . . that feels a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine. 

He sighs in pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it; your wrists and ankles bound, your entire body prone, your veins numbed with sedatives. Your eyes seek out Dain’s across the room - and he looks at you, so broken that you think you will cry. 

Dottore’s other hand reaches up to the catches down the side of your dress. They are there to make it easier to dress yourself - catches and buttons up your spine are not helpful when you are alone or injured, and since you have found yourself in Teyvat you have been both of those things more often than you’d like to have - but you curse them, now, as Dottore’s other hand gently (oh-so-gently) peels them from your body and you are almost bare before him. Your nipples pebble in the cool air; your cheeks flush hot at how he tilts his head to look down at you. 

If you could see his eyes, what would you see written in them? 

“Oh,” Dottore is quiet when he speaks; appreciation dripping off every syllable. He moves his other hand away from where he’s been constantly petting at your sex through your underwear in order to turn all of his attention to your newly bared chest; you feel the hot flush across your collarbones at the sheer admiration that seems to ghost every movement. “You’re even more lovely than I could have thought.”

His leather-clad palms reach down, taking a handful of the soft curve of your chest; squeezing the half-globes in his hand, sighing happily at how they fit in his grip. His thumb and forefinger find the nub of your nipples, pinching one each until they stiffen and pucker beneath the attention and you squirm, a hot little bolt of lightning going straight from the place Dottore is pinching to the place between your thighs.

“You like that?” He murmurs, not missing the way you shudder beneath the attention. “Ah, sweet thing - has your knight not done this for you? Have you been saving yourself for me?”

Again, you can’t make your tongue form words; all you can do is let out a little whimpering moan of a noise that makes Dottore chuckle. It sounds far too close to affirmation for your liking, but what can you really do, as Dottore continues to pinch and pluck at your nipples and the warm zaps of pleasure and excitement continue to run hot in your veins? 

You can hear the way your breath is starting to come out in little pants; how it shudders in the air, heat coalescing between the bots of you as Dottore’s insistent pinches further cloud your mind. You can’t help the noise that falls from your mouth as he bends his head and applies his tongue just so upon one of the buds; as it swirls around it, suckling the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with attention that makes your back arch involuntarily. 

Dainsleif, still bound across the room, fights against the ropes once again and lets out a muffled noise of anger; words caught in the gag, vitriol spewed at the Doctor as he does whatever he wants to with your body. It is all for nothing, though. 

Dottore’s thumbs are hooking into your underwear. The thin cotton tears at the seams at only the flimsiest tug from the second ranked Harbinger, and then Dottore is looking down at your spread thighs and the folds of your sex on display for him and cooing at you so sweetly that it cloys. 

“Oh, darling,” he says to you. “You’re this wet for me?”

It’s not fair.

Frustrated tears rise to your eyes. In your current state, drugged and confused, under all of Dottore’s touches . . . your body has betrayed you. You know you’re wet; you can feel your own slick, oozing out of you, your folds wet with droplets of arousal. Desire to be touched warring with disgust for the man before you inside of you - frustration that you cannot so much as speak to put voice to your anger. Not even to beg him to stop. 

Hand on your thigh. Two fingers, deftly parting the lips of your labia so cool air hits the sensitive inner folds; the swollen bud of your clit, waiting to be touched, thrumming with excitement. A whine catches in your throat at the sensation of being studied like this; the way that Dottore is looking down at you like a wolf about to thoroughly enjoy his meal. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, again. “So much lovelier in the flesh.” He turns his head without turning his body, catching Dainsleif’s gaze. “Look, Twilight Sword. Ah. Don’t you wish you were in my position now? Aren’t you simply longing to have your wicked way with our sweet little Traveller?” 

Dain struggles desperately, the muscles of his shoulders flexing, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth working at the gag firmly pressed within it. You know that he wants to help you; that Dain would tear Dottore limb for limb for what he is clearly about to do to you, if only he could get himself free. 

But, too, there’s something in his eye that you do not want to admit to.

Shining bright behind the agonised blue is a palpable lust; a desire to be in Dottore’s place. You know that Dain would never hurt you - would never strap you to a table and use you against your will, you’re sure of it - but that look in his eyes makes you shiver. 

“Don’t worry,” Dottore assures him, turning back to you with that wicked smile on his face. “I’ll make sure you get to watch.” 

He eases the way his fingers are keeping you spread apart in order to be able to slowly slide his index finger through the valley of your sex; to wet his glove on all of the slick, to let it gather on his fingertip. He raises that gloved finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you as he tilts his chin back to savour it.

“Ah,” he says, as he tugs his glove off with his teeth. “Forgive me, my dear - I simply must feel you without them.”

His fingertips feel just as cold, as he touches you with them instead of the gloves. Your back arches again, though your own restraints keep you on the bed and stop you from being able to wriggle away from Dottore’s questing fingers even if the sedative hadn’t filled your limbs with honey.

Dottore lets out a soft chuckle at the way your body moves, another chiding click of his tongue. 

“Breathe out,” he advises you, as his finger circles your entrance, as his thumb finds the swollen pearl of your clit and begins to draw slow, firm circles over it. “It will make it easier, sweet thing--”

One of his fingers swiftly presses inside of you, punching the air out of your chest. You hate it, you think - you hate the feel of his slender digits pressing further and further inside of you, the feel of him crooking his knuckle just so that the bone rubs against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars--

It feels good, too. You don’t want it to. You don’t like how the feeling of him inside of you seems to satiate an ache that had started when he had rubbed over the seam of your underwear and kissed you and toyed with your chest. You don’t like that, as a second finger rubs around your entrance in preparation to be put inside of you, your breath catches in excitement at the thought of being stretched further.

“That’s right,” Dottore is murmuring, his own voice a little breathless now as excitement leaks into his tone. “Oh, you’re doing so well, lovely thing. Ah-- you have no idea how good you feel. Like silk . . . Thinking about doing this to you doesn’t at all measure up to the real thing.”

The thought of Dottore having these thoughts about you makes your heart twist. You close your eyes, just so you don’t have to see Dainsleif sitting across from you, watching you with agonised eyes as Dottore’s fingers make you feel a way you didn’t know you could. 

A few more months and perhaps you would have imagined Dain himself doing this to you - something more intimate than the shy, awkward kisses the two of you have so far shared, as Dainsleif silently agonises and worries about his body being tainted and his curse ruining everything that shimmers between the two of you like fragile gossamer. Perhaps then, it would have been slow and careful - Dain waiting for you to give the go-ahead, letting you lead . . .

That choice has been taken from you, now, as two of Dottore’s fingers scissor inside of you to open you up wide and his thumb continues to rub over your clit in firm, sure circles. The way that Dottore touches you would almost be clinical - designed solely to make you feel good, to prepare you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, to make sure that your slickness would provide adequate lubrication for the glide of the same - were it not for the bright mania that fills his grin as he stares down at you, watching your sex swallow his fingers with every wet, slick pump of his wrist. 

That is the look of a man very much enjoying what he’s doing to you. 

“Sweet Traveller,” he murmurs, low and cajoling. “I think you’re going to come for me.”

You have just enough control of your body to toss your head weakly, shaking it from side to side, your hair falling over your face. It does not hide the fact that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright, that your chest is heaving as every rub of his fingers sends brand new sparks of pleasure careening to the middle of your stomach into a hot, tight ball. 

“Oh,” Dottore’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. “That wasn’t me asking, darling. Come for me.”

Another zing; a zap, a pulse, where the Akasha terminal is wrapped about your ear--

And your body twitches and pulses under his command, as the hot tight ball of want inside of you seems to get a signal from the terminal that now is the time to explode. You don’t know how to explain it; the way that your mind seems to contract at the same time as your body, and then you are panting and whining helplessly as shivers rack you underneath Dottore’s twisting wrist, his insistent thumb. 

He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he pulls back, his fingers glimmering wetly with your own orgasm. Again, he lifts them to his mouth; again, you see a sharp flash of teeth as his tongue traces his own digits and he savours the way you taste on his tongue. 

“That’s more than enough,” he says, pleasantly. He looks at Dainsleif, the blond all wide-eyed and desperate and seething with hatred, and gives him another smile that is like the edge of a knife. “Don’t you think so, knight? Ah. Don’t you think it’s time for me to take them fully?”

Dainsleif struggles again, and Dottore laughs like a creaked, rusting hinge on a sharp iron gate.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” he says, syrupy sweet. “Oh, they mean more to me than that. I merely want them to understand how badly I need them . . . and how good I could be for them, too.”

The sedatives in your system do not allow you to fight back; to bare your teeth and growl and tell him you could never imagine how he could possibly be good for you. But though your mind churns with these thoughts, your body is still not quick enough to respond - your veins still weighed down with honey. Too tenderly, Dottore reaches for your face; traces his thumb over your cheekbone.

“We are going to consummate our mutual adoration,” he tells you, and he reaches for his fly. You hear the buttons of his placket undo as if you are somewhere very far away, button sliding through button hole. Dottore sighs happily as he repositions the table and himself, making sure that Dainsleif has an even better view of the way that he slots himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Dottore’s cock slap against the bare skin; the wet, slick head of him, as he rubs it over your own soft inner thighs. You burn with humiliation, as the wet pap of him slapping the cockhead against your cunt echoes in Dottore’s workshop, and the Doctor keeps smiling as if he’s enjoying himself terribly.

“How about,” he says, loud enough for Dainsleif to hear it, “before we begin, you tell me what I want to hear, Traveller?”

You blink at him slowly, as he pushes his hips forward, and the head of his cock catches on the ring of your entrance; as your body clenches and puckers, waiting for him to move further forward. You wish he would just get on with it, but at the same time you wish that this wouldn’t happen. If you were fully in control of your body, you’re certain you would be struggling and sobbing and spitting - but you are not.

“Oh,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet. “You don’t know what I mean? Darling, let me say it a little simpler whilst you’re still all addled from me making you come . . . Loud enough for the Twilight Sword to hear, now. Why don’t you tell me you love me?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It’s not really silent; there’s a buzzing in your ears, there’s a constant hum from the machinery that surrounds you both, there’s the sound of three people breathing within the room, panting and seething and hating . . . but that’s how it feels.

You would never tell this monster you loved him.

But Dottore is still looking at you, his cock still pressing against your entrance, his head still tilted to one side, his mouth still quirked in a smile - and there’s an eager kind of obsession in his gaze, as if he thinks you might actually get the words out--

The pulsing in your ear. The flash across your brain. You can’t breathe; you can’t think, through anything but the sudden desire to tell the Doctor who’s about to ruin you that you love him.

Your tongue is slow. Heavy. Your voice echoes too loud around the room.

“Doctor . . .” Dainsleif lets out a pained whine behind the gag. “I-- I love you--”

“Oh, good-- well done--!”

Dottore pants in wild pleasure at the sound of your voice, the way it sounds desperate and reedy not with hate, but with feeling. He cants his hips forward, still too wild - and your head falls back, a whine escaping your slow-tongued mouth as his entire cock sheaths itself inside of you in excitement.

It’s easier to close your eyes.

You do not want to see Dainsleif, over Dottore’s shoulder - the disappointment and horror and despair that’s written clear across his handsome face. He must have seen the Akasha pulse, he must know that you would never say such a thing of your own volition - but that doesn’t stop the fact that you did say it, and he did hear it. Eyes squeezed shut, the feel of him inside you is all the worse; the way you can sense your body tightening around him, the feel of being stretched wider than you’ve been stretched before.

Dottore’s pants do not let up; there’s a desperation in him that you would never have thought the Doctor possible of - bringing a horrifying kind of truth to all of those things he had said, all of the ways he had stared at you. Perhaps it is more than just lust--

And that makes it all the worse. 

His hips judder against yours in desperation, his white coat rustling as it rubs against your own bare body. One of his hands explores your chest, even as he keeps rutting into you; thumbs pinching at your nipples, palming at your hips and your waist and your chest, as if he cannot truly believe this is happening. 

He is undone, like this; and you cannot quite believe he is letting you see some of those walls fall down. There is no more the strong, smooth Doctor - the one who could raze cities to the ground if he so chose. There is a man; a man who is fucking into you, a man who wants to have as much of your body as he can, a man who seems to want to devour you. 

You cannot believe he made you say that you love him. The Akasha upon your ear feels like a parasite, worming its way into your psyche, taking complete control of you. You think of Dainsleif, forced to watch, and a juddering sob manages to tear itself from your throat. 

Dottore kisses your cheek, the tears catching on his lips, his tongue tracing the saltwater tracks. 

“Don’t fret so, darling,” Dottore murmurs, against the apple of your cheek. “It’s alright . . . Doesn’t it feel good?”

It doesn’t - and it does. You don’t want to admit to the way that his constant thrusting and the grinding of his pelvis against your still-swollen clit are working together to make your insides churn, your body feverishly hot and confused. Your breath comes out in pants that match Dottore’s own. You can’t come for him again, you simply can’t - it doesn’t matter, you try and tell yourself, that there is heat bursting anew in your stomach. That it is not really because of Dottore, but natural biology--

You came earlier, yes, but Dottore told you to; used the Akasha against you. If you came now, without him forcing you to, it does not bear to think about - it doesn’t bear to think about how Dain might react, if he watched you come of your own volition under Dottore’s fucking--

No matter how sternly you try to speak to yourself, one cannot stop biology in its tracks.

Dottore’s pelvis batters against your clit; Dottore’s cock bullies itself mercilessly into you, as if it is trying to make you mould to the shape of him. With each thrust, it rubs against spots inside of you that your own fingers have never been able to reach; ones you had never realised would feel so good. You try and tell yourself, over and over and over, that you will not let yourself come for Dottore.

But your body betrays you.

Your body betrays both yourself and Dain, a man who you had always thought would be the only one to ever do this to you, though you had not let your fantasies yet get further than a hand over your dress, skimming your bare thigh. You come for the second Fatui Harbinger, as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon - and this time, you do not even have the Akasha to blame it upon. 

Your wrists are still held either side of your head by restraints; all you can do, as the spasms of pleasure resonate out from your sex and into every other part of you, is dig your nails into your palms. All you can do is let out a heavy, slurred whine-moan escape from your parted lips. All you can do is take it - come for the Doctor, the way he always knew you were going to.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips double their speed, desperately rutting into you. “I didn’t even have to tell you to, that time - you want me just as badly, don’t you? Oh, sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ll give you everything I have--”

His words are slurred too; he is too far gone within the euphoria of finally being inside of you. His hips rock into you, harder and harder, his cock twitching wildly as he hisses out your name.

He comes inside of you with a wild bite into your bare shoulder, grunting and groaning, more animal than scientist - proof that, beneath it all, he is just a man. He remains there, humming into your skin, his cock softening inside of you. His tongue licks across the bite on your shoulder as if he wants to remember the taste of you.

“Why,” he says, a pleased hum in the back of his throat. His cock twitches. “I think I might even do that again--”

There’s a knock on the door. 

You are still too out of it after what Dottore did to you to register much beyond his frustration that he is being called back to Snezhnaya, now of all times. An awkward assistant, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing, lingers by Dottore’s side as the Doctor grumbles under his breath and pulls your clothes back on over your bruised body, his come still leaking out from between your thighs.

“I’ll see you again,” Dottore says to you, with a smile, as he brandishes another syringe. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting about how much we shared any time soon, darling. You’ll keep me warm many a cold Snezhnayan night.”

The syringe is brought up to your elbow; the liquid injected directly into the vein once again. You barely have time to wonder what he is injecting you with this time before the heaviness of unconsciousness begins to blur the corners of your vision. 

Dottore strides across the room to Dainsleif, another syringe glowing within his gloved fingers.

Before you slip into oblivion, you watch Dottore roll up Dainsleif’s sleeve, and you hear him say this;

“Now, I’m sending them back with you, Knight - but you won’t soon forget, will you, that they told me that they loved me?”

You slip into the abyss.

You wake back up at the camp you and Dainsleif had established, on the edges of Sumeru, as safe as the two of you could find - as if absolutely nothing has happened. 

Oh, there’s the lingering reminder of Dottore - there’s a soreness to your thighs, there are bites on your shoulders, there’s a muzzy headache from the drugs and the way he had used the Akasha upon you . . . but other than that, there’s nothing. The system itself isn’t even attached to your ear any longer.

Dain, too, has reminders of the ordeal upon him - rope burn on his wrists. A burning look in his eyes when his gaze falls upon you that makes your insides crawl in fear, lest he be disgusted by you now - lest he never want to look at you again. Perhaps, you think wildly, he is going to cast you away - say that the two of you can no longer travel together, accuse you of being damaged goods . . .

It does not end that way.

Dainsleif stares at you across the clearing after waking up, as if he is trying to sort all of his thoughts out. His fingers twitch, his eyes raking over you desperately - and then he has moved, lightning quick, and his arms have wrapped around you and you are being crushed against the weight of his chest.

“I thought . . .” He whispers into your ear, his voice so broken it makes you ache. “Oh, I can’t believe he would . . . I’m so sorry--”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” you whisper to him - relieved to find that your tongue and your throat are once more capable of working. You reach up to touch his face, and Dain groans, torn between leaning into the touch and pulling away as he so often does, so worried that he’s somehow going to taint you.

You’re not sure if you could ever feel more tainted than you do right now.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” his voice cracks. Dainsleif is normally so stoic and solid; you cling to him as you journey through Teyvat, relying on him. Seeing him like this makes you ache.

“You won’t,” you reach for his hand, take it gently and place it over your collarbone, shivering at the touch of his glove on your skin. “See? I’m still here.”

Dain sighs again, his lashes fluttering closed against his sculpted cheekbones. He murmurs your name again, so softly you can barely hear it; and his fingers slide along the imprint of that same collarbone, to your shoulder, until they find the place Dottore had bitten into when he had come.

“I can’t bear seeing his marks on you,” he whispers. “I want to scrub you free of every touch.”

You close your own eyes and let yourself be lulled into Dainsleif’s arms; you let your head rest against his chest, you let yourself be comforted by the familiar scent of him. His fingers don’t stop tracing the bite marks, his touch getting more and more agitated. 

“Dain--” You murmur. You’re suddenly so tired. You know you were just unconscious, but that’s not the same as getting real rest. This morning - or was it this morning? How long were the two of you really with Dottore? How long had it been before Dainsleif had come to find you? Whatever the case, it seems a hundred years ago now. 

You wonder if Dainsleif would mind if you fell asleep on him, right here. 

“Please,” Dain’s lowered his head now. His breath flutters against your ear; delicately tickling your ear. “Let me . . . Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, but it clearly means a lot to Dainsleif, and you do not mind the gentle touch of his hands as they smooth softly over the places Dottore has bitten, the places you have bruised. Dainsleif has lost so many people, after all - you do not blame him for wanting to check on you. You nestle your head under Dain’s chin and he takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Do I still smell like myself?”

“Don’t joke,” his voice breaks. You don’t know how else to cope with it; the thought of Dottore’s hands all over you, the reminder of what the Doctor took from you. Dain’s hand slips under the bodice of your dress.

You go all-over cold, all-over still.

Dainsleif doesn’t even notice. His hand gently travels further down, further down, squeezing the weight of your breast in his hand. Your fingers twitch where they lay against him, cradled as you are in his arms - but Dainsleif is still murmuring to himself now, lost in a frenzy of his own thoughts, and for the first time you feel afraid of him.

“Dain--” You try to say, throat clogged. “Dain, don’t--”

“Please,” he repeats, ragged. “I just . . . I need to touch you. I need to know you’re here. I need to know he didn’t--”

You can’t do this. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sickening thumping beat as Dain’s thumb rubs a circle over your nipple and traitorous body, it responds to him just as it had to Dottore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” Dainsleif whispers, broken into your ear. “Let me . . . I won’t hurt you . . .”

His other hand, pulling you further into his lap. Holding you spoon-fashion against him, like a lover.

You wouldn’t complain, ordinarily. 

But now . . .

All you want is for him to hold you. All you want is for him, you think, to kiss your forehead and reassure you and take care of you. The way his hands keep travelling over your skin - the other is kneading at the flesh of your thigh now, his breath coming in those same great shuddering pants as if he doesn’t have full control over his own body right now. You whimper aloud as his hand brushes further, further--

You’re not wearing underwear. Not after Dottore had torn it at the seams. 

Dainsleif sighs.

“It killed me seeing him touch you,” he whispers into your hair, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head, disgustingly tender. His fingers are petting at your folds, his arms iron-tight like the ropes that had wrapped around him earlier. He doesn’t notice that you’re trembling; he ignores the soft little entreaties you do manage to get out. 

“I can’t,” you say, as Dainsleif tugs at your nipples.

“Dain--” you whimper, his fingers spreading the lips of your sex apart.

“Not yet,” you beg, as he drops a kiss over the bruising bites Dottore left on your shoulders.

“I wish I could cover you with myself,” Dainsleif says, as he continues to use his mouth and his fingers and acts as though he does not hear a word. “But . . . oh, I don’t deserve you . . . Not yet . . . Please, let me make sure you never think of him again--” 

It’s too much. Too much, too soon, your body churning with feelings and your mind churning with thoughts that you can’t yet put in place, because Dainsleif is touching you and not listening to you and you wonder if this makes him just like Dottore, in his way. 

You think about yourself, in Sumeru City, your smile bright, laughing off his concern - and you think about Dainsleif now, his touch so possessive and so desperate that he’s going to cover the bruises Dottore left with bruises of his own.

“I’ll be fine,” you had said. I can take care of myself. 

Dainsleif takes care of you, when you cannot; when you are injured or sick or lost. You have always had him to rely on; your travelling companion through Teyvat, as you desperately tried to make sense of the world that you have found yourself in. 

Here, though . . . 

You think, as the tears roll down your face, you could do without Dainsleif taking care of you like this. 

[itsabouttimex2]

Heavenly Refuge

(Made to pair with one of my Ne Zha bots!)

This is not where you belong. This is a paved land of gold and white, stark and sparkling. What little life there is that’s been allowed to grow is stifled, under thick restriction. Koi fish in opulent fountains. Peach trees in a rigid row. Sacred flowers in little silver pots. But there is no true freedom for these little living things- each one is under strict maintenance.

Like yourself, then.

So short a time ago had you been plucked from the mortal realm by a Celestial Prince, his appearance heralded by a blushing fire divine. The soft light raged high, and fervent footsteps beat against the fertile ground, and the air filled with the scent of… lotus.

Ne Zha, as you would come to know him.

Marshal of the Central Altar. Third Lotus Prince.

“Y/N! Get down from there!”

Sometimes you wondered if maybe it wasn’t a spear that the warrior wielded, but instead a stick with which to constantly jam up his own-

“Y/N!” He repeats, pink fire racing around him in anger. “I will not say it again! Come down from that peach tree this instant!”

No doubt that the stern prince wished to bestow upon you another lesson of manners and dignity, to teach you the way of the Celestial Realm. Perhaps this time it would be on the matter of properly conveying respect to the elder members of the Court. Perhaps he would lecture about the food that was or wasn’t acceptable to eat in a realm of Gods.

Peering down from the sacred tree reveals a sight you have become quite familiar with- your “guardian”, decked in crimson and pink and gold, fuming.

At this point, he seems ready to explode.

You slowly peer over the edge of the tree, shaking.

Ne Zha freezes.

There are hot tears spilling over your cheeks and down the smooth tree bark, drenching the sacred peaches on the branches beneath you. You’ve overgorged on fruit, cheeks stained with the sweet juice of the holy drupes. From the scent of several saccharine puddles of bile on the ground, you’ve vomited at least twice.

“By the Realms…”

The words are barely a mumble, caught under his breath, his pink fire dimming as he catches sight of the tears on your cheeks. He’s angry at you, yes. But… you look so miserable. The prince cannot help but be taken by a wave of concern for your wellbeing.

Sun Wukong had done this before, once. Eaten a near tree’s worth of sacred peaches and chaos an outright uproar in the Celestial Realm… but he had not been a child (not by the Celestial Realm’s standards, at least) and he had not been a trembling, vomiting mess.

“…Y/N. You will come down from that tree, and you will do so now.”

There’s a hollow look in your eyes, one he’s grown used to- it’s the same look you get when you “know” what’s waiting for you.

You’ve known harsh backhands and hanger strikes. You’ve known folded-over belts and crescent scars born of manicured keratin. You’ve known hot iron and water buckets.

But the Li family are not the guardians you knew. Teaching you this seemed to be going down the route of pulling teeth, unfortunately.

The Third Lotus Prince holds out his arms, and forces a trembling smile. It’s hard to bear a grin when what he wants; more than anything, is to bolt you by steel into place and never again risk you slipping away.

When you stand up and jump, it’s with far too much ease. The plummet comes almost naturally, like you’d been thinking on it for hours.

‘Are you used to risking your life’, Ne Zha wants to ask. But you won’t answer. He already knows that. ‘Do you like risking your life?’

It almost relieves him that you were sure to keep mum instead of answering. Because…

…because he’s scared (and certain) that you would say yes.

Ne Zha catches you with a measure of grace, your ragged form landing bridal style in his arms. And… Gods, you look even worse up close. Dark bags under your tear-swollen eyes, puffy patches of red around your cheeks, irritated by the cling of sticky juice and the bare-nail scraping of your trembling hands.

“…a-are you… are you m-mad…?”

“No,” he half-lies, patting your quivering back. “Let’s get you home.” Ne Zha shifts you to a more comfortable position, then tightens his hold. Anything to not look directly at your miserable, worn face. Gods, when was the last time you actually slept through the night?

“…Mis… M-Mister Jing…?” Is the trembling question on your lips, barely audible. “Are we going to your father?” is the little section left unspoken. Not that the prince wouldn’t understand.

Ne Zha is already walking along the path back to Li family’s palace.

“Yes, little witch. He’ll be…”

Gods, he was never any good at lying. Then, the last time the prince tried was centuries ago. His own condition at the time had been rather similar to yours, a little trembling mess of tears and bile. Ne Zha had sworn to his father with big wet eyes that he was most certainly not sick, just very excited to start training. It hadn’t worked for him then, obviously, and even now he can barely manage a somewhat believable:

“He’ll be, ah, pleased to see you unharmed.”

And on his way the prince goes.

On any other day, there would be chatter amongst the other deities, servants, and guards. Today, though, the only sound in the air is the click of Ne Zha’s boots against the paved way, punctured by your shaky breathing.

They don’t even have to enter the palace to find Li Jing- the man is waiting, stern and frowning, under an opulent ivory arch. His polished boot taps unhappily against the tile.

“Let me have them,” Li Jing says, tempering his voice to only mild unhappiness,” and then prepare their chambers- this time, add those “precautions” we previously discussed.”

He’s… working on his flaws. Slowly. Having your realm nearly dissolve in a fit of rumbling chaos struck Jing hard enough to inspire an honest attempt to improve himself.

So Li Jing was making slow strides to be kinder, and gentler, and Ne Zha was adjusting in turn be more open to the man his father was becoming.

And they had decided to expand their family with the newest addition to the Celestial Realm, a little witch who had strange powers and an unhappy past. Maybe, through “fixing” you, the improvement of their fractured family tree would come sooner.

“Yes, Father,” the prince obediently replies. He keeps his voice calm and neutral- though there is clearly worry bubbling under the surface. He carefully sets you into his father’s arms, then watches you for a moment to ensure that all is well. Then he bows to Li Jing, before preparing to take his leave.

“And, ah, son?”

“Yes, Father?” The prince asks, pausing. His back is turned, but Ne Zha tilts his head a fraction- listening to hear more from Li Jing.

“…good work."

Those two words send a chill through the prince’s blood. Praise was not entirely foreign to Ne Zha’s ears- but it was rare. Few and far between were the times when his father would compliment him. He’s silent for several long moments, letting the words sink in. It’s odd, the way they set his gut rolling like a stone in a river.

Finally, the prince swallows, and dips his head in reply.

“Thank you, Father.”

From here on, things would be better between them- even if your potential “betterment” was the vehicle they used to drag themselves across the finish line.

So be it.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Wait when did Nezha become school friends with Peaches??? That's so cute and sad!

I mentioned it in this post about how the Celestial Realm be doing about Wukong's sudden change in behavior.

Nezha is like the only Celestial who would bother investigating what happened the night Wukong starting acting strange - his "Protector of Children" powers telling him that an infant was in distress.

Nezha doesn't find it surprising that Wukong got hurt protecting a baby. But what does is the fact that A: Baby is a brand new Stone Monkey, and B: Wukong seems to have lost his memories.

The Four Stalwarts have all agreed to let their King heal in his own time, not wanting to stress him or their new Prince out. Wukong hasn't truly lived for a long time, and perhaps this unusual circumstance will patch up the holes in his spirit.

But, Nezha isn't about to let Wukong wander around Megapolis without some back-up so...

Peaches: "Hi dads! This is Nez! He's in my class at school." "Nez", a snake demon: "Hi." Tang, sitting at the coffee table: "Nice to meet you, Nez! I'm Mr Tang, one of Peaches' guardians. I'm glad that he's made a friend!" Pigsy: "I'll stick on a fresh pot of tea. Did you have dinner yet, kiddo? You sure that your parents know where you are?" "Nez", surprised: "Uh. Well, I usually feed myself. It's no issue with my father." Pigsy, immediately in the kitchen: "Then you should stay for dinner! We're having banmian." Baby MK, on a baby mat: "Ban-man!" Peaches, cooing at the baby: "Yes, didi! Ban-mian! You're getting smarter every day!" Baby MK: (*delighted chirping!*) "Nez": (*sheds single tear of joy at seeing a healthy family dynamic*)

Pigsy thinks Peaches' friend is a little cold, but probably just needs some support. He always makes sure Nez leaves with a few servings of dinner for himself.

Tang is... suspicious. But a lot of the details he's managed to pick up seem to paint a picture of a stunted, mixed-demon with an unsupportive parent. And while Nez talks like an adult, he still reacts to things like a kid does. Tang and Nez share mythology knowledge whenever they run into each other. Tang wonders if there's a way to meet Nez's father... so he can smack him.

And ofc the baby stone monkey Xiaotian/MK. Nez has held full conversations with the infant - a side effect of his position as Protector of Children. MK thinks Nez is the coolest person on earth (other than his gege Peaches of course!).

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 30 : Monkey King growing belly

Mac is mad at Wukong for being reckless!

Macaque was pacing in circles before Wukong, his tail lashing angrily behind him. Every now and then the lil guy would look up at the golden-furred monkey with a furry-filled glare. Wukong flinched and averted his eyes, shame creeping up on him. He hated being looked. at like that by Macaque, it made him feel all wrong.

“I know you're reckless but this is too much, Wukong!” Nagged the black-furred monkey as he threw his hands above his head in exasperation. His lil ears were flapping in frustration.

“B-but I'm fine!” Argued the sage, trying to defend his earlier actions.

“Fine? FINE !? Cutting your own head is not fine!” Roared Macaque, he put his hand on his hips and whipped his head towards Wukong with a disapproving glare, Wukong shrunk down in shame.

“But I'm seven times immortal and I had to win against those false Daoists.” Mumbled the sage as he played with his fingers in nervosity. The rest of the pilgrims were watching the scene unfold with various levels of amusement.

“That doesn't matter. You don't have to put yourself in danger like that, it’s-” Macaque stopped once he caught sight of Wukong's kicked puppy face and sighed, he pinched the bridge of his nose and calmed his frying nerves. “Anyway, come on, follow me. There is a spring nearby. You're gonna wash yourself and I'm gonna see if there aren't any injuries on you.”

“But Mac I don't need a-” Wukong cut himself the moment Macaque whipped his head towards him, the sage wasn't daring enough to anger the lil guy further. Sun Wukong followed Mac que with dropped ears and a sweating tail. Bajie was laughing at his misery while Sanzang was discreetly praying for his mercy. Ao Lie, like the pure heart he was at times, mouthed “good luck” and Wujing threw a thumbs up at him.

Both monkeys quickly arrived at the brewing spring, Wukong stood on the balls of his feet awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“Take off your clothes.” Sighed Macaque.

“W-what ?” Squeaked Wukong with reddening cheeks, his heart missed a beat at Macaque's words.

“What were you expecting? Come on, I gotta see your injuries.” Wukong wouldn't have minded being naked like a newborn in front of anyone else, but this was Macaque. The sage was conscious of a lot of things when it concerned Macaque and, perhaps, he did gain a lil bit of pudge recently, he didn't want Macaque to see that. Wukong fiddled with the hem of his shirt, eyes darting everywhere but on Macaque

The sage reluctantly took off his shirt and kept on his pants, he curled his tail on his stomach to hide his growing belly. Darn, he really did eat too many peaches. Macaque gestured for him to lower himself and Wukong hesitantly did so. The lil guy immediately jumped on Wukign's chest and began to inspect every corner of his skin with a keen eye.

“You're lucky you're unscathed.” Sighed Macaque as he sat on Wukong's heart-shaped patch of fur.

“I'm seven times immortal…” Mumbled Wukong as he averted his eyes, some part of him frustrated that Macaque saw him as someone so frail.

“Still, I worry about you.” Replied Macaque, he put one of his lil paws on Wukong's snout to convey his seriousness. Wukong couldn't stay mad nor could he deny someone this cute.

“... I'll be more careful.”

“Thanks.” Softly smiled Macaque. “Now ,chop chop, jump in the river. You stink.” Wukong gasped in offense.

“I do not stink.” He answered with false outrage, the lil guy fondly rolled his eyes and played along.

“Yes you do, you stinky monkey.”

“You didn't dare.” Laughed Wukong, the corner of his lips lifting up in joy.

“I did, what are you gonna do about it?” Taunted Macaque.

Wukong chuckled mischievously, he grabbed Macaque in his hands and jumped in the spring. The lil guy shrieked and held his breath. They both emerged looking like wet rats, Wukong bursted out laughing when he saw Macaque being all soggy, with clothes sticking to his body. The lil guy glared playfully at the sage and spit a waterjet at his face. Wukong's face scrunched in disgust and he laughed out loud.

“You lil devil!” Snorted Wukong with a large smile, Macaque snickered like the lil demon he was at time.

They both played in the water for a bit, enjoying the coolness of it. Then Macaque floated closer to Wukong and pawed at his bulging belly.

“You gained some weight.” Observed Macaque, Wukong straightened himself and averted his eyes, nervous. “It looks good on you.” Mumbled the lil guy as he turned his head, the tip of his six-ears reddening.

Wukong felt like he could faint from happiness.

+ cut scenes

Wukong.exe has stopped working

Macaque broke him

Macaque inner thoughts : that was not what I wanted say!! Why did I say this!? It's so awkward!! 😳

Sanzang *later on the same day* : Why is Wukong looking like that? 🤔

Wukong : 😳😮

Sanzang : This is worrying! What if he's under some sort of spell!? 😱

Ao Lie : the spell of love 🥰

Bajie : you mean the spell of pining 🙄

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[semisolidmind]

I had a train of thought about your Twice as Bad AU. Started with thinking “what if Peaches had a pet cat back at the village and it could see past the monkeys’ disguise?” Then I thought “wait, would it make more sense for her to have a farm animal as a pet? Like a little pig or goat?” And ended with “well I might not have had a pet if I were her but I’d definitely have a garden. And I would be VERY upset about getting stolen away from it. Even if it’s tiny, those are my plant babies!!!!” I guess all of this to say…what if Peaches had a pet? (As always, I love your stories and your art, Semi! Hope you are having a fantastic day! 🌼🌻🌷🌸☀️)

(pfft. 😆 they'd help her transfer her garden to the mountain if she missed it that much)

so, i think that in the beginning, if reader had a pet during the time that the monkey demons were visiting her as little normal monkeys, things probably wouldn't have turned out much differently. my first thought goes to the "sensing demons" thing. for easiness-sake, we'll say reader has a cat or a dog, since both of these pets have been known to be able to sense the paranormal.

when reader brings an injured, disguised macaque back to her home to patch him up, she has to shut the pet outside because of how crazy they're acting. they won't stop barking/meowing, their fur standing on end, and it's scaring reader's little guest. reader just figures the pet doesn't like a new animal in the house.

macaque knows that the pet can tell he's a demon, but he also knows he can just...make it disappear if it gets in his way, so he's not too concerned about it. when reader opens the door to let macaque go after bandaging him, he quickly gets into the trees. the pet hisses/growls at him from the ground, and he hisses right back. the six-eared demon still wants to see reader, but he'll need to distract the little pest if he wants some one-on-one attention from its mistress.

macaque, knowing that reader must love the stupid thing if she actively keeps it near, won't immediately kill it. so, he uses clones to keep the cat/dog busy in the forest during his visits. wukong, once he starts showing up, plans to just kill the stupid thing. ...what, reader has them now! what does she need this thing for? it's not like it's doing its job all that well anyways; he and mac keep coming back, don't they? overall, wukong doesn't care for the nuisance the pet is being; he's got beef with a cat/dog.

that brought up the idea of reader thinking that something might be wrong with her pet and asking around the village for something to calm them. a friendly old farmer listens to her troubles and warns, "If it only acts that way around those monkeys you're feeding, then perhaps it's trying to warn you, girl."

reader didn't know how right he would be.

[mahiiimahiiii]

have a little preview as a treat...

wow i am cranking out shit this week, turns out stress is a good motivator to write.

this comes from the office hours wip i posted a few weeks ago, feedback would be greatly appreciated as i never know if gale is written decently lol.

tdlr: rizzard recives, to be loved is to be changed, mentions of having kids, i think gale has a title or authority kink, my vision is blessed with gale with thick thighs and garter bands.

hopefully the full will be posted this weekend!!

nsfw below the cut! minors dni!!!!

You glanced up catching his eyes, he nodded. You unlaced his boxers which crackled at your touch, tugging them off his legs and tossing them somewhere. You exhaled, tail thumping against the cushions in slight excitement. Gale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, pink warming his already rosy cheeks. You kissed down the happy trail that lined his soft stomach, inhaling the scent of him contained by his skin. Rose water, oak, pine and musk, he smelt wonderfully fresh.

He was slightly self-conscious of this newer version of him, a body softened by age like a ripe peach. You thought it fitting- the softness of course- he aged well. You cupped his sides, squeezing them gently. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” you ask softly.

“Many times-why do you ask?” he quirked a brow.

You shrug, lifting his thighs around your hips, giving them a firm squeeze again. “Thought I’d remind you.” You mold to his body, thighs rubbing together adding pressure to his already neglected member. Your lips mark their place down his neck, staining his skin a soft pink from your lip balm.  You made your way down again, making sure your lips marked every surface of his skin. His hips strained for movement but found none to meet it.

You marred his inner thigh with bite patterns, his skin breaking into patterns of pink and red. Your tongue ran its way up his perineum sending flames to his stomach, a squeeze to his heavy sack had him tensing beneath you.

Your nose buried in his happy trail once more- you let out a contented sigh.

His hips bucked slightly his cock tapping your chin. “my dear- be kind please- “

You grinned “gale, I don’t intend to be kind- perhaps I’m trying to enable your behavior for later.”

He let out a strained moan, his lids scrunching shut. “God id like that so much- please- “

“Like what now gale?” you teased pinching the head of his pink cock, rolling the skin up and down.

His hips strained again, a low hiss through his teeth. “Gods, you know- I don’t want to spell it out, hells.”

You stopped your slow steady strokes to kitten lick the head of his member, his fists began to clench and unclench. “I’d like to hear what you’d like, professor Dekarios. Lecture me- if you will.”

He swore under his breath one open, “you-!” his chest heaved, trying to buck his hips up from under your heavy hand. “Fuck- fine- I want to be in you- I want you to bloat with my seed. Gods-! Want everyone to know your mine- so help me- going to fuck you over my desk-.” His breathing was labored, his thighs clenching under you. His eyes went wide as he covered his mouth, poor gale was surprised by even his own vulgarity.

“you’d like to try for another child Mr. Dekarios?” you squeezed his balls sucking gently on his inner thigh.

“By the weave-! Yes-!” he sounded exasperated, his lip quivering.

“Very well, you’ve been good. I suppose you’ve earned your treat” you lowered your mouth onto him, a groan rolling through his throat. You dragged your tongue against his skin, the salt refreshing to your taste. You found the small spot on his head and rolled your tongue against it. His hands shoved down your head, burying your head into the patch of curls framing his cock. He shuffled his hands moving to your horns squeezing and fondling the base ridges. Your moan reverberated around him, he lifted his hips, the garters that held his socks squeezing the meat of his thighs.

[drones-of-innocence]

Traveled Half the World to Say, You Are My Muse...

What if in an alternate universe, Princess Peach was an exchange student studying art?

She might enjoy getting a daily coffee before classes, and particularly over the weekends where she planned to walk around the city in search of her muse.

Until, one day, she finds him.

Her muse appears to her in the form of a man at a coffee shop on a rainy day.

The dreary light from the windows catches the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen, and a frustrated hand combs back dark curls as he focuses on his laptop. A full cup of coffee sits, forgotten, by his elbow.

"Excuse me," she approached him before she can think twice, after blocking the doorway and apologizing to the incoming customers who stumbled into her. A childish sense of shame filled her, and she grasped at the straps of her messenger bag. He glanced up at her with those piercing eyes. Her throat went dry. "May—may I sketch you?"

She sees his eyes dart across her face, to the University's emblem on her shirt, to the messenger bag covered in bright patches. His mustache hides his mouth, so she can't tell what he's thinking behind that even stare.

The lack of a response compels nervous laughter. "I'm an art student. It'd just be really quick. I won't bother you; it's good practice, that's all." the explanation bubbled out of her through his silence. The other people sitting in the shop thankfully paid her no mind beyond a glance or two. She struggled not to force a harder smile.

His eyes narrowed for just a moment. She detected a touch of suspicion in his creased brow.

"Sure. Fine," he said, nodding to the seat in front of him before returning his attention to his laptop.

Relieved, Peach practically sank into the chair. "Oh, thank you. Don't mind me at all, it won't take long." she whipped out her sketchbook and pencil, trying to find a blank page to begin. He didn't answer, reviewing whatever was on his screen.

She started by mapping out the general form of his torso and face. He was quite a short man, much shorter than her, but he had an incredibly sturdy build. He wore a modest sweater, but she could see a hint of definition in his shoulders and chest even through the draping red cloth. She wondered if he was very active. Or perhaps his job demanded a certain degree of fitness.

He seemed older than her, but not by much at all. Maybe he was a recent graduate? She focused a little more on his face, trying not to get distracted by his eyes, to sketch out an accurate shape.

His sharp jawline contrasted with his round cheeks. "You have a very impressive mustache," she said, trying to capture the angles just right. She had never seen such a remarkable mustache. It suited the shape of his face so well that she had a hard time imagining his face without it. He didn't respond except to glance at her, expression still unreadable.

She grazed her pencil over the paper, a ghost of a line indicating a suspected dimple in his cheek. She wouldn't know for sure unless he smiled.

"Your nose is so unique," she murmured, careful to capture the precise form. Such a striking round shape. At this, she noticed him let out a sharp sigh and keep a stern focus on his computer. She was nearly done, though, so she had to persist. Had to get this specimen on paper.

Her education had created an efficient artist out of her. Her lines gained more focus, nearly portraying an accurate likeness.

It was those eyes that had captured her attention in the first place. She traced the shape of his thick brows, framing his face with a soft intensity. Nothing in the cafe could draw her away. Not the constant ringing of the doorbell as people came and went, not the steady noise level from the dozens of conversations around them. Not even the rich scent of the coffee that she so adored. Instead, her nose was more keen toward the fresh, clean scent that she assumed was the man's cologne. Her cheeks grew a little warm.

She just managed to trace the shape of his irises, though her linework could not capture the way the color almost glowed. She had never felt such a spark inside as she did looking upon this man. "Your eyes are so beautiful," she said, looking between him and the page. "I don't think I've ever seen such a bright blue before..." she looked up, only to trail off as she realized he was glaring at her.

"That's enough." The man stood from his stool in a flash, shoving his laptop in a bag. Peach jumped. Eyes wide.

He stopped only long enough to give her a hard look, before he turned and marched out of the cafe.

A few customers turned to look as Peach watched him go. Her heart skipped a beat, an alarmed sting of confusion going through her veins. He disappeared quickly down the street.

She didn't understand. Maybe he was busy and didn't want her to bother him? But if that were the case, he simply could have refused to allow her to draw him, right? Swallowing hard, she looked down at her quick little rendering of the man. His features all together created a soft image, with kind and earnest eyes. But suddenly, all she could see was that icy glare.

The rain picked up outside. Peach slowly put away her book and decided not to explore the city that day after all.

In her morose bewilderment, she could hardly take out her sketchbook over the next couple of days. A few of her classmates noticed and tried to engage her in idle gossip, but she didn't have the heart to pay any real attention.

Her work on the sketch had been solid. When she did take out her book, she would take some time to look at the man, even though the memory of that harsh look twisted the perception of her art.

Where the city had been so colorful and vibrant, it all suddenly seemed so dull and gray.

"Your muse?" her roommate caught her one day going over the lines, and pressed her until she'd explained the situation. "Are you sure he's your muse? Don't you think you might just have a crush on him?"

The suggestion haunted her like his face did in her dreams.

The sun warmed her back when she made her way down the street the next weekend. She caught sight of the cafe, and thought a coffee might do her some good before her excursions for the day. Classes had been long that week anyway; she deserved a little treat.

The bell rang on the door as soon as she walked in. Many people looked up at her on impulse before returning to their own drinks.

Except for him.

In the exact same place she had spotted him before. Those bright blue eyes fixed right on her. Like blue jewels in the sunlight.

Peach froze for a moment before abruptly averting her eyes. Should she leave? This was embarrassing. But an indignance rose up in her chest to fight off the shame. She had just as much of a right to be here as he did. She wasn't going to turn tail just because of some guy.

So she raised her chin, gripped the strap of her bag, and hurried to the complete opposite side of the room as him.

It was only after she had sat down and arranged her books and materials around for her homework that she realized she had forgotten to go to the counter to order herself a coffee.

Well. She had just as much of a right to be here, but she did not currently have the nerve to get back up and show herself and do something crazy like risk making eye contact again. With a deep breath, and heat rising to her cheeks, she got to work scanning over the latest assignment.

The low music playing harmonized with the low hum of conversation in the cafe. Peach tried to make sense of the description of the assignment, but she couldn't quite focus on any of the words.

A cup of coffee and a pastry appeared at her elbow.

Peach looked up. The man, the subject of her thoughts and dread the past week, took a careful step back to a respectful distance. Those pretty eyes focused on her with a hesitant guilt. He had his own coffee cup in his hand.

"I didn't know how you liked your coffee," he nodded to the cup on the table, where he had placed cream and sugar beside it. "But I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

Her throat went dry. Swallowing hard, Peach tried to figure out a normal way to sit without fidgeting. "E—excuse me?"

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I was rude to you last week. I believed you were, ah, trying to make fun of me. With all the things you said to me." He glanced at the floor before looking back at her again. "It was a mistake to assume the worst. You seem very kind. I am sorry for how I behaved to you." he tried to smile.

A new light dawned on Peach's understanding. "Oh. Oh, goodness, not at all!" She set her pencils and books aside. "I wasn't teasing you. I'm so sorry if I came across that way; I must have been distracted..."

The man waved her off. "No, please. It was nothing about you. I think you come across as very sweet, Miss. It was my fault."

Very sweet. He thought she was sweet. Peach tried to ignore the furious heat that rose up to her face. She pursed her lips and nodded her appreciation.

He gestured to the coffee and the pastry he had chosen for her. "Please," he said. "I will leave you now. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss—"

"Wait," Peach reached out. "Um, I just want you to know that I genuinely think that you are handsome. You have the prettiest eyes. And uh, I appreciate the apology. If you want, you could have the rest of your coffee with me?"

The man blinked at her when she moved to make a space for him to sit. She could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush with a little color. He didn't say anything.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Peach. I'm an art student at the University. But you already knew that." she laughed nervously. "Um, what's your name?"

It occurred to her that he was just as flustered as she was. An excited, hopeful spark lit up her chest.

He reached out to shake her hand. "I'm Mario," he said, and moved to sit down.

O~o~O

[peaches2217]

Traduzione Non Necessarie

*Sequel of sorts to Traduzione, Per Favore?. Y'all are gonna want Google Translate/DeepL/your translation service of choice on hand for this one.

AO3 link!

~~~

Peach pulled in a deep, steady breath, slowing and finally stopping the transfer of her magic. Five seconds. That seemed like a good number, nice and round. Her heart fluttered nervously as she withdrew her hand from Mario’s brow, waiting for a response.

She knew exactly how much magic it took to send him into a deep slumber. Anything before that point was merely guesswork. She could only hope she had guessed correctly.

At present, she didn’t put too much stake into that hope. Mario’s eyes wouldn’t open all the way, it seemed, no matter how hard he tried, and his pupils were blown so wide she could hardly see the blues of his irises. Perhaps the five seconds had still been too much.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

It took him a few moments to respond, his head lolling back and forth as he thought. “Hmm… kinda like…” He exhaled sharply, the rest of his body going into an unsteady sway. “Feel kinda like a big ole’... wet spaghetti noodle, maybe… all dizzy ‘n’... phew…”

Peach rushed to steady him before he lost his balance, planting her feet firmly into the ground so he wouldn’t immediately knock her over if that came to pass.

Too much. She would know to reign it in even further next time.

Still, as she helped him to the ground, he seemed perfectly content. He sprawled out in the fresh summer grass with his arms spread, basking in the sunlight like a photosynthesizing plant.

“Mm.” He nuzzled his cheek into a patch of grass beneath him. “Soft.”

The sight drew a fond, amused smile from Peach, and she made herself comfortable beside him. 

This had become a ritual of sorts, one of their many excuses to extend their time in each other’s company. It began as a random suggestion as they chatted one day while awaiting a tardy diplomat, one that hadn’t been entirely serious: Peach’s magic could touch both the body and the mind. She had become skilled in healing, practicing on her own scrapes and bruises as far back as early childhood. Broken skin now mended instantly beneath her touch, and, with a greater deal of effort, she could even reverse infections and heal broken bones.

Her ability to manipulate the mind — or, rather, the sheer scale of that power, the tales of predecessors who had corrupted themselves beyond redemption through its abuse — terrified her. She had distanced herself from that power in response. But it still lay deep within her, whether she wanted it to or not, and the realization that she didn’t even know how to wield it scared her almost as much.

Having confided this in Mario, he had in turn offered himself as a test subject (a “geh-knee-pig,” specifically, some charming otherworldly colloquialism meaning roughly the same thing). Peach had laughed it off, at least until he brought it up again of his own volition the next time they were together.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she had confessed.

“You could try shutting my brain off,” he had suggested back. “And hey! You wouldn’t even have to worry about putting me into a coma, because you could reverse that pretty easily, right?”

He had found his joke quite funny, so she never had the heart to admit she had spent his first slumbering spell obsessively checking his pulse in response. Just in case.

Mercifully it never came to that. She learned to bring him rest with increasing care, and she learned further that the sight of Mario sound asleep, all of his cares far from his mind, was among her favorite sights in the world.

Inducing sleep had become second nature to her. She wanted to practice further control, hone the fine motor skills of her greater magic. So today, she had asked to put Mario into a trance rather than full sleep, and he had happily agreed.

He would be getting sleep anyway, so it seemed.

“Forgive me,” Peach said, slipping off her high heels and setting them to her far side. He was right. The grass was lovely and soft beneath her soles.

“Huh?” was Mario’s well thought-out response.

“It was too much.”

He stretched his arms high above his head, his back arching from the force of it. “‘S’okay, Princess.” He paused to yawn noisily before continuing. “Today, I take a nap! Tomorrow we try again. I win either way!” 

Always looking on the bright side. She expected nothing less from him.

She watched him as he made himself comfortable, drinking in every little detail. The pale freckles dotting his tanned skin which she had committed to memory like a star map, the single gray hair in his mustache, his unruly curls exposed from beneath his cap, which had fallen halfway off and was pinned beneath his head. The gentle arch of his thick eyebrows, the thin lines beneath his eyes… lines that were darker and more pronounced than usual, she noticed now.

Peach sighed to herself, fighting against the temptation to run a hand through his dark locks. Perhaps her slip-up was fortuitous after all. 

It hadn’t come out of nowhere, Mario’s suggestion that she practice by putting him to sleep. When he wasn’t a beacon of unbridled energy, he was curled up someplace high off the ground, snoozing away. Peach always found it cute, his unabashed fondness for napping. But the more they got to know each other, the more hours they spent in aimless conversation, she had discovered it was no mere quirk. He hadn’t told anyone that he struggled to sleep at night. At least not until he told her.

He would never admit the extent of it to her. He didn’t necessarily hide or deny it, the fact that he wrestled with his own thoughts and memories more often than he cared to admit, the fact that he lived in understated but constant fear of being unavailable to protect those he was charged to protect, the fact that, when he did find sleep on his own, it was often unsteady and filled with nightmares. But he wouldn’t say any of this outright.

In learning to control her magic, Peach could help him. She could give him reprieve where he might not normally have such a luxury. But she wanted to do more. He was her dearest friend, and she loved him as such and far beyond, and she wished more than anything to be a pillar of support for him when he couldn’t support himself. After all, she knew better than to assume him invincible. He was only human.

But he refused to take her up on the offer. His burdens weren’t hers to bear, he would insist. “Not your fault I’ve got too many thoughts bouncing around this big head!” And then he’d tapped his knuckles to his head for emphasis, giving her a cheeky smile. She didn’t find it quite so amusing.

It baffled Peach. He trusted her with the control of his very mind, yet even now she hadn’t earned his full vulnerability. More than once she had wondered if his volunteerism was an invitation, or a request of sorts. Did he want her to know of these things? Did he merely have trouble articulating them? “He’s not always the best with words, you know,” Luigi had said time and again.

It would be so easy. With a single touch, she could know it all. She could see his emotional scars, the images that haunted him most, his deepest, most locked-away secrets. He wouldn’t have to tell her anything; she could just know. How deeply into his mind was she welcome to dig?

That was a line Peach refused to cross, or even entertain with any great gravity, until she was given express permission. And right now, her only permissions were to aid him in rest. She swallowed and wet her lips. 

“May I?” She extended her hand to Mario once more, hoping the gesture was clear enough in his hazy state of mind. He peered up at her through heavy lids, but he nodded without hesitation, letting those lids fall shut as she touched his forehead.

Brushing his curls from his face, she closed her eyes, conjured her chosen thoughts, and let the images flow from her fingertips into his subconscious.

Normally she waited until he was asleep to do this part. Once slumber claimed him, she would fill his head with scenes of softness and warmth, vague but peaceful images that might trigger pleasant dreams. But what was the harm in getting an early start? He’d be out cold in five minutes tops anyway.

Today she transferred to him something a bit more specific: memories of their afternoons in her private garden, sharing cakes and tarts and chatting until the light faded from the sky. It was… selfish, perhaps, her hope that he might dream of her. But more than once he had told her that their shared time together meant the world to him. Such memories would no doubt bring him the most serene sleep.

Selfish urges were okay if they aided someone else too. That was her own unsteady justification.

Within moments, a smile spread across Mario’s face. “Ahh…” He turned his head in the direction of her touch, and she followed it, tapering the flow of memories and cupping his cheek. His skin was warm against her palm, the heat permeating her silken gloves. His Firebrand made his body temperature unnaturally high, he had once explained, though rarely did she get to feel the evidence for herself.

How often had she dreamed of cupping his cheek just like this, feeling him blush beneath her? How often did she use sleep as an excuse to escape into a world of fantasy, one in which he loved her just as fiercely as she loved him?

A chuckle jolted Peach back into reality. “W-what?” she asked, cautiously drawing her hand away. A wave of paranoia flooded her when Mario didn’t answer, just laughed some more.

“‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso,'” he said, and the paranoia lifted at once.

“‘Come una pesca,’” she finished. She hadn’t accidentally broadcast her selfish thoughts to his subconscious, she realized with no shortage of relief. He was remembering.

“Ah, brava, principessa!” He pressed his thumb to his index and middle fingers, his hand bouncing with each upward lilt in intonation. “Il tuo accento migliora di giorno in giorno.”

Peach couldn’t help but giggle with him. “Grazie,” she said, though she hadn’t understood most of the last part. Of all the memories he chose to cling to in his state of near-sleep, he chose the time she had accidentally and all too casually slighted him? (To be fair, it was quite funny, yes, but still.)

Reluctantly, she withdrew her touch once more, watching as he relaxed in the embrace of pleasant memories. The dark shadows beneath his eyes seemed to lighten, though whether this image was real or imagined she couldn’t say for sure.

Peach swallowed again. Her throat felt tight. These shared moments helped ease whatever struggles weighed him down, and for that she was grateful. But why couldn’t he bring those struggles to her before they robbed him of sleep? Why couldn’t he let the world fall from his shoulders long enough to entrust some of that weight to her?

“Mario?”

“Mm?”

She wrung her hands together, making her best effort to separate familiar sounds into still-new words. “Sai che puoi… dirmi… qualsiasi cosa,” she managed at last. You know you can tell me anything.

Mario’s face lit up in recognition, and she couldn’t help but be proud of herself. She’d never said it aloud herself before. It was always him saying it to her during their informal Italian lessons, encouraging her past her embarrassment, egging her on to ask questions no matter how silly she feared they might be.

“Oh, dai, sai che puoi dirmi qualsiasi cosa,” he’d say, nudging her if he was near enough, equal parts teasing and sincere. “Lo so,” she had learned to say in response, nudging him back if she was able.

Maybe she could get through to him this way, speaking to him in his native tongue when he was too tired to put up his guard. Maybe he would give her a “Lo so” of his own, and maybe, just maybe, he would follow through.

But that wasn’t the response Mario gave her. “Mm… davvero?” he said instead, his voice quiet with what Peach presumed was encroaching slumber. “E se ti dicessi che sei il mio sole e stelle? Questo la non turberebbe?”

A few moments passed in silence. Peach didn’t recall practicing any phrase set resembling this. Yet he was looking up at her, fixedly, as though he were expecting an answer to whatever question he had just posed.

There was something… oddly sad in his expression. He didn’t seem distraught, and no tears welled in the corners of his eyes, but his usual cheer was muddied with a sort of melancholy.

She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like seeing him like this. Her stomach turned and leapt painfully, as though urging her to do something.

“...Mind repeating that?”

Mario didn’t repeat himself. He redirected his eyes upward, focusing that sad smile on the sky above them, and Peach followed his gaze, a bit miffed. A fluffy cloud passed overhead amidst more modest and wispy offerings. It looked rather like a Jammyfish.

“Peach,” he said after a moment of silent contemplation, and that caught her attention, because she was never Peach. Even when he stood at her side as her trusted guard, even when he took her hands and pulled her from the castle grounds, urging her to follow him to some great sight waiting for her in town, even when they walked privately through rolling fields and let their shared presence ease countless unvoiced burdens, she was always Princess. Sometimes Principessa, rarely Your Highness, but never Peach. 

She wanted desperately to hear her name on his voice again.

Closing his eyes, Mario laughed, that giddy, sleepy laugh she knew she could never get enough of, and granted her wish. “Oh, Peach,” he repeated, his coherency rapidly slipping away, “there’s so much I want to tell you.”

That deep and unidentifiable sadness deepend in Peach’s gut. “Then why not tell me?” She startled at the desperation that leaked into her tone, clearing her throat in impulse and praying he hadn’t heard it. Why not trust me when you’re awake as much as you trust me when you’re asleep?

“Mi perdonerei mai,” he slurred.

“Mario, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He hummed a torpid apology, folding his arms beneath his head. “Well,” he rephrased, “I’m just… I dunno. You know? I am. And that’s not…” He shrugged. “And then you… you’re…” 

“I’m…?” Peach pressed, fearing she already knew the answer. You’re a princess. That was one of his very few quirks that frustrated her. Never mind that he was only human, and never mind that she was his best friend. She was a princess, and he was a hero, and it was his sacred duty to internalize anything he feared might burden her, no matter how desperately she wished he would lean on her, be vulnerable with her, trust in her.

His answer was buried beneath a yawn, so quiet she almost didn’t catch it: “You’re everything.” 

Birdsong and the distant chatter of groundskeepers carried the silence that ensued.

You’re everything. Those two words swirled around Peach’s brain in a dizzying cyclone. What did that mean? You’re everything, a ruler and a leader and a friend, and I could never bother you with my own problems ? You’re already doing everything you can and telling you about the things you have no sway over just isn’t worth it ?

“You’re everything,” he might say one quiet evening, somewhere in the midst of soft kisses and tender touches, and she would tell him then that he was her everything too.

Peach clenched her teeth. 

She had found the courage just a few weeks earlier to ask how one might express love in his native tongue, “like I might say to Toadsworth or you might say to Luigi.”

She hadn’t expected to learn that there was more than one way to say it. “Ti voglio bene,” he told her. “That’s how I’d say it to Luigi or to Toad — or to you!”

And how would your mother have said it to your father? How would I say it to you ? Peach couldn’t even begin to amass that sort of courage.

Mario lay still beside her, his chest rising and falling evenly. Her fingers twitched.

She could dig as deeply as she liked. She could see his every thought and he wouldn’t know, so long as he didn’t wake. She could finally know those things he refused to tell her, she could know his struggles intimately, she could finally begin formulating ways to really and truly help him.

At the very least, she could see for herself what dreams ran through his head at the moment. Was he dreaming of her, just as she dreamed each night of him?

…Perhaps she could sway his mind far deeper still. Perhaps she could make him…

Balling her hands into fists, Peach sighed, laying back in the grass. She understood now more than ever how her predecessors had so easily become drunk on this power. But she wasn’t her predecessors. And she wouldn’t betray what trust Mario had freely given her.

Sei il mio tutto.

Maybe one day she could say as much. Maybe one day she would stop creating fantastical scenarios in her head, and she would stop wanting more than she was already blessed with, and she would stop being so selfish and be content with meeting Mario where he was rather than wishing for more, more, more.

Maybe she could say it then, when she truly deserved to.

[dreamersbcll]

I think you should write something about little Sam and toddler Tara. Something cute. NO SADNESS. ONLY GOOD AND WHOLESOME.

“Pastelitos de Guayaba”

for my one and only @krikeymate . much love <3

—————————————————————————-

Sam associated people with scent. Not how they touched her or what they gave her, but rather the smell that she could lock away in her head. When troubled or stressed, she could disappear and remember how specific memories smelled.

Mindy and Chad smelled like the Fourth of July. Every holiday they went to the beaches of Santa Monica and ran through the waves and kicked up sand. Though Sam was the eldest at the ripe age of eleven, she still thoroughly enjoyed diving into the ocean with them.

Her best friend, Zach, smelled like a pumpkin patch on a sunny day. The two got to know each other by picking pumpkins and eating all the apples at the orchards. Both got violently sick after, but Sam would never forget how he smiled in the autumn sunlight and threw leaves on her hair.

But perhaps her favorite scent was Tara. There were many memories to pick from with her baby sister, from the day she came home smelling brand-new to her fourth birthday when she got ice cream in both girls’ hair. Sam particularly liked the memory of napping with Tara and how her baby sister always smelled like lavender and peaches.

Sam always knew her baby sister was magic, and the sweet-smelling memories they shared only proved her point. Her baby sister was the sun that rose in the morning and the moon that glowed as it shone in the night. Tara was the best that Sam would ever have or know.

However, Sam would be biased if she didn’t say that she had a favorite scent that she associated with Tara. Her favorite memory, so far, would be the night Sam taught her baby sister how to make pastelitos.

—-

Her little girl was very clumsy on her feet and often fell off chairs she was sitting still on. Sam got a stool for Tara to stand on, and she stood right behind her baby sister to ensure she was protected.

There wasn’t much that their parents did right, but at least they always kept a tin of pasta de guayaba on hand- or, as Tara called it, pegamento de guayaba. That and some flour and other ingredients, and Sam could always cheer her little girl up.

(Guava paste, guava glue)

She waited until Tara came home from school with a frown. It wasn’t unlike her little six-year-old to be frowning, but this one was deeper. After some coaxing, Sam finally got Tara to reveal that Amber pushed her down at recess.

That settled it. It was time to make their favorite dessert. It wasn’t ice cream or cookies- it was a Cuban pastry with guava and sometimes cheese. It reminded Sam of simpler times- when their Mami didn’t drink so much and when their papi was around. Tara just enjoyed it because it was sweet and made Sam smile.

The two set off, making the dough and kneading it together. Sam gushed over Tara's little cheeks, powdered with flour, and smeared some on her face so her baby sister didn’t feel alone. Four hands kneaded dough, one pair actually kneading, and the other chubby pair just punching the dough.

“Muy bien, nena. Ahora los colocas así,” Sam softly said, guiding Tara’s hands to lay the pastries on the baking sheet.

(Alright, baby. Now you place them like this)

Tara finally set all eight on the tray- they lost two in transport- and turned around to face Sam, pigtails flopping in front of her toothless grin.

“¡Mira, Sammy! ¡Lo he conseguido! ¡Igual que tú!”

Tara squealed happily, hugging Sam with her sticky and flour-filled hands.

(Look, Sammy! I did it! Just like you!)

Sam laughed, bending down to kiss Tara on the forehead. Her sister clung to her middle, giggling as Sam worked around her. Breaking open the tin, Sam carefully pried Tara off of her, handing her a spoon. She then helped Tara place the paste onto the pastry, gently correcting her when she put too much on.

Finally, the pair finished; Tara was so excited that she nearly smashed the pastries with her flapping hands. Turning around to place it in the oven, she showed Tara what rack to put it on and how to set a timer.

The two settled in front of the oven, watching their pastries bake, Tara in Sam’s lap and Sam’s arms around her middle.

“Te quiero mi cielo. Lo eres todo para mí,” she whispered, her lips ghosting Tara’s ear.

(I love you, my sky. You are everything to me)

Tara shivered from her words, leaning into Sam’s embrace. The pair sat like that for seven minutes, soaking in each other's company and the scent of a baking pastry wafting through their empty home.

Sam would always associate the smell of fresh pastries and flour, reminding her of her girl for as long as she would live.

[renlyslittlerose]

Do you have any thoughts or ideas about obi-Wan’a pov or thought process when he and anakin met in moonlight serenade?

The entire time i was just squealing. They’re too cute 🥰 that part where obi-wan was rubbing the patch on anakin’s shoulder just 😍☺️🥵 lol

I can do you one better, peach 💖

Catullus, or Ovid? - (2k)

---

“You’re bluffing.”

Obi-Wan glanced up from his set of cards to look at Vos from across the table. Next to him Koon fussed with the buttons on his cuff, cards already abandoned. A small pile of peanuts lay in the centre, lint stuck on a few shells after they rolled in the sticky drops of beer that accumulated across every surface of the messy pub. Nearby a group of American paratroopers started singing a rousing rendition of ‘Glory, Glory, What a Hell of a Way to Die.’

Koon started humming along.

“I thought bluffing was part of poker,” Obi-Wan said idly.

“It’s an American tradition,” Vos said.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is you’re a Brit - you’re not supposed to be good at this game.”

Despite Vos’ cutting words, he was grinning.

“I could be telling the truth,” Obi-Wan remarked. He sat back in his chair, finger tapping the back of his cards.

Vos shook his head and tossed a few more peanuts into the pile. “You’re definitely bluffing.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and added to the pile. Another moment passed before they both set their cards down on the table. Obi-Wan couldn’t help his laugh when he saw Vos’ expression.

“I believe this is what you American’s call a ‘flush’,” Obi-Wan said.

“It seems he wasn’t lying,” Koon said. He started cleaning his glasses, a small quirk to the corner of his lips as he rubbed the white cotton against the dense lenses.

Leaving Vos to his griping, Obi-Wan grabbed the peanuts and pulled them toward his already substantial pile. He’d only just learned the game a few months ago when the American’s started arriving, bringing their gambling and music to lighten the somber mood of the motherland. He couldn’t say he was particularly fond of poker, but it was a fright better than billiards - a game that Obi-Wan was decidedly terrible at.

“Another round?” Vos asked, voice rising above the sudden burst of sound coming from another corner of the pub. Obi-Wan glanced over Koon’s shoulder to see someone - he wasn’t sure which branch - had fallen from their stool and was receiving quite the ribbing.

“I should head out soon,” Obi-Wan said, counting his peanuts. He had a meeting early in the morning, his Lieutenant Colonel not understanding the term ‘leave’ unless it was his turn to offload his duties on to others.

“You can’t quit now - not when you’ve got all my peanuts!” Vos cried out.

Obi-Wan was about to tell Vos he’d just have to win them back another time, when a gust of air hit the table. He glanced up from his winnings to see two airmen walking into the pub, shoulders hunched as they tussled their way toward the back corner toward a fellow airman who’d been guarding his table for the last fifteen minutes. Obi-Wan was about to go back to his peanut counting when he caught sight of the slimmer one of the group.

He was tall and broad chested, filling out the Russian blue uniform like he’d grown up in it. The sharp angles of the material wrapped around his waist and draped across the swell of his behind, crisp and neat trousers dropping down to well polished black boots. Looking back up, Obi-Wan caught sight of the man’s profile, and almost dropped his peanuts when the man took his cap off and tossed it carelessly on to the table.

Obi-Wan was immediately struck by how classically beautiful he was. His profile was elegant, as if it belonged on a coin from ancient times, his nose regal and lips plump and full, pressed into a pretty little pout that Obi-Wan wanted to study further. His hair was a beautiful honey brown, curls barely constrained by the pomade he’d applied, the firm gel making his hair shimmer beneath the yellow light of the pub. But perhaps most beautiful of all was his eyes - a deep blue that sparkled when he smiled, his attention fixed on the men at his table as they tucked into their pints that had begun to go flat.

He looked like he’d been plucked from the Iliad and dropped into Piccadilly, refined and elegant but still human, still slightly bent.

“Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan blinked and looked back at Vos. He quirked a brow and sat back, peanuts abandoned.

“Are you alright?” Koon asked.

Obi-Wan smiled tightly and coughed behind his hand. “Just had a revelation, nothing to worry about. How about another round, hm?”

They played a few more games, Obi-Wan keeping his attention half on his cards and the rest on the man in the corner. He was on his second pint, and there was a delightful shade of pink to his cheeks that poked out from beneath the bronze of his skin. Obi-Wan wondered what it would be like to press his nose against his temple and feel his curls tickle, or what it would be like to hold his narrow waist beneath his hands, tugging, pressing, pulling him in closer.

Obi-Wan then wondered if the man had ever been to the sorts of parties that Obi-Wan attended, held in the halls of permanent bachelors, a copy of Plato’s Symposium left on a table, rich spirits thick on their pallets, cigar and cigarette smoke heavy in the air with the sound of male voices carrying through the space. He then wondered if the man would like to attend such a party.

Eventually the man rose from the table, elbowing his way toward the counter. A spike of excitement shot through Obi-Wan then, quick and jittery, the same sort of sensation Obi-Wan felt just before he squeezed the trigger on a rifle.

“I’m feeling parched,” he said and rose from his seat.

“You’ve still half a glass,” Koon said.

Obi-Wan waved him off, attention fixed on the man as he leaned against the counter. Slipping up next to him, Obi-Wan bumped their shoulders together, dragging the man’s attention away from the bartender. Or rather, the boy’s attention. He was younger up close, skin perfectly smooth and unblemished, cheeks still a delightful shade of pink. There was a little beauty mark on the corner of his chin, a beautiful little thing that marked him as something other than an immortal trickster god, come down to tempt and tease and pleasure.

“Terribly sorry,” he said.

For a moment Obi-Wan almost regretted approaching him. He was young, Obi-Wan feeling his greys just looking at him. But then their eyes locked and that little jolt hit him again, and he wet his lips before speaking again. “Are you alright?”

The boy hesitated, plush lips parted in surprise. And then he spoke, and Obi-Wan felt his chest squeeze at the sound of his voice, soft and delicate and so terribly rapturous.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just… caught of guard.”

Obi-Wan leaned in closer, wanting to hear more of the tone of his voice, feel it against his cheeks and lips, suffuse his breath with his own. His accent was light and clean, charming in a way that Obi-Wan had come to appreciate after hearing it for the last several years. Obi-Wan had never visited Canada, but he wanted to now - wanted to go and see where this marvelous creature had been crafted, his body formed from bronze with gold for lashes and inset with lapis lazuli for eyes. He wondered if the boy held the same figure as the statues of old - with strong thighs and a soft belly, still supple from youth.

Qui-Gon had once told Obi-Wan he was a terrible romantic, his head stuck in the ancient agora. At the time Obi-Wan had been offended - he was nothing if not practical, grounded, chained to the earth. But seeing the airman before him, primped and polished in his uniform, cheeks pink with merriment and drink, lips still parted in a soft pout, Obi-Wan was beginning to realize that perhaps Qui-Gon was right about him all along.

The boy’s beauty was only heightened by his impertinence, his remarks quick and sharp, followed by his humility as he stuttered out an apology. Obi-Wan pressed in closer as they waited for their drink, and couldn’t help but raise a brow when the boy presented his assortment of coins to him, trying to play coy.

“I get all mixed up trying to figure out your coin system. Mind helping me out?” he said, voice still just as soft, just as pretty.

A moment passed where Obi-Wan thought he was just oblivious to the tone of their conversation and the heat in his gaze. Maybe he wasn’t curious about Catullus, but was more partial to Ovid. But then they locked eyes, and Obi-Wan knew that this was an attempt. Perhaps not the most graceful, but still enticing - exciting in a way that made Obi-Wan’s heart beat a little faster.

“I’m quite sure you know which ones are which by now.”

He touched the boy then, fingertips sliding across his palm, collecting the appropriate coins. The boy watched his movements, and Obi-Wan noted the pinkness in his cheeks had gone even darker.

So Catullus it was…

“I’m a slow learner…” the boy said, as if Obi-Wan would fall for another lie.

“Not if you’re a pilot, you’re not.”

Their drinks arrived and Obi-Wan grabbed his, grateful for something to hold on to. The boy sent him a small smile that threatened to uproot him from the very ground. It was as if a Jerry’s bomb had gone off nearby, Obi-Wan’s ears ringing, the very basis of his being shaken. For a second he thought he might pitch into the bar, but he steadied himself with the drink and thanked the boy for it, before going back to his table.

He ignored Vos’ lingering looks.

“Are you alright?” Vos asked.

Obi-Wan nodded and drank half his pint in one go. The bitter malt grounded him further, but it also emboldened him. He needed to know the boy - needed to touch his skin and feel the fine downy hairs along his thighs. He wanted to taste the sweat on his skin, along his neck and down his collar. He needed to see and admire the hallowed places of his body, touch and mark and bite the supple flesh on offer.

He needed to know him in all his glory.

With that final thought Obi-Wan pushed up from the table and grabbed his cap.

“It’s been a pleasure, gentleman, but I’ve really got to go,” he said.

“Pleasant evenings,” Koon said.

“You owe me another game when we’re both in town,” Vos said.

Obi-Wan nodded and slipped out the door, catching the boy’s intense eyes from across the way as he did so.

He didn’t have to wait long - just long enough for his nerves to settle and his heart to beat faster, a thunderous thing against his breast that made him feel like a young man all over again, inexperienced and hopeful. When the door opened, spilling light into the darkened streets, Obi-Wan thought for a moment it would be someone else coming through the door. But then the flash of blue and the peek of golden hair from beneath an officer’s cap caught Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile as the boy stepped into the dark to join him.

He held his hand out, and sighed softly as their hands locked, palms flush together.

“Glad you came,” he said, and he realized he sounded out-of-breath. “I realized I never properly introduced myself. I’m Major Kenobi, but you can call me Obi-Wan.”

The boy smiled, Obi-Wan catching it in the dark. “Flying Officer Skywalker. But most call me Anakin.”

Anakin.

He could feel Anakin - his name, his presence, his very being - sink into the very marrow of his bones, and in an instant Obi-Wan knew that Anakin would be a touch he’d never forget; a sound he’d never lose the tune of; an experience he’d never grow tired of.

“Shall we go for a walk?” he asked, their hands still touching, still locked tight like both were afraid they’d slip away if they did.

Anakin nodded. “I’d love that.”

[ruewrites]

Stars in the Deep

AO3

Ship: Asmodeus/Solomon

Word Count: 3186

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Consider this a very very very late MerMay piece. I was busy finishing my degree and writing my thesis and preparing to pass my defense (which I did! Woo!). But I have it for you now! I hope you all enjoy! BUT I saw quite a bit of Octopus mermaid Solomon (or sea witch Solomon) from the fandom... and I had to join in. I couldn't not. It was too good (and there should be more tentacles with Asmo, I said what I said). Comments are appreciated <3

Shiny peach colored scales glittered in the afternoon light. His glow reflected on the seafloor beneath him. It had taken forever for him to be able to slip away from under Lucifer's watchful eye. The elder mer was far too over protective for his liking, Asmodeus needed space to be free and explore as he pleased. Being cooped up in the reef with nothing to do was boring, and there were so many pretty sites to see.

It wasn't like Lucifer would give him permission either. If he knew where he was going, and who he was seeing, he would be absolutely furious.

Exploration was also what had brought them together though, and Asmodeus knew what was good for him.

He swam deeper, away from the surface and out of the territory he had grown up in. The temperature change was slight but noticeable and the slight chill made Asmo shiver. Then the coral started to change, and he found the patch he was searching for. The textures of the sand changed and what appeared to be shimmering coins and pearls were littered around an opening in the ocean floor surrounded by rocks.

Well… not quite rocks.

It was hollow, and varied in texture. Almost like a boulder and the shape was odd. Sometimes it creaked, and parts of it flowed with the ocean current, barely holding on by a thread. Allegedly, humans used them to traverse the surface. It made little sense to Asmo, but that is what he was told. 

 He approached the cracked entrance without fear, even as his wrist was taken by a tendril.

“No hello Darling?”

“I would have, if you hadn't interrupted me,” the upper half of the figure poked out of the hole, he was pale, almost translucent, and his hair was whiter than any Asmodeus had seen before. He was so different than any other creature Asmodeus had ever encountered before, and so intriguing. His tentacles were blotches of white and dark blues with specks of black. Another tentacle joined the first, “You're early.”

“I was able to sneak out quicker this time, you know I can't exactly tell Lucifer when I plan on seeing you Solomon, Great Witch of the Deep,” Asmodeus pecked his nose, giving some color to Solomon's face.

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting ever so slightly, “I believe we are past titles my Peach.”

“You still haven't shown me what a paesh is.”

“Peach, Dearest, and I plan on changing that today.”

Asmo's eyes lit up and he pulled on the tentacle, surprising Solomon and succeeding in pulling him farther out of his cave, “Does that mean we get to go to the surface? I would love to lounge on a beach with you. I also know some lovely basking rocks that we can lay on to warm up.”

Solomon squinted and raised one of his arms to shield his eyes, his other tentacles firmly anchoring him to the cave's entrance. “Perhaps not now, the sun's a bit bright.”

Asmodeus felt himself be tugged towards the entrance, closer into the depths, “But I do have some things for you, if you would just-” another tug, “Follow me?” 

“It's a tight fit.”

“But you've entered before even if just a bit.”

Normally Asmo would enter a bit before pulling away, and then the two of them would spend time amongst the structures around Solomon’s home instead. Those weren’t as intimidating to Asmodeus as delving further from the surface was, yet Solomon always invited him, always yearning for him to dive deeper. 

Asmodeus didn’t miss the way Solomon flinched whenever the sun hit him in a particular way, how he hid under more shady structures, how easily his skin seemed to turn red. 

There was hesitation on both sides. Asmo gave one last glance to the surface and to the sunlight. The dark made it difficult to swim and see. It wasn't the world he was familiar with. And yet-

“I swear, I will take you to visit the surface.”

It was intriguing.

“I promise.”

And some part of Asmo wanted to dive deeper more than anything.

Entering was a tight squeeze, but once he was in, Solomon helped guide him. Apprehension had started to fill Asmodeus as the claustrophobia set in and the more he contemplated changing his mind and heading back to the entrance, but the deeper they went, the more the cave opened and slowly his anxieties seeped away. The farther he went, the more the world changed until it was entirely unrecognizable. Shimmering plants that Asmodeus had never seen before covered the walls, illuminating the dark path, and that wasn't the only difference.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

Solomon was glowing. His colors had changed to light blues and greens and pinks which shimmered and glowed with the rest of the flora and fauna. Asmodeus had never seen a thing like it before. Even among the glowing ceilings and walls, he was a centerpiece in the massive cavern they had entered. 

He was beautiful.

“Solomon, you're glowing,” he couldn't help swimming around the mer, examining him. He was also much bigger than Asmodeus had realized, “I didn't know you could do that.” 

Solomon was grinning, he seemed both quite pleased with himself and with Asmodeus’ reactions. “You've never made it all the way down here before.” 

His tentacles flared out, showing off more of his newfound color. Solomon was confident, but down here he was in his element, here Asmodeus could watch him thrive. His eyes traced the intricate markings along his body as he placed himself on display, and Asmo wanted to trace each and every one. 

Then Solomon snapped back to his side, hands on his back guiding him further into the cavern “Please, make yourself at home, take a look around while I grab some things.” 

Asmo couldn't help but touch almost everything he came across. Fauna like this didn't exist in higher waters where he normally roamed. He wondered  if he could decorate himself with it. All of the glowing colors would help his beauty pop even more.

“Asmodeus?” Asmo turned to see Solomon holding a round object in his hands, “I promised you I'd show you a peach. Humans drop cargo from their ships all the time, and I wanted you to try this before it got too soggy.” It was still slightly firm to the touch, still untouched by the murky depths to which Solomon had dragged it so his beloved could have a taste. He helped Asmo raise it to his lips, and watched with delight as sharp teeth punctured supple flesh. 

How lucky had he been to find a toppled barrel bobbing at the surface? One that had been harboring such delightful goodies no less. 

Waiting for Asmo’s reaction, Solomon continued to hold the fruit towards his mouth, but there was only so long he could contain himself, “Well?”

Asmo swallowed, “It’s sweet.”

“Just like you.”

“I like it,” the mer finished off the peach, even gnawing at the pitt long after the flesh was gone. Solomon took his hands and removed the pitt from his mouth, “I would hate for you to chip your wonderful teeth.”

Solomon always wondered if Asmodeus had any siren in him, or maybe some distant shark, he loved those sharp little teeth. They were very pretty, and very attractive for a multitude of reasons. He especially liked the way they bit. With Asmodeus it was so hard to control himself.

Asmodeus let out a little squeal as Solomon's tentacles wrapped around him, two beginning to slowly rub along the front of his tail where a small patch of scaled were separated ever so slightly. Asmo hummed and wrapped his arms around Solomon's neck, “Did you just want to butter me up with dinner first.”

Solomon had one hand on Asmo’s waist and the other ran through Asmo’s hair, “Not originally no, but can you blame me? You look beautiful my Peach.”

Leaning in, Solomon could feel Asmo’s smile on his lips as they kissed. The mer was incredibly appealing, both in personality and appearance. If Solomon could have his way, he’d keep him down here with his other pretty things forever. A pleased groan left his lips as he felt the tip of his first tentacle slip into Asmo’s vent.  He pulled away and let himself nip along Asmo’s neck, enjoying the pleased sighs that left him as his tentacles squirmed into his warm depths.

“They’re so cute,” Asmo murmured, picking up one of the tentacles and bringing it to his lips  and pressing kisses along its length. The rest of the tentacles continued to wrap around Asmo maneuvering him so that his back was pressed firmly against Solomon’s chest. A few traveled down his torso making him shudder. 

“They feel so empty when you’re gone,” Solomon cooed, trailing his hand down Asmo’s chest. The feeling of muscles shuddering between his fingertips was like electricity in his body. He loved feeling Asmo start to twist against him as his breathing hitched. It meant he was doing a good job, it meant he was pleasuring his pretty little lover, “Feeling good?”

Asmodeus let out a little drawn out groan in response, his head lolling back over Solomon’s shoulder. His fingers wandered down to where they connected, and stroked along one of the tentacles making it stutter and Solomon made a noise behind him, “Starting to, think we could pick up the pace a bit more?” Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the tentacle and started stroking. He was egging Solomon on, touching him where he was sensitive, his other hand caressing the side of his face along his markings and running through his hair. 

The noise that left Asmo's mouth when he complied was nothing short of heavenly. Each twitch was divine and his twisting made Solomon aware of how much he was enjoying himself, and he couldn’t help but tighten his grip. Burying his face in the crook of Asmo’s neck, he nibbled ever so slightly.  Every inch of Asmodeus was beyond comprehension, his mind went hazy as he made his way deeper into his partner. 

Solomon's tentacles squirmed and squelched inside of him as he held Asmodeus close. Pale fingers reached down to toy with the pink nub that had begun to protrude from his vent, and the sensation of pleasure shot through Asmodeus like lightning. 

“Solomon! Wait- wait! I'm about to-” 

“Shhh,” Solomon's hand reached up Asmo's throat, gently caressing his skin, “Let me make you cum as many times as I can.”

His own voice shook, his brows furrowed together and eyes closed as he buried his fade in Asmo's shoulder. His fingers further coaxed Asmo's length, as his tentacles worked his vent. He rubbed along the underside, not missing a single ridge or groove as he went. Asmodeus continued to squirm and whine in his grasp, his noises becoming more fervent the closer he came to his orgasm. Solomon switched from a gentle but persistent rubbing of his cock to a firm grip around him. His stroking was in tandem with his tentacles. 

With a squeal, his cock lurched, shooting off pearly strings of cum, that dissipated into the surrounding water. But the tentacles continued to thrust, they were far from done, and the sensations in his vent seemed to be keeping Asmodeus erect.

Asmo himself couldn't think of anything beyond the pleasure assaulting his core. It was a building pressure, and each one of Solomon's tentacles rubbed against sensitive walls. 

“Don't stop, please don't stop.”

It was amazing, and those words even failed to properly express what he was feeling. Yet, Solomon complied. His rapid pace and short thrusts had Asmo letting out  a cry as the inner walls of his vent fluttered and clenched. His body went rigid before slumping against Solomon. With a groan of his own Solomon felt himself release sperm packets deep within the other mer's vent. He remained inside as he held Asmodeus close, allowing them both  to drift to the bottom of the cave, nestled comfortably below. 

He noted Asmodeus still twitching cock with amusement.

“Was two not enough for you my Peach?” 

“You said you'd make me cum as many times as you could,” Asmo shot back.

“So I did.” 

Without a word, and plenty of smiles, Solomon removed himself from Asmo's vent and moved lower, careful to place his chosen partner carefully and comfortably on the surface below. He took in the length for a moment, admiring how thin wisps of their coupling dissipate before him. His fingers toyed with his partner's opening and the base of his cock before taking him onto his mouth. He went slow, savoring the way Asmodeus twitched and gasped, and how his fingers gripped at his hair. 

Honestly? He could watch his partner like this for hours and get off without physical stimulation The way his face twisted in pleasure, how his body twitched and his pretty fin flicked. Asmodeus was enthusiastic and just as sensitive as he was. If they had had similar anatomy, Solomon would have loved to thrust deep into his vent, chest to chest. If only, but Solomon could still have his fantasies even if it wasn’t something he could have in reality.

Asmo tightened his grip on his hair as he came again, and Solomon took all of him.

“Solly?” Asmo seemed confused, until his tongue probed deeper into his vent. 

“One more,” was all Solomon said before diving in.

Asmodeus’ mind was pleasantly numb and buzzing with pleasure. His hips thrust weakly as Solomon worked on him, and god what phenomenal work he did. When he came this time from the sensations in his vent, his cock let out one final release before retracting. His voice hitched and his grip on Solomon tightened before he went limp. The inside of his vent thrummed and pulsed with a comfortable final wave of pleasure, one so strong that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to move. His eyes shifted towards Solomon who hadn't left his side. Rather his tentacles started to curl around his body once more and he caressed what he could reach with his hands. He even brought one up to his lips  gracing it with a gentle kiss, and he swore he saw Solomon shudder.

“Do you use that trick on all the pretty mer who come into your cave?” 

Solomon chuckled, finally wrapping his arms around Asmodeus, he could make a crude joke about cumming in another cave, but for now he wanted to savor this moment, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a charmer.”

“Only for you,” Solomon pulled away and looked into Asmo's eyes, “And no one else. Now rest, there is still one thing I wish to show you, and I have a promise to keep.”

***

They ascended from the depths hand in hand and breached the surface. The  water was still, not a wave in sight, the only movement occurring was where they disturbed the water. Solomon had brought him to what looked like a hidden grove, just off the coast of a sandy shore. After their coupling, Asmodeus found himself curled up to rest. He watched Solomon in between bouts of sleep as he moved about the cavern. Occasionally he would come back to Asmodeus’ side to play with his hair and kiss his forehead, before moving around again. He left tiny slices of peaches by Asmo’s side that the mer happily consumed along with trinkets for him to play with. Asmo recognized some as little pretty things that he had gifted to Solomon. When he lingered long enough, Asmo would coax him closer and trace along his pretty markings. He would start with the appendages, then his stomach and chest, and then the ones on his face before pulling him into a kiss. Then Solomon would laugh and whisper to him to rest.

 Once he was rested, Solomon prompted their journey to the surface. Just as he promised. 

“I like coming here,” Solomon said as he led Asmo up onto the landing of the grove, “It's quiet and where I find all of my treasures.”

“You didn't find me here.”

“Almost all of my treasures.”

His tentacles wrapped around Asmo, swaddling him protectively and holding him close.  His markings could still be faintly seen under the starlight. Asmo shuddered as cold fingertips brushed against his arms. Looking down at their bodies tangled together, it was hard to discern where Asmo's body ended and Solomon's began. He traced along one of them and looked back up at Solomon, “Where would you be if you had not met me?”

Solomon smiled and pressed a kiss to Asmo's forehead, “Where would I be indeed.”

They laid in silence, watching the stars and enjoying each other's presence. Then Asmo raised his arm and traced a shape into the sky using his finger, “Ursa Major.”

“Hm?”

“Ursa Major. It’s that cluster of stars right there,” he traced the shape once more with his fingers and then continued on, “If you keep swimming in that direction, there’s a lot of those big floating rocks. Like the one around your cove.”

“You mean ships?”

“Is that what it is?”

Solomon’s eyes lingered on the shape Asmodeus had traced in the sky and then down to where Asmodeus was pointing, “Ursa Major…”

“There’s more too if you like that,” Asmo pointed  to another cluster, “That one is Cepheus, and then his wife Cassiopia is over there- They’re both royalty you know- And then that one over there is Draco, a dragon. Oh! And that one is Ursa Minor-”

Solomon pulled Asmo closer, head resting atop Asmodeus’ pretty blonde locks as he named more and more of the stars. One day he could ask him how he knew all of the names and stories, but for now, he was content to relax and listen as he held Asmodeus securely in his tentacles. In the morning he would have to say goodbye to Asmodeus again and spend the days collecting treasures from the  surface and waiting for his return. 

Asmodeus would make his way back home. Lucifer would be pacing around, ready with a lecture that he had been preparing every second Asmodeus was missing. Asmo would sit and whine for hours as he was reprimanded, responding with vague answers about where he’d been.  Then he’d wait with lazy days spent sunning himself on rocks at the surface and staring at his reflection and his pretty glittering scales. Until he’d see Solomon, he’d stare at and adorn mementos from the sea witch. Pearls, pretty jewelry, and trinkets he couldn’t name from the surface. Solomon always slipped him one before he departed. Leaving scale’s behind for Solomon or little pretty things from the seafloor were ways that he showed his affection. A treasure for a treasure, reminders until they could see each other again. 

They spoke silently, staring at the stars. Time stood still as treasured memories formed above the surface. 

Both of them believed the stars looked a bit brighter this night.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I didn't add Percy's new book to the plot but let's imagine Ara was there and she dissociated big time -Danny Words: 2,935 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

X: Yes Boy, Give Us Nothing!

Ara stands next to Apollo and Meg, looking down at camp with a loving expression, she loves this view... if only she could keep it safe and sound forever.

"How come I've never heard about this place?" Meg says in awe. "Do you need tickets?"

"It's harder for satyrs to find you if you live in the streets, so... if your godly parent isn't looking for you..." Ara doesn't want to discourage Meg, the fates will take care of that later. "Don't worry, being yourself is enough to get a spot here."

Peaches bites off a patch of grass and spits it out growling. "He doesn't like the taste of this place," Meg informs the other two.

"It's alright, I'm giving you a free pass as long as you promise not to kill any nature spirits or demigods living inside, Peaches," Ara raises a brow questioningly.

"Something doesn't feel right," Meg comments anxiously. "Those woods... your brother said they were wild and enchanted."

"That isn't bad. I've spent a lot of time in the forest and I'm okay! Besides, Pollo will keep the dangerous stuff away."

"Who?"

"My lion," Ara steps into the forest.

"You have a lion?" Meg forgets her worry and follows her in, Peaches moves forward reluctantly and Apollo hurries to catch up.

"Yeah, you'll love him—but tell Peaches to keep calm, Pollo is my baby and I won't hesitate to kill if he tries to hurt him."

"Noted," Meg pats Peaches's head as they keep moving.

Ara whistles, the sound echoing through the trees. She waits five, ten, twenty seconds. "Hmm," she frowns. "That's weird, usually he shows up right away. Maybe he's napping. Don't worry, he'll hear me coming and show up soon. Let's go, the sun is close to setting."

The forest is keeping them away from camp. Ara pauses and scowls at the trees, she's certain they're moving. "Something's up."

Meg sits down with weariness. "I told you..."

"Yeah, but this isn't..." Ara looks around, feeling watched. "Don't freak out."

Apollo huffs. "That is a terrible thing to say."

Ara scowls. "I'm talking to Meg, you shut up. "

"Yes, not freaking out," Meg gestures at her to continue.

"We've had some issues lately," Ara looks around trying to find the right path. "Campers have been going missing... And I think the forest is the reason behind it, but no nymph can shift the forest's paths like this... something else is going on."

"Maybe Peaches can help," Meg turns to her pet. "Hey, can you find us a way out of the woods?" Peaches poofs out of sight and the girl jumps to her feet. "Where'd he go?"

"Perhaps he went scouting," Apollo suggests nervously. "Perhaps we should—" The boy bends over gasping, he lifts his hands and covers his ears.

"What's wrong?" Meg looms over him with concern.

"We can't stay here," Apollo's face pales. "Attend me, mortals!"

"Excuse me?" Meg scowls.

"Uh, I mean come on!"

Ara turns Almighty into a crossbow. "Stay close to me."

Apollo drops to his knees without warning. "Hey! Get up!" Meg stumbles beside him.

"You didn't hear that?" He gasps.

"Hear what?"

The boy faints, taking them by surprise. "Pollo!" Ara calls out again, now truly disturbed by her lion's absence.

"Apollo! Come on! We can't carry you!" Meg whines.

"I can," Ara picks up the boy. He may be as tall as Percy, but he's thinner, so Ara throws him over her strong shoulder without a problem. "Walk ahead of us, Meg."

Apollo's getting her clothes wet, making her shiver in the winter chill, and therefore worsening her mood. He laughs stupidly. "I—I heard—" He squirms around like a fish out of water, hurling them back to the ground. He throws up beside her.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" She growls, pushing him to the side.

Apollo keeps giggling while Ara pulls him to his feet, she whistles again, harder, and the noise comes out so loud that Meg covers her ears wincing. All of a sudden, Pollo runs into them roaring as if he's been fighting to get through, and she fully believes he did. Ara yanks Meg closer, helping her to climb on the lion's back, gets Apollo next, and then climbs at the very back.

"Fast, boy!" Apollo—the lion—runs forward, the trees moving out of his way as they go. 

Meg is muttering something, eyes tightly closed as she clings to the lion while the trees seem to open a path for them. In a matter of seconds, they go from lost, to running straight into the middle of the amphitheater. The campers stand and salute the moment they spot Ara, and she looks at them with bright, urgent eyes, speaking in a choked voice. 

"We're in trouble."

Apollo slips sideways and lands flat on the grass, he laughs stupidly again. "Oh, hi! I'm Apollo!" 

Ara watches him faint a second time. "He's the real deal, believe it or not." The kids burst into questions and the girl whistles again, so everyone goes silent. "Where's Will?"

"Here!" He rushes up to them while Ara hops off from Pollo's back. "Is he really..."

"He's mortal now, I think he had some kind of breakdown..."

"He was hearing voices," Meg counts as Ara helps her down from the lion.

"Yeah, that," Ara looks down at her. "This is our new camper, Meg. Apollo brought her to us. She's unclaimed—and something tells me that'll change quickly, so you stay with me, kiddo."

"Austin, help me out," Will calls his brother, taking Apollo to cabin seven without asking any more questions.

Ara walks towards the big house, Lily and Nico joining her promptly. "Meg, don't stay behind!" The girl rushes to catch up, Pollo skipping close to them purring loudly. "Nico, you stay on the porch to keep an eye on Apollo, Lily, you're with me."

Ara rubs her brow, a habit that isn't going anywhere anytime soon. She's draped over the couch, with Lily checking her pulse and mumbling in Italian about getting her lemonade.

"I'm sorry Mr. D is not here to welcome you," Chiron tells Apollo once they're settled. 

"Mr. Dee?" Meg questions.

"Dionysus," Apollo clarifies. "The god of wine. Also the director of this camp."

"After the battle with Gaea, I thought Mr. D might return to camp, but he never did. I hope he's all right."

"Ghosted us," Ara mutters, earning a glare from Chiron. "What? It's true, the gods are gone and all we have is this guy," she gestures at Apollo. "And he barely counts."

"I don't know anything," Apollo admits. "I'm a bit behind on the news. I was hoping you could fill me in."

Chiron sighs. "I see...."

Lily places a chocolate in Ara's palm. "Your blood sugar is low, Queen B—what did you find in the forest?"

Ara makes a face. "It's about what we didn't."

"What is your crisis?" Apollo asks Chiron. "You have the same look Cassandra had in Troy, or Jim Bowie at the Alamo—as if you're under siege."

"You know that during the war with Gaea, the Oracle of Delphi stopped receiving prophecies. In fact, all known methods of divining the future suddenly failed."

"Because the original cave of Delphi was retaken," Apollo says, unable to meet their eyes.

"Oracle of Delphi," Meg teases Seymour the leopard, and Ara pulls her hand away shaking her head discreetly. "Percy mentioned that."

Chiron looks at her. "Percy was with you? Where is he now?"

Ara and Apollo recount their adventure and the girl mentions having to be home before dinner, so she asks for permission to take Blackjack. Chiron agrees, though Lily makes a face of disapproval, she doesn't want her to leave in the middle of such chaos.

"Percy said he would drive out this weekend if he could," Apollo adds.

"At any rate," Chiron speaks tiredly, "we hoped that once the war was over, the Oracle might start working again. When it did not... Rachel became concerned."

"Who's Rachel?" Meg asks.

"Rachel Dare," Apollo explains. "The Oracle."

"Thought the Oracle was a place."

"It is."

"Then Rachel is a place, and she stopped working?"

"The original Delphi was a place in Greece. A cavern filled with volcanic fumes, where people would come to receive guidance from my priestess, the Pythia."

"Pythia." Meg snorts. "That's a funny word."

Apollo looks at Ara pleadingly but she doesn't silence the girl, she looks at Meg with fondness. Ara was just like her at that age. "Yes. Ha-ha. So the Oracle is both a place and a person. When the Greek gods relocated to America back in... what was it, Chiron, 1860?"

"More or less."

"I brought the Oracle here to continue speaking prophecies on my behalf. The power has passed down from priestess to priestess over the years. Rachel Dare is the present Oracle."

Meg hums, taking a cookie. "Mm-kay. Is it too late to watch that movie?"

"Yes," Apollo continues impatiently. "Now, the way I gained possession of the Oracle of Delphi in the first place was by killing this monster called Python who lived in the depths of the cavern..."

Ara spaces out, as usual. Meg is inquisitive as any little demigod, and Ara doesn't mind it, but she's got too many things going on at the moment, so she lets the adults explain while she organizes her mental turmoil. Priorities, priorities, what the hell is happening with the camp's forest?

"So where is Rachel Dare?" Apollo pulls Ara out of her thoughts. "Perhaps if I spoke with her...?"

Chiron glances at Ara and Lily. "Rachel planned to visit us during her winter vacation, but she never did. It might not mean anything...."

"Or?"

"Or it might be part of the larger problem. Prophecies are not the only things that have failed. Travel and communication have become difficult in the last few months. We haven't heard from our friends at Camp Jupiter in weeks. No new demigods have arrived. Satyrs aren't reporting from the field. Iris messages no longer work."

"Iris what?"

"Two-way visions," Apollo explains quickly. "A form of communication overseen by the rainbow goddess. Iris has always been flighty..."

"Except that normal human communications are also on the fritz," Chiron continues. "Of course, phones have always been dangerous for demigods—"

"Yeah, they attract monsters," Meg nods. "I haven't used a phone in forever."

"A wise move. But recently our phones have stopped working altogether. Mobile, landline, Internet... it doesn't seem to matter. Even the archaic form of communication known as e-mail is strangely unreliable. The messages simply don't arrive."

"Did you look in the junk folder?" Apollo asks.

"I fear the problem is more complicated. We have no communication with the outside world. We are alone and understaffed. Ara goes back and forth between camp and the city almost daily, you are the first newcomers in almost two months."

Apollo looks at Ara with a scowl. "You and Percy failed to mention this."

"I didn't know at which part of your bitching it was right to interrupt and tell you the world no longer revolves around you," she replies with a straight face.

Chiron speaks before Apollo can curse her. "Winter is normally our quietest time. For a while, I was able to convince myself that the communication failures were nothing but an inconvenient happenstance. Then the disappearances started."

"The disappearances, yes. Ara did mention that. Tell me about those."

"Three in the last month," Chiron lists while Ara munches on a cookie angrily. "First it was Cecil Markowitz from the Hermes cabin. One morning his bunk was simply empty. He didn't say anything about wanting to leave. No one saw him go. And in the past few weeks, no one has seen or heard from him."

"Children of Hermes do tend to sneak around," Apollo nods.

"At first, that's what we thought. But a week later, Ellis Wakefield disappeared from the Ares cabin. Same story: empty bunk, no signs that he had either left on his own or was... ah, taken. Ellis was an impetuous young man. It was conceivable he might have charged off on some ill-advised adventure, but it made me uneasy. Then this morning we realized a third camper had vanished: Miranda Gardiner, head of the Demeter cabin. That was the worst news of all."

Ara stiffens. "Miranda's missing?"

Lily glares at the plate of cookies as if they're to blame. "We don't know how it happened, no one heard or saw anything, and believe me, we've tried."

"Why is that the worst?" Meg asks with curiosity.

"Miranda is one of our senior counselors," Chiron explains. "She would never leave on her own without notice. She is too smart to be tricked away from camp, and too powerful to be forced. Yet something happened to her... something I can't explain. Something is very wrong, Apollo. These problems may not be as alarming as the rise of Kronos or the awakening of Gaea, but in a way I find them even more unsettling, because I have never seen anything like this before."

"These demigods..." Apollo shifts awkwardly in his seat. "Before they disappeared, did they act unusual in any way? Did they report... hearing things?"

Chiron glances at Lily and Ara, and they both shake their heads. "Not that we're aware of. Why?"

"It seems to me, that our first priority is to bend all the camp's resources to helping me regain my divine state. Then I can assist you with these other problems."

Ara leans forward ready to strangle him, Chiron places one hand on her shoulder while stroking his beard with the other. "But what if the problems are connected, my friend? What if the only way to restore you to Olympus is by reclaiming the Oracle of Delphi, thus freeing the power of prophecy? What if Delphi is the key to it all?"

"That makes sense," Ara speaks. "Which brings the question: Should I help this ninny?"

"Yes!" Apollo argues. "In my present state, handling this alone is impossible. Right now, my job is to serve this demigod, probably for a year," he points at Meg. "After I've done whatever tasks she assigns me, Zeus will judge that my sentence has been served, and I can once again become a god."

Meg shrugs. "I could order you to go to this Delphi place."

"That would be very wise, Meg," Ara's ready to slip charmspeak into her words, but Apollo intervenes.

"No!" He squeaks out. "You should assign me easy tasks—like starting a rock band, or just hanging out. Yes, hanging out is good."

"Hanging out isn't a task."

"It is if you do it right. Camp Half-Blood can protect me while I hang out. After my year of servitude is up, I'll become a god. Then we can talk about how to restore Delphi."

"Apollo," Chiron tries to reason, "if demigods keep disappearing, we may not have a year. We may not have the strength to protect you. And, forgive me, but Delphi is your responsibility."

"I wasn't the one who opened the Doors of Death and let Python out!" Apollo exclaims. "Blame Gaea! Blame Zeus for his bad judgment! When the giants started to wake, I drew up a very clear Twenty-Point Plan of Action to Protect Apollo and Also You Other Gods, but he didn't even read it!"

Ara stands up, not losing her composure, but looking very capable of murder. "You jumpstarted this mess by telling Percy my prophecy before time—you gave Octavian your blessing!"

"Only one out of those two is maybe my doing," he stands up too. "And from what I remember, you weren't complaining until you got the real workload—which comes off a bit unprofessional."

"I still think it's your fault," Meg tosses another chunk of a cookie to Seymour, who stirs and growls. "Hey, look! He's awake!"

Chiron moves on his chair—staying in between Ara and Apollo—and points at something. "My dear, in that jar on the mantel, you'll find some Snausages. Why don't you feed him dinner? Apollo and us three will wait on the porch."

He glances at her. Enough. Ara glares at Apollo, turning around with Lily following close, glimpsing at Apollo torn between annoyance and concern.

"She's just like you," Lily nudges her arm. "Meg."

Ara tries to smile. "Don't worry, she just needs some guidance and soon enough she'll be nothing like me."

"Then it's great that she ran into you."

Ara looks at her without understanding. "Is it?"

"You can guide her," Lily rolls her eyes when Ara wrinkles her nose. "Don't give me that look..."

"Tell me," Chiron comes out with Apollo. "What did you hear in the woods?"

Apollo claims a voice asked him to search for them, someone whom he's not sure could actually be real, and considering how creepy and overly hostile the woods were, Ara can't differ.

"We will have to warn the campers to stay away from the forest. I do not understand what is happening, but I still maintain it must be connected to Delphi, and your present... ah, situation, Apollo. The Oracle must be liberated from the monster Python. We must find a way."

"Yeah, Lester," Ara raises a brow. "And you better be quick about it."

Apollo glares at her. A god is above taunting, but he's slowly forgetting his etiquette, fitting more and more into the teenage body he was forced into, and the god Ara worshipped throughout the years, is turning into the one kid in camp she detests.

"Come, come, old friend," Chiron pats the boy's shoulder. "You have done it before. Perhaps you are not a god now, but the first time you killed Python it was no challenge at all! Hundreds of storybooks have praised the way you easily slew your enemy."

"Yes... Hundreds of storybooks," Apollo lowers his gaze. 

A horn announces dinner, and Ara's time to go home. The centaur turns to the girls. "We will talk more later, eh? For now, let's celebrate our god's arrival."

"Yeah, things are about to get better," Ara hums, not wanting to bum out the others. "Gotta leave now, Percy has to go through his manuals..." she shrugs, feeling lost. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

[fruit-salad-ship]

Cyberpunk au thoughts while I can’t sleep.

Grey is as city kid as he gets, undercuts his competitors, gambles, cheats, but comes out on top most of the time. Though peach has had to save his sorry ass once or twice. LOVES working on her, she’s got her hands on some seriously expensive, unusual tech, he figures out all too quickly she’s a corpo run away, the gear she’s using is too high quality to be street installed, you don’t even see this in the military. Whatever she’s working with is clearly a set of unusual prototypes. She doesn’t explain where she got them, only that no one but him needs to know this. Strike it from the records.

He does a good job keeping peach in working order, despite how many odd bugs her gear has, they don’t seem to be lasting or fatal, but she can patch in and out from time to time, a very mild form of cyber psychosis, lasts a few seconds at best, but it’s like the gear she’s got has been engineered to combat that illness, and is doing a good job of keeping it at bay. He however knows that she can’t remove this gear, can’t downsize at all, ever, if she does she’ll snap like a twig and go nuts. Whatever she’s got, she’s stuck with it. His competence and discrete methods are useful to her, it’s the only reason she sticks with the big lug, that and he owes her a lot of money from her paying his gambling debts off. He gets to see how top of the line chrome works, and in turn can make his installs on more ordinary equipment far better, gaining notoriety for his work fast. And perhaps he’s entertaining, so peach gets to cash in maintenance to cover what he owes her, he’s skilled enough to tamper with her kit and not kill her in the process.

It’s a love hate situation, he jokes he could just install faulty gear, remove something while she’s under, and she snidely bites back that he won’t find a better bodyguard if she dies because of his half assed work, and her dying isn’t good for business. All bark no bite, the both of them. They would kill for each other but won’t ever say it, you got to be tough in the streets, no signs of weakness or soft methods, or people walk all over you. But they drink and laugh together, and bond eventually over beating up punk ass kids trying to mug them on the street.

Plum fist shows up at the door of a club peach is bouncing on, pretends to have no eddies, and says she’ll pay her tab in a more fun way. Peach is irked, doesn’t like the advances, hears it all the time, you can’t pay, then you get thrown out, or the venue owners might even salvage some of your installed tech to pay the debt. Plus plum’s too nosey, peach caught her trying to dive into her head, but her pricey corpo security got in the way, software to prevent people finding out just who she is and where she came from. She upgraded and maxed out that line of defence so no one knew how to crack her. The plan to get this woman alone to short her cyberwars out and get her picked up and taken home flatlines, plum is left with no choice, has to accept defeat this time and try again some other way. She leaves, and peach is left to do her job, charming some of the staff, enjoying a drink at the end of her shift and heading home. Plum loses her in the streets, somehow she’s pretty sly for someone so big.

Next time they meet peach recognises her instantly, doesn’t like that she slid up next to her at some back alley noodle bar while she’s getting ready to go to work, tells her to get lost. Plum does not. Obviously. In fact she just keeps following her, not a threat, but definitely annoying as all hell. Hangs about during her job, tries to charm her into a drink, fails, and this goes on for a while, weeks even.

Eventually being worn down, peach just accepts that plums not going anywhere, and annoyingly she’s proven useful on rare occasion, shutting people’s cyberware down who try to pick fights in the street, jamming guns pulled on her even though her armour upgrades can take the hit. Plum pretends she doesn’t know exactly what tech her target is working with. Eventually peach sits down at a bar and buys this woman a drink, saved her some scrapes and bruises, asks just what her angle is. Why’s she doing this? The only thing plum can do is lie, and she does well, says she knows peach from a long time ago, remembers her from school, a seriously high powered academy, that plum knew her from there meant she too was from a powerful place. But she says she’s running, and apparently peach did that pretty well, no one’s been able to find her, plum stresses that no one’s been able to find her since she disappeared, so who better to get tips from than someone who did it so well people stopped looking for her? Every red flag is raised, this little woman knows her, and if she knows her, and she’s here, who’s stopping others coming after her? How did she even find her? Plum says it was luck, right bar, right might, right time. It’s all a little too convenient. The questions are rigorous, but to peach, plum seems like she’s genuinely trying to get away from it all, plum paints this sob story, about being neglected and having a crap life, how money didn’t help, it just was a tool for manipulation, the evil shit she had to do to fit in. Peach isn’t buying it, but definitely understands the sentiment, IF it’s honest. And for now, despite her worries, tolerates plum being around. She got out, maybe it’s not impossible to think someone else did too. At least until she can prove one way or another that this woman’s telling the truth or not, she will put up with her. Plum is now right where she needs to be, getting closer to her target. There’s a lot of money riding on getting peach back to her family, she could gain some huge favours for completing this, make leaps in the corporate world.

Peach can’t hack well, it’s not her thing, she was always more athletic, better with a gun, with a weapon, with her hands, so background checking plum isn’t an option, but she asks grey to do it. He is ok at this, not the best but not the worst, regardless, he comes up with nothing, plums backgrounds been wiped for this job she’s doing, she’s been given a fake life, fake crimes committed, and even to him, it looks pretty believable. They’re none the wiser that she’s just infiltrating their ranks, and peach seems more open to her story knowing the records track. But she is aware that if this is a lie, the first thing someone would do would be to write a new past. She did it, it’s not impossible to think someone else could.

Life becomes more difficult for plum. Peach’s upgrades have rendered her too tough to take out in one hit, even if she’s fully hacked and immobilised, she’s surrounded herself with loyal people who she’s helped and who owe her, getting her alone is hard, and harder yet is getting her picked up by corpo security. Plum has a ten minute window to do it before peach would be back up and running, and passed off. Plums got to nail the hack before even a single interruption can occur, no mistakes, even in her impossibly tight.y encoded mind. Whatever’s been installed in this woman was to stop people hacking her long term, following her, or diving into her records. And so the long con begins. Charm her, be sweet, be naughty, be devious, be smart, be whatever peach wants to let her get closer, get in her home, behind locked doors where help won’t arrive in time. But peach is cautious, doesn’t cave to the attempts to woo her, gets a weird vibe off plum. It takes plum months, nearly a year to wear her acquaintance down. But eventually peach seems relaxed enough around her. She can be in her lap and not cause her to be on edge, plums able to get real close, enough to manually override her operating systems as soon as soon as that windows there, and the time is right. She’s charmed herself into a strategic position.

Only problem is plum is starting to see the genuine appeal. She’s getting more shreds of this woman’s past, honest stories that actually paint a worse picture than she thought, and soon there’s a realisation that in sending peach home, she’d be sentencing her to a fate worse than death, living as a person she hates, doing things she never wanted to do, following the steps of a family she did not want to be part of. Eventually plum realises death might still come for her, some of the family want peach gone, some want her to stay away, stay in the streets, not return to take up the mantle. They’ll kill her if she comes back, or try at least. Somehow staying in the deadly streets of the city is safer than the walls of her home.

Suddenly it makes sense, grey overhears these conversations, they hang out in his den, where he works on clients, he isn’t oblivious to their chats. Peach’s implants are so special because she’s the test subject. When she ran, she ran with crazy expensive one of a kind gear, and the family want it back, those assets, HER, both are invaluable, they’re not just off the shelf, these are made to turn this woman into a killer, a real killer, one who’ll get away with it no matter what. They’re custom fit to her genetic code, you can’t rip them out and stick them in someone else, you can’t tamper with them, they’re unique and the engineering that’s gone into them is above and beyond what’s available even at the highest pay grade. Peach’s family want their little murderer back, to complete the install process, she’s missing a couple parts still, they want to finish the job and finally have her back working for them.

Then comes the moment plum had been hoping for. A little drunk, a little high, a little tired, peach lets her into her home, a small apartment full of plants, tidier and far more thought out than plum had expected. She has the shot, that loud city ambiance the only real sound as her host is kind enough to offer a drink, to pull a smoke, to let her into her life more than ever before. Plum questions if she can hand her in, take the money, take the power and just pretend like the last year with her wasn’t fun, and interesting, and real, especially compared to how plum’s old life was. Locked up in her room diving into files and memories, not making her own. But she lived, for real, even if only for a moment, beside peach and grey.

Peach catches plum in the corner of her eye, her vision patching in and out, plums tampering with her tech, she let her into her home and the second her back was turned this little devious snake turned around and bit her. She goes down hard, a system key given by peach’s family able to shut down the cyberware temporarily, ceasing her up, she’s vulnerable, she’s barely conscious, and yet she’s looking at her. There is anger, and then after a while, the anger subsides, and it’s just sorrow. Peach realises who she let close, a traitor, someone sent to bring her home. Plum apologises, sees her target finally fall unconscious and is left to sit and hover over the option of calling in the security detail to pick them up. It’d be so fast, so easy, the moneys right there, the powers right there. Plum realises if she doesn’t get peach home she’s as good as dead, not only would peach try to kill her no doubt, but her family would for failing too…but if she does complete the job and goes home to continue her isolated life in a tall tower away from everyone, that peach would be crushed down to fit the job role she was designated with, filled with tech she didn’t want, until it no doubt took over who she was leaving a compliant husk of her former self. She’d be a walking weapon, nothing more.

Plum doesn’t know what to do.