#soulmate-adjacent really

[hitlikehammers]

tremolo

…what if instead of learning clarinet or percussion, you could learn to read the music of hearts? 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: love at first sight, car crash (off-screen), SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: ✨magical realism au, musician eddie munson, paramedic steve harrington, kinda soulmates (it makes more sense with the magical realism part), character study, softness

for @steddielovemonth day one: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." —Plato

It was just like learning any instrument, really.

At least what they tried to convince Eddie to believe at the tender age of nine.

But it was all about finding an aptitude, apparently. Developing a talent. Fourth grade rolls around and he fucks up blowing with a reed, manages to give himself a tongue splinter. Nearly passes out on the brass. Ends up with the choir lady looking over horn-rimmed glasses and narrowing her eyes at him less like a teacher and more like a fortune teller or something, scrying what’s to come of him, like she can see through all that he is and will be, before she goes scribbling something on his little slip of paper already marking all the failed kinds of music he’ll never get to make and telling him: go to Room 011.

But no one ever goes to Room 011.

He meets a petite woman with mousy hair and clothes that look like they belong to someone else, somehow. She introduces herself as Miss L. She looks like a Miss L., so he doesn’t think any further on the point.

You will not play much, really, she tells him, and the way she talks is kinda funny, like she learned words but not from people actually saying them out loud. Eddie kinda likes it, though. The playing is only for emergencies, and if you find your True Note.

Eddie doesn’t know what most of that means, except for the fact that the whole point of trying—and failing—at all the instruments was to join the school band with something to play. So if that’s not what he’s going to learn, then what the heck is Eddie meant to be doing down here—is what he wants to ask.

He manages a little politer version of the same, his nan’d be proud. His dad wouldn’t care even if he was around and not behind bars. His uncle might be happy that Eddie’s kept his nose clean just this one time. So he figures he does okay.

But really, he just wants an answer. He was supposed to get to learn music. It was the one thing that was keeping this whole year feeling like he could maybe, maybe survive it.

It also means he doesn’t have to take the art class that’s mostly kindergarten crafts instead of real art, so.

“You will be learning music,” Miss L. answers, more patient than most grownups; “you are here to learn how to read the songs that hearts sing.”

And that is, by far, in all of his whole nine years of living, the most fucking absurd sentence that Eddie has ever heard.

——

He’d kinda thought it was a joke, when he left that first afternoon to get back before Language Arts.

Turned out: nope. It was not.

He’d maybe thrown something slightly less childish than a tantrum, when what he got was a big set of earphones and a box the size of an Easy-Bake Oven, where apparently he’d be playing some kind of recordings to start his lessons.

“Do you not wish to learn?” Miss L. asked so simply, and Eddie…

Eddie reminded himself that no matter how foolish and stupid this was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than making construction paper collages with Elmer’s glue, so.

He put the headphones on and pressed play.

——

His workbooks didn’t look like anyone else’s in band—in fact, Eddie didn’t think he was actually a part of the class band, like, he wasn’t expecting to play at the spring concert with the flutes and the trombones, anymore. When he had sheets of staves to fill out they didn’t have straight lines. He didn’t draw different circles with little flags and bridges connecting them. He…

“When there are no keys, and there is no time signature,” Miss L. had explained, and it took time to make any sense; “you are the rules, and you feel what is a melody,” she’d tapped something that feltbeautiful, like daffodils blooming, though Eddie couldn’t say why; “and what is a warning.”

And then she’d tapped again, and it clenched in Eddie’s chest like a tornado siren, and…yeah.

That was kind of the best explanation he could have asked for.

——

It’s in middle school, when everyone else gets new band directors while Eddie sticks with Miss L., that it starts to…well.

That’s when the fact that Eddie’s alone in his lessons, and no one seems to know quite what he does—and the other kids who get that kind of treatment are usually the ones who can’t add or spell right, who have some kind of problem to work on extra hard—but it’s around then that Eddie starts being called names for it.

It’s not too bad, at first. Eddie’s worked for his two full years of elementary school lessons to get through recognizing the songs, suffers the point where recognizing becomes unbearable, overwhelming—Miss L. never left his side when he held his head in pain for all the noise, all the songs because they were everywhere, in everyone, and how was he supposed to learn what was right and what was good and what was just okay but then what was also everything the opposite when he couldn’t even think—

But she taught him the tools, the ways to sift through the chatter, as she called it. Because not all of it was a warning; not all of it was bad just because it wasn’t beautiful.

Some of the noise just was.

She showed him how to trust his own ear; his own song in his own chest as a guide, because that’s why he was here: he had a gift, an aptitude, built in and in need of development. Liked they’d said in the beginning.

He’s nearly thirteen when she teaches him how to write his own songs, in the not-notes and the no-tempos. In the nameless flow of sound.

It’s when his classmates overhear one of those works-in-progress, the taunting gets worse, starts to hedge toward unbearable.

Until Eddie asks if he can just stop: quit this. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to be a freak.

“It is a rite of passage, to ask this,” Miss L. says slowly, no judgement, and weirdly no pity; “but I should tell you first,” and her eyes narrow more than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen them.

“Your skill is already greater than any I have seen, and is only getting sharper, more keen.”

And hell if a teacher’s ever said something niceabout Eddie Munson, let alone something that sounds like flat-out praise.

“They cannot hear the music, this is why they say those things,” she flicks her wrist less like conducting a chorus and more like shooing a gnat, like that’s the appropriate amount of consideration the comments deserve. “Your task has always been to teach them what they do not know, to show them the wonder they are ignoring as they live and breathe.”

And while it really would have been nice to know that before signing up for this…this what, calling? Vocation?

While that would’ve been nice, Eddie…Eddie can at least mostly understand he wouldn’t have understood any of it in the fourth grade.

He barely understands now.

But he can feel it. He understands how to feel the music that fills all those gaps.

“This is common,” Miss L. turns back to him, steeples her fingers while humming something from the radio: not bad, but not beautiful. That’s what she means, he realizes. The radio plays common.

“This,” and she puts a hand over her own chest and keeps time with her fingers on the tabletop as she hums a wholly novel thing out of thin air, and Eddie has never seen someone else recognize the music, has never watched someone compose in the veins where the songs that hearts sing are played, let alone in real time; maybe she never had because he had to lean for himself, first.

But it is kind of exquisite to witness.

“This,” she stops, and raises a brow pointedly in Eddie’s direction; “is human, built in your cells.”

Eddie couldn’t name why, precisely, but he feels…shamed, but also empowered. So different, but they make an almost compelling melody together as they clash.

“They will call you freak before they call you prodigy,” Miss L. says it like a fact, which…kinda sucks to hear, in all honesty.

“They will label you insane, before they recognize you as genius,” and the way she adds that part makes him feel like that was her personal burden to bear, and he aches for her in it.

“They will cry out garbage and nonsense,” and here, these words: these are the ones Eddie knows immediately he’s meant to be hearing, be weaving into notes the strongest, the ones she wants him to keep closest and never lose:

“They will cry out worthless,” she spits out with a venom he’s never heard her use; “before they will sob in the face of your masterworks, and how they will breathe magic in the soul.”

And…Eddie doesn’t know exactly what to do in the face of the conviction she says that last part with. To doubt it, as he instinctively wants to, feels vile; the most egregious disrespect. He can’t bring himself to even try. So, he asks instead, voice rough:

“When will it change?”

Because despite everything: he doesn’t want to be a freak.

“That I cannot say,” she sighs, and she does sound sorry; “and it may never change at all.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s built to handle that, the possibility of never.

“But even if you leave, here and now,” Miss L. cuts into his despairing; “even if you stop your learning, the songs will never leave you.”

Oh.

Oh, so did they…did they teach him to hear a endless goddamn curse, and as a fucking kid—

“You would always have come to hear them,” Miss L. must read his mind, or maybe just his face; “just never with any place to funnel the noise,” and he…guesses he should be grateful. He nearly went mad in those early years, before she taught him how to make new melodies, concertos the likes of which even the great masters hadn’t penned, because they played in a different medium. Their notes and structured time were useful, but limited.

And if they never heard otherwise, how would even the most brilliant talents know what they were passing over, leaving behind?

“Do you still wish to leave?”

Eddie turns, almost having forgotten Miss L. was still sitting there, watching him. Almost having forgotten what he’d come to ask, to give up.

There’s no question left, now.

He gets out his notebook, his pen, and starts as he always does.

With the listening.

——

It’s a genuine distraction—the songs get louder with time, but Miss L. tells him that’s a sign of his skill growing, his notice of the equivalents of key signatures and ligature notes in the heartbeats he passes every day—but it costs him passing senior year once, and then again, and almost a third time until by the skin of his teeth, he manages. While every other teacher shames him for it, derides him as incurably stupid, or at the very least unambitious to the point of embarrassment, the extra years mean more time with Miss L., and Eddie…most days, Eddie is nothing but thankful.

More time means Eddie also learns that the songs he hears are as much a public service as they are an art form, as much a defense mechanism as a craft. He knows when bullies are on the prowl, and to make himself scarce for their screeching cacophonies. He knows when he has to be less of a coward and step in when a wild rhythm makes him sick with its fear.

The more he pays attention to the not-quite-beautiful songs—especially when he thinks on them later and stumbles upon nuggets of the exquisite inside every way they weren’t—the more he remembers years ago, out of almost nowhere, but maybe…maybe everywhere, like it’d been written in his heart’s song the day she spoke it:

“My first day,” he enters the same room—not the same-same room but the one in the high school that’s as abandoned as all of them have been, always Room 011—but he enters the room close to the end of the year, the last year, with the question thick on his tongue, and woven the same in his song as he closes the door and feels his heartbeat quicken for no reason and every reason, like he’s long learned these songs always do.

Miss L., for her part, just nods; waits.

“You said,” Eddie rolls his lips together; “emergencies.”

It’s a delay tactic. They both know it.

She’s kind to play along.

“Mmm,” she hums; “the slightest bits, yes, you can shift the rules to change the song, because you made the rules to begin with,” she eyes him carefully, then. “But only by bits, and in only the most dire moments.”

Yeah, yeah, sure. He never thought he could like…write lines to coax a heart to sing itself back from the dead or some shit. He gets the point.

Again, they both know: that’s not the point he’s here for, heart pounding high in his throat.

“But then you also said something else.”

This time, she doesn’t nod at all; just stares. Eddie has to clear his throat twice to make a sound so as to ask:

“What’s a True Note?”

Because Eddie’s had a couple flings here and there. And the idea of anything real with someone else, alongside the weight of this…talent of his, this training that’s defined half his life by now: it’s really nothing more than a stray idea. But Eddie can’t really hide from the fact that, somewhere along the way, he’s suffused that idea with so much promise and potential, but with no legs for it to fucking stand on.

And he’s about to graduate. About to go out into the world and…who the fuck knows what.

He needs to either hold onto this insane, silly notion of some cosmic meant-to-be match waiting for him somewhere, that it’s at least possible, and then hold on to it like burning—or let it go, and get on with the rest of his fucking life.

“Do you know how I said you could sway the rhythm just the littlest bit, in the greatest of need?”

Of course he did. She literally just said it.

“Your True Note will sing like you have never heard before,” she tells him like it’s not something…immense; “and that song will sway your rhythm so much more than the littlest of anything.”

She just fucking says it, like it isn’t already swaying the rhythm his heart sings in. Here and now.

“That heartsong will change your world.”

And all Eddie can even think to ask, to make more plain in it, is just one thing:

“Will I change theirs, too?”

Miss L’s eyes lock to his and hold for enough seconds where it should be uncomfortable, where his chest starts to grow unbearably tight.

“Hmm,” she considers finally; “if it is meant to be that way.”

Eddie wants to scream. It’s not enough.

And still somehow, it will have to be.

——

In the months that follow his freedom, he misses Miss L. Kinda desperately.

But the lack of structure, the openness of knowing he has to find a way to piece together all the snippets of song he’s bombarded with: it is the reason he ever picks up a guitar. It’s the whole learning heartsongs thing that he has to thank for it, a roundabout journey toward the destination he’d wanted from the beginning.

Or else, that he thought he did.

It’s not just guitar, though. He eventually learns the woodwinds without ending up with a splinter in his mouth. Figures out the different harmonies at hand in making sure he tempers the way he breathes for the brass. He loves the piano, and the cello especially, alongside guitar and double bass: he makes a trip back home specifically to see her and ask—Miss L. tells him it’s probably because of their strings, like hearts have, too.

It feels right in a way things haven’t felt in a very long time.

Which is really how he comes to not only understand, but to accept in his bones: no matter if they ever call him prodigy or genius, if he ever plays a concert hall or anywhere but on a street corner with an open case for change, he was made for this; built for this. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses who sent him to the basement music room saw it in him. Miss L. proved it to him by teaching him to prove it to himself. He doesn’t know if he’d have picked it, but he knows it was never something he could have picked or turned down in the first place at all: it’s who he is.

He is the music. He is the songs that hearts use for singing. And maybe someday he’ll meet someone who sees it in him, and hears his song, and sings ecstatic. Maybe.

He hopes.

But either way: this is his life.

This is his melody.

——

It takes years before they do sob for his masterpieces, for them to be ready for a style and cadence they don’t understand because they will never comprehend the language, that speaks deeper than the logic required for any of those rules. It takes a long fucking time before they start listening with the lens of the first song any of them ever learned. But the time does come, and Eddie is grateful, because he’d genuinely feared the maybe-never he’d been warned about. He’s glad that’s not where he is, now.

But now? Things start to happen almost unbearably fast. Shows here and flights there, guest appearances and interviews, record labels and live recordings, a book deal he can’t even begin to think about. The world tips on its axis and Eddie only really considered that happening to him for one reason: because of a song so beautiful, in a Note so True—this isn’t that.

But everything still feels upside down anyway; totally off-kilter.

He’s crossed ten time-zones this time. He’s exhausted, but he has a performance tonight, just like he did in the tonight of the place he just left. The car he’s in on his way to the next venue is sleek, like they all are now; his team is already there preparing, so it’s just him and some local hires he hasn’t even had a chance to learn the names of yet, which he hates. He hates being privy to their songs and not even knowing their names, let alone their stories.

He jots the notes he gleans from how they sing without their words on the drive across town anyway. Waste not, and all that.

Eddie has the pen in hand, cap between his teeth, when the truck plows straight into them.

What follows would be unsurprising, if Eddie could process it from a bystander’s point of view—as it is, the only thing he knows in the melee is the music.

He is devastated, as he reaches out for the slowing songs around him, knowing in the back of his mind what their slacking tempos mean, and marveling with something like horror at how beautiful each one is as it starts to fade: still unique, still something Eddie could braid into a piece, certainly one to draw tears.

His own song is ebbing, he knows, but it’s less important than the sweet melodies around him, especially—

Oh.

Eddie thinks, with what may be the last thought left to him as pressure and heat and pain tingle at the edges of the music, almost too strong now to be drowned out by the notes that are what Eddie is at his core: but he thinks he may be too far gone already, because what he begins to hear is…

Exultant. It’s…

If Eddie believed in a heaven, this would be what the hosts there sang. When the idea of divinity is bandied about, they can only ever be talking about some cheap imitation of what Eddie hears now. Luminous. Effervescent.

Beautiful in a way that exceeds the word itself so deeply that it barely fits, obliterates the notion on sight.

And what a gift, Eddie muses as everything dims to black, to hear such Notes, such perfect music as the last thing he has to hold onto in the end.

To end on something that’s True.

——

The next tones Eddie hears are mechanical. He winces—not bad but certainly not beautiful—and then winces harder because wincing itself fucking hurts.

He holds himself still, seeks the song he knows in his own veins: yes, and he’d been so sure it was gone, because there’d be an accident, a crash, he’d been thrown, crushed, songs all around him were dying and he’d heard the magnificent symphony of otherworldly perfection so—

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” a voice interjects, or no: drips in leisurely, like comfort, like honey; “because you’re a patient, and I’m,” and Eddie forces his eyes open to see the voice come out of a man, who is pointing at his chest: a uniform. Medical.

“I’m not dead?”

All signs do point that direction but…Eddie had been kinda fairly sure he was done for.

“God,” the man chokes like he’s pained, like the idea hurts him, and why; “no,” and he says that a little fiercely, protective almost; “though not for lack of an effort.”

He looks tired, as Eddie’s vision starts to clear some more. He looks radiant. Exquisite.

Beautiful.

“You saved me?”

Because Eddie clocks the uniform now: paramedic. The ones who come onto the scenes and try like hell to save who they can. Heroes.

“I helped,” the beautiful man says, like a hero would, of course. But…it still doesn’t make sense. If the man does this for his job, then Eddie isn’t special, so then why is he so vehement, and then what of all the fading songs Eddie remembers, because Eddie had heard—

“What about,” he starts, but there’s a hand over his quickly, soothing.

“Everyone’s here, different wards,” the hero-beauty tells him in lows tones; “we don’t know if they’ll all make it through the night, but,” he nods, like…this is enough.

And it is. Except…

“How?”

And where Eddie is baffled, his hero just quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me you never covered emergencies?” he asks skeptically. “Most dire moments, greatest of need?”

And it’s with those words that Eddie’s world slows very quickly to a halt. The music swells in a way he’s never known: because it’s always present to hear.

Buts it’s never been so tangible to feel, not like this, and with such…magnificence, no lesser word could touch it. Maybe he truly is closer to death than not, maybe that’s the reason for the fervor in this man he doesn’t know—the choirs of the angels Eddie wasn’t banking on swells and is visceral, and this hero sits before him, speaks the words that have haunted Eddie more days of his life than not, and—

“This was where the music took my life,” the man pulls at his collar, indicative again: the heroism. He…he saves people, because he, he also hears…

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His hand on Eddie’s tightens, like gratitude, and Eddie…gapes like a fucking fish, and then—

“There’s something else.”

“Not just here to check up on the fruits of your medical miracle?” Eddie’s tongue feels heavy, thick in his mouth; he feels sluggish all over, weighted down and like he can barely move because…this man hears the music that hearts make.

Can he hear the ineffable beauty, like Eddie can? He must, that’s how it works, so why is he not in the same amount of awe—

“Not just,” the man smiles small, but real, a little hesitant. A little…shy, maybe, before he straightens, leans a little closer.

“Watch that screen,” and he tracks Eddie’s gaze until Eddie’s fixed upon the ECG, the most disappointing distillation of the songs he’s learned to find so much wonder in.

But then the man is pressing Eddie’s hand to his own chest, which…is forward, given they don’t even know each other.

Eddie is maybe still on, or at least just-recently-off, death’s door, and either way he’s fucking thrilledwith this development, warm beneath his palm.

“Now count.”

It only takes a moment, to put the gestures together into a statement.

The beat under his touch matches the line across the screen. Exactly.

But this man’s not the one attached to the monitor.

“Got it?”

Eddie nods, and the man doesn’t hesitate, lifts Eddie’s hand and presses it back to Eddie’s own chest.

“Again.”

And that’s…that’s not the same rhythm as the one on the screen; the songs don’t match at all.

But Eddie can still hear the one that does—the beauty. The exaltation.

“Can you,” Eddie asks, lifts his finger that’s got a clip on it, and the man’s a professional, he’ll understand—looks less than conflicted about disconnecting Eddie from wires and leads before clipping his own finger and letting the screen shift to a new cadence.

The same one under Eddie’s hand, in Eddie’s own chest.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” the man barely breathes, and Eddie notices now how intense his eyes are, focused solely on Eddie, and…Eddie remembers the words that came after the ones about emergencies. About how little he could help, but that he could still do something.

But with only one person, it could be—

“You didn’t just sway my rhythm,” Eddie half-gasps; “you made it your own.”

And oh: Eddie never tied the song of hearts to the song of laughter, but from this man, the huff of incredulous joy that slips from him now—they’re made wholly of the same stuff.

Symphonic. Staggering. Weeping to feel this much, in the soul, to be privy to such a…

Masterpiece.

“Worked both ways, it seems.”

“I heard you,” Eddie blurts out, because it makes sense now; “before I, when I thought I was,” dying, when he thought it was all over; “like I’ve never heard anything before.”

And now: of course this man hears the heavenly movement Eddie thought was a mercy before the end but was instead the arrival of everything he’d ever hoped to one day find, literally coming to rescue him in more ways than one; but that song is somehow commonplace to this unfathomable angel on the earth.

And what this man hears stronger, louder, dearer seems somehow to be Eddie, the song he sings from the chest, in how it’s causing those caramel eyes to glimmer, and to barely blink lest they miss something in just…Eddie.

“You never stopped,” the man says with urgency, with feeling; “your song never stopped,” and then he’s closing his eyes and laying both his hands over his own chest, where Eddie’s heartsong is ringing full and maybe changing his world, because the song in Eddie’s chest sure as hell has already changed his, and—

“It’s extraordinary.”

And Eddie, in years of ridicule, in months of celebration, in all the ups and downs and doubts and hopes this life of songs and hearts and rhythms and beats has left him with, in all of it—

Those two words rewrite his whole fucking being.

“True Note,” Eddie mouths more than speaks before he scoffs; “shit, but that seems like a really fucking inadequate thing to call it,” and his eyes lift to take in the man who he knows, he knows is going to be his magnum opus, or more: is going to write the magnum opus they will be and breathe and share from here to all ends:

“To call you.”

And there’s the clearest sense of a trip in a beat, but who it belongs to isn’t clear, and maybe that’s the reality for them both now: every subtlety of the song is now shared, now theirs.

“You could start with Steve.”

Eddie looks up, breath a little heavy, but the smile on the man’s face is broad and kind of overjoyed, kind of looks like Eddie’s chest feels:

“My name’s Steve.”

And that?

Best damn title for a symphony Eddie’s ever fucking heard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @rebellatlas @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - two (j.yh); section two

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate.one | two (section 1); (*section two) | three | four 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: i hope everyone enjoys this chapter. it's wildly fluffy and wildly romantic, and then deliciously smutty so i hope everyone enjoys. **this part was too long for tumblr's new word count guidelines! please check out the FIRST half of this part, here!

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, allusions to a past ex who pressured her into things she wasn't ready for, anxiety etc., and finally the smut; heavy makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, convos about oral m!receiving, lots of fingering, lots of cock touching, earth shattering soulmate sex, rough sex, soft!dom/pleasure!dom yunho and wide eyed sub!reader, heavy on the dirty talk, HEAVY on the praise. we got a lot of good girls in this one, and good god tagging for gratuitous use of pet names from yunho. lots of missionary and missionary adjacent positions, spooning sex to idk he's on his back and she's on top but laying on him it's hard to describe but by god is it hot please enjoy

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 28.1k

**did you read section one of part two yet? if not, click here!!

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hazy cloud starts to lift. You’re both still shaking, Yunho hiding in your shoulder, his lips brushing against your pulsepoint as he comes back down from his high. Your fingers are locked tightly on his back still, legs pinning him to your pelvis, and it takes time for you to breathe through the last bits of dizziness and start to feel some kind of normal again. 

Finally you feel him exhale out an intentional breath and kiss your shoulder before pressing up on his forearms to look down at you, “Am I crushing you?” He lifts a bit of his body weight off, but you keep your arms locked. 

“Don’t go,” You say, holding him steady. 

He smiles dreamily, and shakes his head, “Not going anywhere,” 

Your legs fall slack on either side of him and you let your hands slide down to rest on his chest, “Good,” 

His eyes flick down over your bodies, to where you’re still connected hip to hip and with the fog of your newly cemented bond lifted, you feel a pang of his concern, “Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head, smoothing your hand over his chest, “Mm-mm,” 

“You sure?” He takes one of your hands in his and gently kisses your knuckles. 

“You would have felt it if you did,” You remind him, “looks like we were right, we really were made for each other,” 

He rolls his eyes and smiles at your soft teasing, “Uh-huh,” 

You thread your fingers with his and tug him back down to where you rest in the pillows, kissing him as you do, “Mm,” you sigh, “do you think it will feel like that every time?” 

“If it does,” He laughs, “I’ll never make it out of this bed, I better resign now,” 

You nudge him, “Not funny,” 

“It’s a little funny,” He kisses you again, “but maybe I should, just keep you right here on my cock all day,” 

You shiver at his words, “And I’m the tease,” 

He laughs a little but squeezes your hand, “If it feels like that every time, I’m not teasing,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly at his words, “Well,” your fingers skate down his chest, “we do have three days,” 

“That’s true,” He murmurs, his brow quirking playfully as he pecks a kiss to your lips, “do you have any objections to me keeping you right here?” 

You shake your head, “We’ll have to eat at some point, though,” 

“I’m pretty sure we can manage having sex in the kitchen,” He nips at your lip.

“My kitchen’s pretty small,” 

“I’m very creative,” He counters, his kisses traveling down your jaw now. 

You sigh, breathy as his tongue catches on your throat, “W-where else?” 

He huffs a laugh, “Shower,” 

“Of course,” 

“Couch,” His teeth tug gently at your earlobe and your muscles flutter and clench. Yunho groans lightly, and you feel his cock start to stiffen up inside you again. 

“And then?” Unconsciously, your legs start to widen just a little more. 

“The wall,” His voice is low and warm in your ear, “how see-through is that window, anyways?” 

Your eyes roll and you twitch under him, fingers tightening on his skin, “It’s reflective glass, you c-can’t see through it,” 

Yunho hums pleasantly, sucking at the pulsepoint of your neck and sending a shock of heat down your body, and you feel him start to stiffen up inside you again. A little breathy sound bubbles from your lips, and his hips grind down into yours just a little. His jaw tightens, muscles tense, and you feel him rock hard again and pressing insistently at all your sweet spots. 

“A-again?” You shiver. 

“Baby,” He sighs and chuckles, “all night,” 

Part of you thinks he’s kidding about that, but with that look in his eyes you know he’s more than serious. 

“Usually I’d need a little bit,” He admits, shifting up to his knees and dragging his hands down your body, “but you make me crazy,” 

You nod, moaning as his cock shifts inside you with the position change. Nothing has ever filled you like this, felt like this. The stretch is delicious, the way he seems to reach the tenderest places in your cunt that makes you see stars. The dizziness from the bonding a moment ago has dissipated, but the searing heat is still there, and you shiver, his fingertips skating over your tattoo before his hands find a home on your hips. 

“What do you say, baby? Can you take me again?” His hips pulse slowly, a torturous drag in and out to tease you. 

“Fuck yes,” You moan, one hand flying up to the wall behind you to brace yourself. 

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulses his hips again, punching a surprised moan from your throat, “exactly like that, I’m addicted to that sound.” 

He’s so verbal now that you’re not both swimming in the sensation of your newly forged bond, that night on the phone really was just a glimpse into who your partner is behind closed doors, his idol persona left on the concert hall floor. 

”J-just like that,” You nod, gripping the sheets. 

“Like that?” He teases, dragging you down onto his cock with his hands on your hips, “Yeah?” 

You moan again, “Harder,” 

“Fuck,” He curses, hands tight, sure to bruise, “we’re going to be so good together, aren’t we?” 

Before you can respond, he answers your plea with his hips, picking up the pace so that each pulse forward is met with the drag down of your body, connecting your bodies with firm, sharp snaps, the sound wet and wanton. 

“Y-yes, yes,” You all but sob, pleasure arcing through your belly and a fresh sheen of sweat breaking over your brow. 

Yunho groans, roughly fucking into you in just the way you needed, his body slick with sweat and glistening in the low light, his muscles flexing and relaxing with every snap of his hips. 

His mouth falls open, thumbs digging into your belly where he grips your waist, “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” 

Your cunt clenches, “You feel so good,” 

“That’s my good girl,” He breathes, his eyes hazy and lips parted as he watches you coming apart beneath him. 

You moan hard at the praise, your belly fluttering and clenching at the memory of how he talked to you that first time. You’ve thought of it dozens of times, desperate for exactly this, “Yes,” you whine, “I love when you call me that. Love when you talk to me like that,” 

Yunho shudders, his hips stuttering in pace and he groans, “Yeah?” 

“Don’t stop,” You reach for him, nails brushing over his skin as you try to get your hands on him. 

“Not stopping,” He assures you, but his hips do slow as he says, “what else do you like, hmm?” 

You can feel his curiosity, and his arousal too, the way he wants to know every button that makes you tick. Your slick channel pulses around his cock and you sigh in the sheets, “What do you think I like?” 

A half smile quirks his lips and he slows his pace to a stop, “Are you trying to tease me?” 

Your cheeks heat, caught under the exactness of his gaze and the rolling ripple of arousal through your body. 

“Cute,” He murmurs again, but he rolls his hips once hard to make you moan, “so pretty when you moan for me,” 

“God,” You have to pull your eyes away. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He brushes your hips with gentler hands. 

“I’m not,” You drop a hand over your face.  

“You’re blushing, baby,” His fingers loop under yours and pull your hand away from your eyes. 

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t turn you on,” You counter, “I can feel you,” 

“Oh?” He quirks a brow, rolling his hips, “You can feel me?” 

“Shut up,” You groan, flutters rolling through your abdomen.

“Let’s see if I can make you really embarrassed, hmm?” 

“Yunho,” You manage, but you’re caught under him, the press of his hips and the firm pressure of his hands.

”You’re mine, right?” His fingers skate over your body as he adjusts himself onto his knees between your splayed open thighs, “You trust me?” 

Anticipation buzzes inside you, your mouth running dry. In this position you’re completely exposed, his eyes raking over your every inch, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips with his tongue, your breath quickens

“Do you?” He prompts softly. 

“Y-yes,” 

He smirks a little, and then he settles on his heels and squeezes your thighs, “You like when I grab you,” he says, “I can feel your little jolt of excitement every time I do this.” He squeezes again for good measure, and just like he said your stomach jumps. 

“You’re my soulmate,” You sigh, “of course I like it when you touch me,” 

“Mm,” He nods, his hands skating up your skin until he’s cupping your breasts, “fair, how about this?” 

You soften, “That’s nice,” 

“And this?” He squeezes a little and you swallow to keep your composure, but when he finds both your nipples with his thumb and forefinger to give them a gentle pinch, you pant, “This?” 

He watches your eyes go glassy, and you’re sure he can feel the liquid fire pooling in your belly. 

He pinches them again, this time adding a little more pressure and tugging them upwards a bit before he releases. 

You moan sharply, fingers locking down on the bedding beneath you at the sharp zing that passed from your chest to your achingly neglected clit. 

“Is that nice, baby?” He tugs again, “Or am I being too rough with you?” 

He’s teasing you, and you shiver, “Not too rough,” 

The muscle in his jaw tightens but he lets that pass, cataloguing it and moving on, “And I think we’ve already established you like my hands,” 

“No surprise there,” You sigh. 

“My fingers?” He slides his hands up, and your heart starts to beat faster in your chest. Yunho settles one broad hand at the base of your throat, his fingers circling your neck gently. He doesn’t apply any pressure, but the way his thumb and index finger brace each side of your jaw has you trembling in his hold. 

You swallow, throat bobbing against his palm. 

“You do,” He murmurs, his voice a little rougher. With his opposite hand, he ever so gently touches your lips with the pads of his fingers, and like you’ve done it for him a thousand times before you let your mouth fall open. 

He drags his fingers over the curve of your lower lip again, and your cunt spasms around his cock where it's still buried inside you. He smiles at your reaction and then he hooks two of his fingers over your lip, resting on your teeth. 

You gasp sharply, your tongue pressing against the pads of his fingers. 

He waits, his patience a challenge, and then you melt. You dip your head forwards to accept his fingers into your mouth, letting them slide back on your tongue, your lips closing around them so that when you drag your head back you can suck them just a little. 

You can taste yourself on his skin and he groans, “Good girl,” 

Your core clenches again, but as his fingers slip free from your mouth you pulse your muscles again to tease him this time, “You’re easier to read than you think,” you tell him, “I know what you like too.” 

He smiles, full of cheek, and shifts back to roll his hips, “Yeah?” He slides his hand down, spreading it wide over your belly, “I like being inside you,” 

“You like,” You start but he shakes his head.

”I like being buried so deep I can feel it here,” He presses down with the heel of his hand and thrusts forwards, driving his cock into you, and the tight sensation of his cockhead punching into your g-spot leaves you moaning, all teasing forgotten at the sudden sensation of pleasure at his hands. 

Yunho drops over you properly now, gathering you back into his arms and pushing your legs back open wide with a tilt of your hips. He kisses you hard and then his hips start to pulse, “I like knowing this little pussy belongs to me,” 

“Oh, fuck,” You grip down hard on his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” He tips you back, rolling into you, “open up for me,” 

You moan hard, arching into him. 

“Fuck,” He curses low in your ear, “sweetheart, you feel incredible,” 

You nod into his shoulder, “S-so do you, don’t stop,”

“The best thing I’ve ever felt in my life” He manages. 

“Yunho, god,” 

“That’s right,” He slips a hand under our leg, sliding up the back of your thigh to pin you open, “so good,” 

Hot need arcs up your spine, belly tight with burgeoning pleasure, and you shudder a broken sob into his skin, “Please, please,” 

He thrusts hard, groaning with every jut of his hips, “Fuck,” he pants, “you want to know what I really like?” 

“Yes, yes,”

”I like you like this,” His kisses travel over your slick skin, “messy, begging for me,” 

“For you,” You babble almost mindlessly. 

“I like you coming,” He moans, “I could watch you come forever,” 

“Fuck, god,” Your head falls back to the mattress. 

“I want to make you lose yourself,” His pace steadies, and he drops his hand from your leg to the sheets for better leverage, “I want to watch you go so cockdrunk you don’t even know what sounds you’re making, how loud you’re being for me,” 

“Yunho, oh my god,” Your moan is rough, deep in your chest. 

He drops his forehead to your hair and nods, “Exactly like that,” 

Your body is starting to move on its own, your thighs trembling, and your hips canting upwards to catch more friction on your clit as he fucks you, and you whine in heady need. 

In a flash, his hips lock down hard, your body arching into his chest as you start to see the bursts of color behind your tightly shut eyes, but he doesn’t stop moving. Yunho grinds down, rocking his hips to give you extra pressure, and with needy jerks of your body you hump artlessly up into him, pleasure rolling up from your clit as he cock sits heavy and thick inside you. 

His lips connect with your ear as he drops his body weight over you, hands gathering you close, “That’s it, greedy girl,”

Sparks roll up your spine and you moan into his shoulder. 

“That’s it,” His hand slips down and cups your ass as you shudder, “take it, take it,” 

You gasp sharply, nails digging into his shoulders, “Oh, god, oh fuck,” 

“There she is,” He says hot at your cheek, his face leaving heavily against yours, “there’s my girl,” 

You moan, and he circles his hips, grinding deeper.

“You like taking every inch of me, baby?” He flicks your nipple sharply, “You like knowing you were made for me?” 

Your orgasm feels like it’s a breath away, ready to pull you open in a snap, and you sob beneath him, “M-more,” your head falls back as you scramble beneath him, heels digging into the mattress as you arch and try to bring yourself up and over the edge. 

“Come for me,” He kisses you, wet, fast, “come on babygirl,” 

“Ah, ah,” You press your eyes tight, holding him like a lifeline as you reach for it, “p-please, I want to come for you so bad,” 

“That’s it,” 

The pressure in your body builds, but you can’t reach it, and you ache to push your hands between your thighs. In a flash, his hands pulse on your skin, and he kisses you once more before pushing up and away from your body and drawing his cock halfway out of your aching center. 

“No, no,” You reach for him, eyes fluttering open in the hazy dim. 

On his knees once again he starts to rub your clit, his thumb pressing firm circles, the slick sound of it making your eyes roll back. 

“God,” You curse, a ripple of pleasure running through you like a spasm. 

He licks his lips, watching your face intently as he works your swollen bud, “Yeah? Do you need this to come?” 

The husky tone of his voice makes it sound like dirty talk, but you know he’s also asking for real, learning your body for the first time. You nod, “Usually, but, it’s not,”  

“Shh,” He pulls back, sliding his cock out of your wet warmth and kissing your knee before letting your legs fall slack to the mattress and shifting to your side, “I want to give you what you need,” 

“You are,” You tell him as he kisses you, nuzzling into you. 

“I can feel it,” He reminds you as he slides behind you, spooning you now and caging you in with his arms, “I know what you need, let me give it to you,” 

You shudder, melting as his hands slide over your body, “Mm,” you sigh, “I was j-just going to say I don’t think I need it with you,”

“But it’s better?” He asks, lifting your leg and hooking a hand under your knee. 

You angle your hips with an arch of your back, opening yourself to him, and gasp as he directs his cock back into your slick hole, “N-no,” You manage, “I don’t know,” 

He kisses your shoulder, “Let’s find out,” 

With a swift punch of his hips forwards he seats himself again and you moan, gripping down on the pillow under your cheek. 

“There we go,” He croons and you moan into his bicep. He hums, fingers teasing your slit as he pushes in and out, “is it better because I’m bigger?” 

“Yunho!” You gasp as he thrusts again, head falling back against the top of his chest. 

“Do I hit your sweet spots, jagi?” His voice is hoarse with his own need. 

“Yes, god,” You moan. 

“Tell me,” His middle finger finds your clit again, “say it,” 

You babble a response through a taut moan, “You’re so big,” 

“And?” He bites down on your shoulder, rubbing faster.

“You’re the,” You gasp as his hips punch back and forth sharply, “oh, fuck, yes, you’re the biggest cock I’ve ever had,” 

“Good girl,” He moans, “that’s my good girl,” 

Hot pleasure rolls through you at his words and you whine. 

“Feels good?” He teases. 

“So good,” You manage, “so, so good,” 

“Let go,” He kisses your cheek, gritting his teeth to focus on working you with his fingers an the steady pulse of his hips at the same time, “let it go and come,” 

Your hand flies to his forearm, gripping onto him as you cry out, and he pants behind you, kissing any part of your skin he can reach in this position.

“Good girl,” He murmurs low, “just hold onto me,” 

He slides his other hand from your knee to your hip to brace you steady and then he starts to adjust the pace of his hips, still slow, but firmer now so that every snap of his hips strikes a wet smacking drumbeat through the room as he circles his fingers on your slick clit. 

Heat rockets through you, your nails digging into his forearm, and then you feel it. Just a little more will take you right over the edge, and you choke out a breathless moan, “Please, please,” 

“Come,”

Your stomach tightens, legs trembling, and when it hits you crack open in his arms. The wave takes you just the same as before, and distantly through the ringing in your ears, you can hear the muttered pleas of Yunho as he feels the rush of your pleasure through the bond.

You’re boneless, both of you shaking, and then he wraps his arms around you properly and rolls onto his back, your body laid prone across his chest. His cock stays deep inside your pulsing core as you turn, but with a hiss he jerks his hips back and pulls out. 

“Baby, oh my god,” Your chest is heaving, and you reach back for him, finding his cheek. 

He’s quiet, shuddering beneath you.

“You didn’t come?” You manage, still breathless.

He shakes his head against yours, “Don’t want this to end too soon,” 

“We have days,” You tell him, “now please, I want you to feel good,” 

His hands tighten on your hips as he weighs your words, and then with a slow shift of his hips you feel his cock start to press at your entrance again. He slips home with ease, and you moan at the sudden stretch of him again, his cock thick and pulsing with his almost orgasm. 

“I,” He pulses his hips once and groans, “oh, I’m not going to last,” 

“Don’t stop,” You urge him again, “please, just take me,” 

He moans, his stomach tightening, and then he starts to move.

He’s pumping in and out of you now, pinning your back to his chest with his arms banded around you as he rolls his hips and you can feel the tether in him start to fray. He’s getting close, but even without the bond you’d know it. His breath is thready, a hot pant against your ear, and your bodies slide together with slick sweat. 

He feels unreal, stretching you wide with every rhythmic stroke, but you feel his heart hammer when your legs start to fall closed, your walls tightening around him. 

“You’re mine,” He breathes, “s-so beautiful for me,” 

“All yours,” You sigh, and this time with intention you draw your thighs tight together. 

The position is tangled, muscle straining and almost an accident, but suddenly his cock has never felt bigger or thicker or perfectly positioned to hit that spot again and again. He groans, and holds your hips firmly to bounce you back down into every thrust as he chases his release.

Your head falls back over his shoulder, and you reach up to brace yourself on the wall behind your heads, your other hand still cupping his cheek and holding his face to yours. 

“Shit,” He curses, “so tight, fuck, babygirl,” 

You moan, “Please, yes, yes,” 

“So tight and,” he babbles against your cheek, “fuck, still taking every inch of me,” 

“So deep,” You gasp as his pace increases, and your eyes slam shut, a bubbling snap of pleasure rolling up your spine.

”God, I’m,” He shudders, moaning in earnest now, “b-baby, I’m close,” 

You feel his need, suddenly striking you through the unmasked connection of the bond, and though he doesn’t ask you for anything, beg you at all, you know exactly what to give him. 

You moan, arching your back to take his cock inside just a little more with every stroke, “Yunho,” your fingers lace into his hair and you turn your head to find his ear, “come,” 

He huffs, fingers pressing bruises into your hips.

”I’m all yours,” You tell him, voice husky, “this pussy is all yours, all yours,” 

“Mine,” His hips snap harder, a punishing pace, and you feel the taut edge of his pleasure. 

“Made for your cock, baby,” 

“Fuck,” 

“No one’s ever fucked me like this,” You pant, knowing exactly what your words will do to him. 

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

”C-come inside me,” You beg, “make me yours,” 

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his hips erratic, “Mine, mine,” 

“Yes, baby, please,” You rock your hips, taking over the rolling motion where he’s started to falter. 

“I’m,” His words are cut off with a groan, and his hips slam up twice more before he holds himself in deep and you feel the hot sensation of his cum pumping inside you. 

His orgasm yanks you down into your own in an unexpected flash of sensation, your vision fuzzy, head dizzy, and your body jerks in ecstatic fits and starts as you moan, wanton and wordless in his ear. 

“One more,” He murmurs, recovering from his own heady orgasm faster than you, his hand pushing between your locked thighs, middle finger circling on your pulsing clit, “just one more,” 

Your hips jerk with overstimulation and you whine, “I can’t,”

”Yes,” He kisses your forehead, bracing your body with one and while his other blissfully tortures your aching cunt, “come on, sweetheart,” 

“Yunho, oh, oh, God,” Your orgasm stretches, his fingers cresting you straight up into another shuddering peak. 

His body curls around you, dipping to the side when you jerk, holding you into his chest as he works you through it. The sound of his tender voice carries you up, “There we go,” he croons, “oh, god I love you,” 

“C-Coming,” Is all you can manage, and your body folds in on itself, your orgasm white hot and almost painful. 

He shudders as he feels you finish, and slows his fingers, “Good girl, come. I love you so much, can you feel me inside you, baby?” 

You manage a nod, moaning into the sheets, riding it out with rocks of your hips until it turns from pleasure to sharp overstimulation and you whine, pushing his hand away. 

“I got you,” He wraps you up tight, spooning you from behind, “shh, you’re okay,” 

Trembling, you pull his arms to your chest, using him as your anchor as he shifts his hips and finally uncouples your bodies.

“You’re okay,” He repeats, “just breathe,” He kisses your hair softly, soothing you with gentle touches as your breath returns. 

“M-mhm,”

”You’re perfect,” His lips travel to your shoulder, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You murmur, resting your lips on his knuckles. 

“Love you, love you,” He mutters against your skin, and you sink into him, a contented smile on your lips. 

You lay wrapped up together for what feels like hours, both of you coming back into your bodies slowly. His arms slacken, and you slowly roll onto your front, cheek against the cool sheets as you recover from the whirlwind of bonding.

He murmurs sweetness against your spine, massages circles into your hips, and little by little your mind reconnects too. 

Yunho sidles down in the bed, cuddling you from behind, “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head a little but you say, “Maybe a little,” 

“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll fix you something,” He says, even though it’s your apartment. 

You smile and shake your head again, “Five more minutes?” 

He kisses your shoulder and you feel him nod, “Five more minutes,” 

Cocooned in his warmth, and in the perfection of your bed, you let yourself relax. 

More than five minutes have come and gone when he finally speaks again. Yunho’s fingers skate up and down your spine, slowly tracing each vertebrae like he’s making a mental map of you, “When did you get your first one?” 

“Hmm?” You sigh, looking slightly over your shoulder at him. 

“Tattoo,” He clarifies, now ghosting his touch over the large crane on your back, “you have so many, but when did you start?” 

You stretch in the sheets, and roll towards him, shifting onto your back now and twisting your arm to show him the delicate lines of your first tattoo, English script in faded black. desire.

He passes the pad of his thumb over the lettering and the corner of his mouth quirks up. 

“Not because of the song,” You laugh softly, “I was seventeen,” 

“Hmm,” He lets his fingers travel up, studying more of your lines of ink, “young,” 

He traces the lines of the flowers, the fan, the stippled black and gray twisting across your skin. 

“I know,” You tug the sheet up a little higher, tucking it around your naked body to ward off some of the chill of your apartment, “I just wanted to do something reckless for once, but then once I started,” 

He nods, listening, waiting for more. 

“I think I wanted to get under my parent's skin,” You admit, “they were already so disappointed in me, so I thought why not give them something to be really disappointed in?” 

He frowns a little, a crease between his brows, “I hate that you felt like that,” 

“I’m okay now,” You promise him, “Hana and I rarely see them, just holidays and phone calls on birthdays, that kind of thing.” 

He nods, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Still,” 

You give him a tiny shrug, and you find yourself reaching up to your soul mark and brushing it, “For a while I was just running, from them and then from this,” 

“Your mark?” He asks softly.

 You nod, “It was a reminder of that house, of how much they didn’t believe in it. They never even wanted Hana and I to daydream about it, to wonder what it would be like to find our soulmate. They were so set on us following the path they laid out, and for a long time the mark was a reminder of what I wasn’t supposed to want.” 

He swallows tightly, and you feel his discomfort at your words, the flicker of anger in his gut. 

“I’m alright,” You continue, “but the tattoos started like that. First something to provoke them, and then something to distract myself from seeing this. I thought about covering it, but,” 

“You did?” His eyes widen. 

“I considered it,” You tuck your hand in his and give him a squeeze, “but then I realized that the farther I got from believing this could happen for me, the closer I got to what they wanted all along,” 

He studies your expression for a moment and then scoots closer, tucking your bodies together and cupping your cheek, “When did you start believing it could happen again?” 

You remember it so clearly, the pact you made with Iseul, the lines you wrote in your journal that year. You smile and look up at him, “When I got the job at KQ, Iseul and I went out for celebratory drinks when I received the offer letter,” 

His expression softens, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

”I decided it was time to grow up,” You explain, “so we agreed that we would date, have fun, and keep looking for the one, but we’d never settle down for less than our soulmate, no matter how long it took to find them.” 

Yunho dips towards you, kissing you tenderly, “I love you,” 

Tucking into his chest you nod, “I love you too,” 

His arms loop around you, cuddling you so that you’re nestled into his warmth, “For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, his fingers carding through your hair, “however you came to them, they’re beautiful, you’re beautiful,” 

A brief flicker of tears pricks the back of your eyes and you press a kiss to his sternum, “Thank you,” you kiss him again, “I love them now, and now I get them for myself,” 

He hums, nodding with his lips on the crown of your head, nuzzling you gently. 

For a moment it’s quiet, just your heart and his beating in time against each other, but then your stomach tightens as you realize something you’ve been neglecting.

 You sigh heavily, “I need to call Hana,” 

“You haven’t told her?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer.

 “No, have you told your brother?” 

His hand stills on your back, “I texted him,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “You texted him?” 

He nods, “Is that alright?” 

“Of course,” You say in a rush, “I just, I don’t know, I’m surprised.” 

“We don’t see each other often,” Yunho says, “but we’re close. It felt strange not telling him something this big in my life,”

You nod, “Exactly.” 

He brushes a hand up and down the length of your back again and then starts to untangle his body from yours, “How about this, can I use your shower?” 

“Sure,” You’re about to tell him where it is, all the little quirks, but he keeps going.

”After, I’ll run back to my place and pick up things for the next few days,” You strangely hate the idea of him leaving, but you know that was always part of the plan considering he didn’t bring anything with him, “while I’m busy give her a call,”

”It’s late,” You find yourself protesting. 

He smiles, “It’s not, you’re nervous,”

You rub at your chest, feeling the curl of anxiety there, “Yeah,” 

“She loves you,” Yunho reminds you as he pulls himself out of bed, “and she knows what having a soulmate feels like, she’s going to be so happy for you, for us.” 

“You’re right,” You breathe.

 “I know you miss her,” He adds softly, “and I know you want to tell her, let me give you the space to do that.” 

Warmth expands in your chest and all you can do is nod. 

He smiles wide, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then he stretches, “Alright, shower’s this way?” Yunho nods towards the obvious path towards the bathroom. 

You nod again, and he sighs, “Perfect,” 

He disappears down the hall and for a brief moment you’re alone with your thoughts. You let your gaze go unfocused towards the ceiling, and you just feel for a moment. You feel different, lighter and heavier at the same time, like all the cells in your body turned over at once, but the knotted rope between you and him feels thicker, corded, braided, unbreakably sure. 

For the first time in weeks, all of a sudden, you feel like you can call her. 

You rub your chest again, rolling out of bed and making your way across the lofted bedroom on slightly shaky legs before finding your robe on its familiar hook and wrapping it around yourself, a smooth silk in floral and dark red. With a deep breath, you pin up your hair and find your phone. The sound of running water comes through the bathroom door, so you make your way downstairs for a bit of privacy and to get a cool glass of water. Once you’re tucked into the familiar corner of your couch with a downy blanket over your lower half, you find Hana’s contact in your phone and you call. 

She picks up after a few rings, “Hello?” 

“Hey,” 

“Was your flight delayed?” She asks, her bright voice soothing you instantly, “You always call me when you get in,” 

“It wasn’t delayed,” You tell her honestly. 

“Ah,” She says, “did you crash immediately? Take a crazy nap? You know that will fuck with adjusting back to the time zone,” 

“Hana,” You sigh, and all at once you wish he was next to you. 

“I know, I know,” She makes a sound, tongue against teeth, “I’m just saying,”

  “I didn’t sleep, or I mean, I did on the plane,” 

“That’s good,” You hear glasses clinking on her side of the line.

  “What are you up to, am I interrupting?” You ask.

  “Hmm?” She says as if she didn’t hear you, and then corrects, “No, sorry, nothing really just some chores,” 

“Oh, good, I thought it might be too late to call,” You admit.

  “It’s only nine,” Hana says and you can practically picture her eye roll. 

Upstairs the sound of your shower taps turning off draws your attention and your eyes flick up to the landing. 

“So, your flight was okay?” Your sister’s voice in your ear brings you back to the present and you nod. 

“Yeah, listen,” 

“Oh,” She cuts you off, “Em wants to know how you liked Paris, you didn’t post anything on Instagram she was devastated,”

  Em, Emmanuelle, Hana’s wife and your sister-in-law, born in Korea but half French on her mother’s side, who spent every summer in Lyon. Of course she would want to know how your first trip to France was, and your head was so wrapped up in Yunho you didn’t even think to text her.

  “I loved it,” You tell your sister honestly, “so much, I’ll send you both some pictures as soon as,” 

“You better,” Hana interjects again, “Em’s right here she’s asking if you had time to see the city?” 

“A little, but, Hana,” 

The door upstairs opens, and Yunho quietly pads back to your lofted bedroom, one of your white towels slung low around his hips. His hair is wet, mussed from rubbing a towel through it, his chest pink from the hot water and steam. Just seeing him makes you feel at ease, and he meets your eyes, “You okay?” He whispers. 

You nod, and he searches for his clothes strewn all over the floor of your bedroom. 

“Hana, what?” Your sister prompts, and you realize it’s not the first time she’s said it, “y/n, are you okay? You sound weird,”

Suddenly, you’re deep in a memory. Hana’s tear streaked face in the hallway of your first apartment, a backpack on her shoulder and a defiant jut to her chin. Sixteen years old and standing her ground more firmly than you ever had in your life up to that point, the strength in her voice when she told you she found her soulmate and she wasn’t going to give her up. 

“y/n?” Hana says again, concern laced through her voice. 

You find Yunho on the landing, watching as he rubs a towel over his hair again, and the words finally tumble out, “I found him,” 

“You, what?” She asks, confused.

  “Hana,” His eyes flick to yours and you find yourself smiling, blush creeping back into your cheeks, “I found him,” 

The penny drops, “Oh my god,” 

”I know,” You reply, and Yunho grins, watching you from the landing.

  “Oh my god?” Hana all but shrieks and you laugh as she reacts, calling to Emmanuelle, voice muffled briefly as she shifts the phone. 

“I know,” You manage. 

“Is he French?” Hana babbles, “That would be insane, that would be crazy if both of us,”

  You duck your head in laughter, “What? No, no he’s not French,” 

“What countries were you in? How the hell did you bump into him - abroad of all places, that’s why it took so long, that’s what I was always saying,” She rambles a mile a minute, and it’s always so hard to slow her down once she gets going, barely taking a breath between sentences. 

“Hana,” You cover your mouth with your hand, “Hana, he’s not foreign, he’s Korean,” 

Yunho’s still smiling as he comes down the stairs, but he’s not dressed to leave, he’s dressed comfortably in just his t-shirt and his boxer briefs. Relief fills you with the knowledge that he’s not about to leave, and he watches you quietly as you try to navigate your sister as she jumps from conclusion to conclusion. 

  “That’s even crazier,” She says, “how the hell did you bump into another Korean outside of Korea while you were working constantly?” 

“Let her tell the story,” You hear Em’s voice in the background. 

“Am I on speaker?” You laugh. 

“You are now,” Em replies this time, “hi, y/n,” 

“Hey Emmie,” 

“I have your sister restrained,” She says, but you hear an irritated huff from Hana, “now, tell us what’s going on and this time Hana’s going to listen,” 

“Shut up,” Hana gripes quietly, with no real malice. 

“You love me,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hana says, “alright, I’m sorry, I’m listening,” 

Yunho waits patiently, but the moment you reach for him, he crosses from the foot of your stairs to your place on the couch. He had felt it, how much you needed him here, that much you’re sure of when he twines your fingers together. With his touch as a tether, you finally tell them, “I didn’t bump into someone random, and you cannot say ‘I told you so’,” you start off, “but, it’s Yunho. My soulmate is Yunho,” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the call. Hana is rarely stunned silent, but you wait. She knows the group well, from her teasing when you first started there all the way through listening to you tell her stories about work. There’s no doubt in your mind that she remembers your quietly guarded crush. 

“Is he treating you well?” She finally asks, emotion thread in her voice. 

“Yes,” You breathe.

  “And you love him?” 

“Yes,” 

She pauses, “And he,” 

“Yes, Hana,” You roll your eyes, but feel the rush of tears, “obviously,” 

Yunho brushes his thumb over your knuckles and gives you a squeeze. 

“God,” Hana says with a little gasp, “you’re bonded already, aren’t you?” 

You slide a little to the right to get closer to him, “We are,” you confess. 

For a moment you brace yourself, nervous at her reaction to not being told sooner, especially after everything you’ve been through together. At the anxious tumble of your stomach, Yunho separates your hands and reaches around to pull you into his chest and presses a kiss to your temple. 

All your fears disappear in a matter of seconds. Hana laughs sharply and then she’s right back to herself, “Oh my god, I don’t care I have to say it, I told you so.” 

You grin, a few tears spilling over, “Hey,” 

“When have you ever had a crush that lasted longer than a day?” She exclaims, “I knew it,” 

“Hana!” It’s Em who exclaims this time, taking the words right out of your mouth and you fall apart into laughter. 

Yunho laughs too, softly against your hair and you blush and cover your cheek with your hand at the knowledge he can hear your sister’s teasing words. 

“I’m just saying I knew,” 

“God, stop,” You curl into yourself, your face in Yunho’s neck, “you’re embarrassing me,” 

“Holy shit,” Hana exclaims, “is he there?” 

Yunho slides his hand over your thigh and smoothly shifts you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you, and you sigh, “Yeah, he’s here,” 

“You sound so happy it’s freaking me out,” 

“I am happy, Hana,” You confess, “I’m really, really happy.”

She takes a breath and you can hear the emotion caught in her voice too, “When can I come up to Seoul? We’re overdue for a visit,”

“Soon,” You promise her. 

“The minute you’re free,” She says, “Em and I will make the time, you just say when,”

“I’ll look,” You nod, relaxing into Yunho’s hold, “but soon, I promise.” 

“I want to meet him,” She insists.

“He wants to meet you both too,” You tell them, and Yunho nods against you. 

“His schedule must be crazy, but,”

“Han,” Em interrupts, and you can practically see your sister in law calming her wife with gentle hand motions. 

“I should go,” You finally say into the phone, “but I miss you,” 

Yunho’s hand smooths up and down your back.

“I miss you too, Hani-ya,” You haven’t called her that in years, your beloved little sister who grew up too fast, but the familiar affection slips out of you with ease. 

“I love you,” She says, “I’m so happy for you, I’m so,” 

You swallow tightly and find Yunho’s hand again, “I know, it’s how I felt when you told me about Em,” 

Hana laughs, the sound wet with tears, “Oh my god,” she sniffs and you hear her voice muffled as she scrubs the tears from her cheeks, “I knew we’d both find them, mom and dad were too shitty for us not to be happy now,” 

You smile, nodding with your head on Yunho’s shoulder, “That I know for sure,” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, both of you collecting your own emotions, and then Hana sighs, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you go, but let us know about coming up.”

”I will,” 

“And, y/n,” Your sister says, a mischievous edge back in her voice, “tell him he better take care of you, okay? Tell him to pick you first, okay? Every time,” 

Your throat constricts, and Yunho’s lips brush against your forehead. Before you can get your voice back in control to answer her, he does it for you, “Tell her I already have, I will,” 

You clear the emotion from your throat, “Did you hear that?” 

“Yeah,” Hana manages.

 “He’s got me,” You tell her honestly, “I promise,” 

Hana takes a breath, “Good,” she sniffles, “now stop talking to me and go get laid or something, if we keep talking I’ll keep crying,” 

You laugh a little at your sister’s attempt at deflection, “Yeah, or something,” 

“I love you, I’ll see you so soon, okay?” Hana says. 

“Soon,” You promise again. 

“Bye, unnie,” Em cuts in, affection in her voice, “we are so, so happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” You smile, “I’ll send you some pictures of France, I’m so sorry I forgot before,” 

“Ah, that’s okay,” Em says warmly, “I think you had better things to focus on,” 

Yunho squeezes your hand. 

“Take care,” She says, “we’ll see you soon,” 

“You too,” 

Em ends the call, and you let your phone slip back into your lap, letting out a sigh of relief and exhaustion against him. 

Yunho stays quiet for a moment, giving you a second of space, and then he kisses you and leans down to find your eyes, “Baby?” 

“Yeah,” 

“You okay?” He murmurs. 

You nod, pressing your lips to his and sinking into him, “I am,” you reply softly when the kiss breaks, “thank you for staying,” 

“I realized I couldn’t go tonight,” He says, “I need to be with you a while longer,” 

You squeeze his hand still laced in yours.

Yunho’s eyes are glassy with his own unshed tears, and he swallows and blinks to get himself together before he brings your knuckles to his lips and gives you a tender kiss, “I will, by the way,” he says gently, “pick you first,” 

You know what he’s talking about, his life in the public eye and his new life with you behind the scenes. You feel his honesty, his confidence, the truth in his words, and all you can do is shake your head. You never want him in that position, especially after everything he’s worked for, “You won’t have to.” 

“But I will,” He promises it to you like a vow, sealing it with a kiss, “I always will.” 

“I will too,” You whisper, “I’m not giving this up,” 

“You won’t have to,” He echoes, a soft smile on his lips. 

His kisses are soft, tender now, and he holds you close as he reminds you of all the ways he loves you. Your quiet apartment cocoons you together, a pause in time just for tonight. Night ticks by and Seoul moves outside, but in each other’s arms you stay still, a stone jetty holding steady in the push and pull of the tide. 

[captain-joongz]

Dragonheart; Masterlist

Pairing: OT7 dragon!BTS x knightess!reader

Genre: dragon rider AU, high fantasy, soulmate adjacent, slight enemies to lovers (if you squint), angst, fluff and humour, eventual smut

Summary: The Gong-li Empire has been on the peak of its power for a little over a millenium, and there was a very simple reason for that - dragonkind. When the first emperor of the Li Dynasty struck a deal with a witch that would allow him to bind dragons to the crown and force them into obedience, it was the beginning of its reign of terror and the end of freedom for creatures as old as nature itself.

Now, a woman hoping to change everything enters the ranks of the elite dragon rider unit among the imperial army and meets seven men that not only change her life, but help her change the fate of the whole world.

Warnings and themes: unhealthy family dynamics, fighting against corruption and inequality, revolution, discussions and themes of slavery/sex slavery and forced bondings, violence, war, near death experiences, challenging relationship dynamics, angst, discussions of mortality and death, mating cycles (yes, i'm a slut, thank u), knotting (bc i said so), enough puns and jokes about riding to make you sick of me - each chapter will have it's individual warnings

Current word count: 35.9k

A/N: i've been really craving some good fantasy lately and i'm so in love with dragons, so of course i had to write something for our boys! for this setting, kind of imagine a fusion of asian and western fantasy, the same with clothing - it's going to be a mix of both together. also i'm doing whatever i want with the boys' hairstyles so it's different eras all mashed together, just based on what i liked the most

○ Chapter 1: On the wind of morning

⇝ The first encounter between a girl and a dragon. ⇜

○ Chapter 2: The moon hangs heavy

⇝ When meeting the thunder is bittersweet and family is complicated. ⇜

○ Chapter 3: Prove your heart

⇝ How far does a girl have to go to gain a dragon's trust? ⇜

Character studies

Notes to chapters:

Story lore: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

Dictionary: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open): @stxrrielle @hobicakess @comicnerd557 @11thenightwemet11 @socksfirst1

@dachshunddame @channiespup @danielle143 @borahaetelevision @kingofbodyrolls

@jungshaking @futuristicenemychaos @ah2002 @tadomikiku @ambsv

@silscintilla @anaspectoflife @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @uniquecutie-puffs @starlight-1010

@authorpj @anjoellamorte @ami7-12bts @foreverddaeng @silscintilla

@canarystwin @ldysmfrst @nikkiordonez12 @mysteriousgeminizone @i-like-puppy-mg

@ttttt1re @xthefuckerysquaredx @crispynutella @asillyduck15 @icouldntcareless22

[luveline]

do you have anything more from office frenemies with james? i just read it and i loved it so much

yes! love u ty

—you and James don’t get along until you kind of, sort of do. fem!reader, 1.5k

James listens to the most obnoxious playlist in the mornings. There’s about a fifteen minute window between when he arrives and when the workday officially starts, which coincides exactly with your window. He often gets the same elevator ride, walks a pace beside you, and decides whether he’s going to let the ‘lady’ go first through the door depending on the day. 

That morning, he’d opened the door widely, grinned at you with music blaring loud enough to make a normal person deaf from his earphones, and let you pass. Then he pretended to stick his foot out to trip you up, pulling it back at the last second. 

Jerk, you think, angry even now as he tucks himself into his desk, his earphones still ridiculously loud. He actually, genuinely, is going to get hearing damage. You’re not being bitter. Human ears aren’t meant for that. 

You click onto the workplace Outlook and open a tab on your desktop. How loudly can you listen to music? you google. A few articles appear straight away that fit your purpose —you drag them each into an empty email. Then, smiling to yourself, you find an article on the negative effects of workplace noise pollution and how this sort of selfishness can affect your coworkers’ mental health and add that at the very top. 

To: jamesp@outlook.wpa.uk 

Hi James, 

please find attached a few articles I felt might be important for you to read.

Worst, 

Your unhappy adjacent desk. 

You know he’s received it when he laughs loudly, turning down his music with a few quick clicks on his phone. 

An email comes through to your inbox shortly after.

Hi bestie, 

I’m so so sorry for the noise. Please find attached a few articles I, in turn, felt you might enjoy. 

Best, 

James Potter :) 

He’s attached an irksome variation of articles. Why music can help you get ready for the day. Ten ways workplace friendships are important. Can you really find your soulmate at work? 

You open your personal messaging system. You tend not to use it with James, but this morning he’s winding you up. 

I could report you to HR for that last one, you send. 

He replies quickly. You try very hard not to look up at him from over your desktop. I didn’t mean me. 

You’ll be deaf by thirty. 

Jealous you don’t have such great taste in music? 

Jealous of everyone in the annex. 

Want a cup of coffee?

You meet his gaze finally over the computer, find him already looking at you. You shake your head scornfully. In what world would you ever want him to make you a coffee? He’s never actually offered to make you one before, to be fair, but he’s awful to you so what are you supposed to think? He’ll probably poison it. 

He stands to leave. Remus, the other accountant to complete your trio, arrives while he’s gone with his boyfriend Sirius in tow. They’re also James’ best friends, unfortunately. It makes for some awkwardness. 

“Where is he?” Remus asks you, in the midst of a quick goodbye kiss before Sirius makes his way to his desk further down the office. 

You nibble your lip and give a dispassionate shrug. You hate talking about James. You hate his stupid mess of hair, his reading glasses, his lips when he smiles crookedly and worse when he’s glaring at you. You hate the way he sighs as he clicks his neck, the quick lap he does every other hour complaining of tired legs, the genuine tenderness he shows you whenever you’re sick. You hate James. You don't like to think about him too much lest you get caught, a fish in a net.

Or a fish with a painful hook in its lip. 

“Ah, you’re here,” James says, two cups of coffee in his hand. 

You’re only a little heartbroken when he puts one on his desk and one on Remus’. Didn’t want one anyways. 

Remus grins as James comes up behind him for a rough hug and hair ruffle. “How was last night?” 

“I wish you’d come. Sirius spent all night trying to out drink Marl, you know he can’t, so I spent all night holding his hair out of his face. I wasn’t gonna talk to him this morning, but he was being very pathetic.” 

James laughs. You pretend you aren’t listening to them, pretend you don’t feel left out even if they have no reason to be your friend, clicking at random things on your screen and scrolling through spreadsheets long finished and filed. “You know I couldn’t come, Moony,” —no point starting on their awful nicknames— “what if she needed me?” 

You still. She? 

“James, there’s not much you can do,” Remus says gently. He’s a quiet, soft sort of man, but they’re all so loud about loving one another. “You have to let her… you know.” 

You feel them both looking at you, your gaze steadfast on your screen. 

“Try not to think about it,” Remus says. 

“I’ve been distracting myself,” James agrees. 

Oh, you think. Oh. I’m such a dick. 

“You could go home?” Remus says, putting his face in his hand. “I could cover you.” 

“It’s too much work.” 

“I know, but, you know, I’ll do half, and you’ll only have half to catch up on when you come back.” 

You’re not sure who she is, and you very much still don’t like James Potter, but you're not heartless. He sounds awfully upset, fragility to his voice and a foreign balling of his fist by his hip. “Um,” you say, clearing your throat weakly, “well, with me and Remus, we could cover for you.” 

James’ face is unreadable, looking down at you. “You’d cover for me?” he asks. 

“Your work isn’t exactly hard, James.” 

“But you’d do it?” 

“How long will you be off for?” 

James frowns. “Like, two days?” he says quietly. 

“That’s fine. We can do that,” you say, checking with Remus from around James hip. “Yeah?” 

“Of course,” Remus says quickly. 

James looks at you long and hard. “You’re not kidding?” 

“No, James. Not kidding. You’d do the same for me, right?” 

James leans down to hug you before you can stop him. His arms wrap around your shoulders, a perfectly amicable touch made up of sleeper muscle and the attractive smell of almond oil, nearly sweet, slightly woody. He laughs against your cheek as he pulls away, turning back to Remus for a similar hug. “Thank you. I’ll go tell Danny right now.” He beams at you. His relief is thick as honey, palpable in his warm tone. “Thank you.” 

You can’t look at him very long. 

The memory of his fingers linger, the weight of his arm behind your head. He excuses himself to go talk to your boss, and you and Remus sit in a semi-awkward silence, of which you’re wholly responsible. 

“His cat is dying,” Remus says eventually.

You wince. “Oh, no, really?” you ask. 

“He’s had her since we were kids. It’s really nice of you to do this.”

“I really do think he’d do it for me,” you interrupt. “I’m not, you know, cruel, because we don’t get on.” 

“I know. James knows that too.” 

You want to get defensive. Why does it matter if James knows? But Remus is too nice to argue with, and secretly, strangely, you’d wanted James to know you aren’t mean. You wouldn’t have sent him that email this morning if you’d known, and maybe this is apology enough for that. 

Still, it doesn’t feel right when James returns, gathering his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I will bring you the most amazing desserts of all time as a thank you. I won’t even put your mug on the top shelf the next time I wash it,” James promises you. 

You bat aside the rage of knowing he’s the culprit and instead get out of your seat before he can leave. “Uh, James?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

You look at the floor by his shoes. “About earlier…”

James stands subtly between you and the bulk of the office. “You okay?” 

“I just– I’m sorry for complaining about your earphones. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.” 

“You weren’t insensitive,” he says, “I was being obnoxious. Don’t worry about it, okay?” 

“I–” You hate yourself for all your stammering. “Hope whatever is wrong, that you’re okay. I’ll cover for you for the week if you need me to.” 

“Please stop feeling sorry for me. It looks weird on you. I much prefer you when you’re frowning, you get these super deep wrinkles in your forehead that I just love.” 

You turn away without looking up. “I’m gonna input all your sales information wrong.” 

“And I’m gonna bring you the best donut you’ve ever tasted to say thanks, sweetheart.” 

[impactrueno]

Do you ship beetlebabes?

anon you're one of the three people i woke up to this morning asking if i ship beetlebabes LMAO. so i guess i better address it as thoroughly as i can.

shortest answer i can give you: no. but there's a lot more to it than just that. please read on

as long as it's not kid lydia, i don't care. i'm perfectly at peace with the ship and accept it as an integral part of the fandom (i'll get to that in a second) because this isn't like other ships of its kind. there's a small sector of the shipper side of the fandom that's cuckoo bananas and i don't fuck with that but that's more about those shippers in particular and not the ship itself. and yes, i'm okay with you reblogging my art and tagging it as "beetlebabes" on your blog for your own organization purposes.

i've been lurking the beetlejuice fandom for like 20 years now, so the ship doesn't faze me in the least. especially since i shipped them myself when i was younger, and this isn't a secret or anything i'm ashamed about, because i just never thought that deeply about it back then you know?? i just knew i enjoyed their dynamic in the cartoon a lot. and i'm pretty sure this is the case for most veteran beetlejuice fans because back then 90% of the fan content was beetlebabes. the ship pretty much carried the fandom all throughout the 90s and the 2000s, and the bulk of these shippers was always goth/goth-adjacent women into gothic romances who had crushes on BJ and projected onto lydia. NOT pedophiles or groomers or anything of the sort (and i need to reiterate this every time this stuff comes up because it's really important: do not ever judge whether or not someone is a groomer based only on what they ship because that's only going to put you at risk of being groomed by a "non-problematic" shipper. a groomer can use anything to groom you, even if you're not a minor. please always stay alert no matter what circles you're in. sorry for the PSA i've just seen some stuff and i worry)

the shift in the demographics of the fandom happened when the musical came out in 2019, which brought in a new beetlejuice canon with TONS of new fans who were more attuned to what makes a ship creepy and inappropriate (again, literally no one ever thought about this stuff before the 2010s.) so obviously this new wave of fans were horrified that the ship even existed in the first place. this created a pretty big split in the fandom between shippers and non-shippers. i've been referring to the topic as a hornets nest ever since and it's the reason why i largely keep to myself in my own little corner of the fandom.

as for my feelings about the ship...that shifted a lot through the years. shipped them, then i didn't. then i thought about them again, then i was like nah. eventually i realized that i'm very picky and particular about them and i was never going to feel at home on either side of the fandom so i had to figure out what kind of content i wanted to see, how i see their relationship and if i could create something with that myself since it seemed like no one else was doing it.

so here i am now. the stuff i'm making right now with adult lydia and beej from the cartoon is intended to be "platonic soulmates" since this is what i found to be the closest thing to what i always wanted to see more of, i find it comforting and beautiful and tragically underrated. people are free to interpret it however they wish though, as long as they don't expect me to meet their expectations, because i'll be doing my own thing regardless. i'm not stupid though, i know i managed to put them in a position where they probably could organically develop feelings for each other, and people are inevitably going to be drawn to that potential. so i can't blame the people commenting with "when will they kiss, i hope they get married, etc," i just hope they don't feel to disappointed to learn that i have no plans to explore that far lol (if that's all you were here for then uhhh sorry i guess)

if i ever choose to make something that is actually beetlebabes, i would tag it as such so people know and so people who don't want to see it can block it. maybe i'd even give ample warning beforehand because i wouldn't want to spring that on my followers who are uncomfortable with the ship out of the blue like that.

if you've read my beetleposts you probably already know that i like character studies and analyzing their dynamics, so i don't mind discussing the ship and how or why i think things would be one way or the other. perhaps i'm a bit too lax about it for some people, because i've been asked to tag a couple of analyses that seemingly dipped into beetlebabes territory without me even noticing. that made me realize that what qualifies as beetlebabes varies from person to person, which makes "do you ship beetlebabes" even harder to answer, because people see what they want to see in art. you can ask my non-shipper followers and most will say they don't see anything romantic in my art, but then you ask the shippers and it can be the total opposite. just as everyone does when they watch the source material.

so in conclusion

i don't ship them (any of the canon iterations) romantically but i'm chill with the whole thing as long as people aren't rude to each other in my comments (or to me for that matter) because i'm frankly way too old to give a fuck about these things or all the proship/anti/whatever nonsense

[revelboo]

oh hey- that fic with tf1 megatron and that "pull" between him and reader, is that a spark/soulmates thing or more of an accidental conjunx adjacent kind of bond? cuz either sound really cool nd i know you'll handle whatever it is phenomenally, and thank you for the food

Wasn’t sure how well this sort of snippet would go over, but wanted to write one. It is a spark/soulmate thing based on an idea a friend of mine had about how interconnected a Cybertronian’s spark is to their world. That their spark might suffer and weaken without that connection to stabilize and feed off of. That a spark could bind to a soul to heal itself.

It Had to Be You Pt 6

TFO Megatron x Reader

• What does it say about him that you can work your way into his processor and he can’t get you, a weak, soft little thing, out. That when he enters his quarters, he knows exactly where you are. That your continued resistance bothers him. He’s supposed to be the strongest, the one who’ll tear all the corruption out. Fix Cybertron. What will his forces say when they discover he does have a weakness? That he’s so fascinated with a little human? That he needs you.

• Gritting his denta, he slams his fist into the wall hard enough to crumple the metal. That empty ache is back. It’d been better before he found you, when he’d just been used to that sense of missing something vital. It hadn’t bothered him so bad then. Touching you acts like a balm, making him whole. But only while in contact with you. Whenever he has to leave you, that jarring emptiness rushes back in worse than before. Wearing away at him day by day.

• You’re getting stronger, but you still can’t reach the top of the box he leaves you in like a little kitten. The walls aren’t smooth, but subtly grooved. Less of a handhold than the climbing walls you’d been terrible at as a kid, but with your bare feet and hands you can manage to get about halfway up. You’d dragged your pile of blankets over so that every time you do fall you’re not hurting yourself at least as your muscles strain, sweat slicking your skin. There’s not really a plan beyond escape the box, escape him. Because every day, the need to feel those warm servos on your skin becomes more visceral. You crave that contact and hate it at the same time. He’s done something to you, poisoned you somehow until you need him. Look forward to the next time you’ll see him.

• Door sliding silently open, he stalks over to your enclosure and freezes. Clinging to the side, reaching for a new handhold, you stop moving. Sensing him the same way he’s always aware of you and falling as soon as you meet his optics. The anger is immediate, forcing his servos under into shaking fists. He shouldn’t be surprised that you’re trying to run away. Always fighting him, always resisting. “Where is it you think you’re going to go?” He asks, speaking slowly and deliberately. Focusing on the words not the fury. “Do you really think I won’t just find you again?”

• You stay where you fell in the blankets, because you can’t breathe, can’t move under the weight of that cold, disappointed anger. Because those words tear at you and make you feel guilty for wanting freedom. Craving his touch and fearing it. You can hear his heavy steps as he approaches and you curl onto your side in a tight ball, feeling and hating that sense of belonging that makes you want, need, to reach out to him. Your body betraying you.

• “You still don’t understand,” he growls, reaching in to pick you up and feeling how tense you are, the way you tremble against his servos. Still fighting him even though he knows you can feel that same connection. You have to. He cradles you to his chassis directly over his spark, soaking in the feel of you. Uses a servo to pin your cheek against him even as he needs more. More contact to ground himself, to ease that ache. “You’re mine, little human.”

• The world drops sickeningly and you think he’s dropped you, but you never hit the ground. The world’s gone sideways somehow, your captor smaller but still so much bigger than you. One big hand cupping the back of your head to press your face against his chest. The other arm curled around you, servos tightening on your hip as you try to understand what just happened. Pushing against him to try and get some distance even as your struggling mind comprehends that he’s changed size somehow. That his hands are on you, his grip possessive and so much worse with him closer to your size, because there’s a new awareness of him that you don’t want. The hand at the back of your head shifts, servos tunneling in your hair as that other hand pins you along his frame. His heat soaking into you as you stop struggling, that rightness singing through you even as you want to fight it. Because he’s right, you are his. And you hate it.

Previous Next

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Jan 29th

~*~

1. hello!! for itmf does anyone know any canon divergence fics where wangxian enlopes, or, and leave their respectives sects - not needed, but a bonus, if there is everyone elses reaction to it

thank you!!

An Unforeseen Shift by Remma3760 (G, 142k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, References to Canon, No Golden Core Transfer, JFM and YZY Bashing, Bad Parent JFM, Fix-It of Sorts, JYL is Not Angelic, Not Jiang Family Friendly, NHS is smart, Married WangXian)

🔒the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 105k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)

~*~

2. any fics that have the canon guidao, like that explores wwx cultivation as it was in the books/novels: the ghost path, not demonic cultivation, not making him crazy without control, hurting him, etc.

🔒 Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Flower Fall War by Anon_De_Plume (M, 32k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Nightless City, Canon-Typical Violence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Some people still do die though, JYL Lives, Not A Fix-It, Canon-Typical JC, Not really bashing but I didn't soften his canonical abrasiveness, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Canon Temporary Character Death, Guidao is not Modao, Golden Core Reveal, WWX in MXY's Body, Slow Burn)

~*~

3. i just reread kizukatana's "truth will out (when caught on video)" and i was wandering if anyone has a fic rec similar to it??

An Unscheduled Stream by trippednfell (M, 71k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, Misunderstandings, BAMF WWX, BAMF Wen Popo, WWX cultivates resentful energy but keeps his golden core, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Presumed Enemies to Lovers, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, Time Skips, Dual Cultivation - Not the Sexy Kind, but ALSO the sexy kind, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Horny wound tending)

~*~

4. Hello, are there any recs that are similar to Body and Soul by toosel on A03 ?

~*~

5. Hi, I'm looking for pics with gender non-conforming wei ying. Anything including; wearing feminine clothing, makeup, some type of non-binary, fluid or agender identity (NOT TRANS FEM OR MASC) in Canon, Canon-divergent or any non-modern Canon adjacent universe. I've already read resplendence by frozenmarvel so give me anything else you got @purplefuzzypickle

By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, WangXian, Mix of CQL and MDZS, Identity Porn, WWX has an atypical relationship with gender)

Wei Wuxian, Who's That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels)

🔒 To Make Him a Perfect Bride by Hinu (E, 139k, WangXian, Modern, Feminization, Crossdressing, Consensual, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Drama, Romantic Comedy, Meet the Family, Homophobia, Cultural Differences, Discrimination, Clothing Porn, Wealth kink, Potentially Unhealthy Beauty Standards, Crazy Rich Lans, Rich LWJ, Friendship, Power Bottom WWX, Corporate, Extended Lan Family, Sugar Daddy LWJ, Plot With Porn, Mild Kink, Bullying, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coming Out, Implied Canon-Typical Child Abuse, Phone Sex in Public, Sexual Harassment, Competent WWX, Financial Domination, Sexual Roleplay, Light BDSM, Caught, WWX's dog phobia, Submissive LWJ, Blood, Smoking, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, WWX's dissociative panic attacks in later chapters, Gay LWJ, Protective LWJ, Weddings, Wedding Planning, Secret Relationship, Genderqueer WWX, BAMF NHS, Gay WWX, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, fem!WWX is LJY's and LSZ's sexual awakening, Office Sex, Airplane Sex, Happy Ending, Class Differences, Crazy Rich Asians Fusion)

i’ll be your girl by plonk (E, 30k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Crossdressing, The Porn Is the Plot, idiots to lovers)

drop the game by martyrsdaughter (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern, Romantic Comedy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sports, Cheerleaders, Flirting, Banter, Sexual Tension, Kissing, Dom/sub Undertones, Bruises, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Shower Sex, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Mild Breathplay, Semi-Public Sex, Rimming, Wall Sex, Brief Sexuality Crisis, Comeplay, Come as Lube, Creampie, Loss of Virginity, Under-negotiated Kink, Consensual Non-Consent)

A Flower in Bloom (or Wei Wuxian Crashes a Party) by UmbrellaMartialGod (E, 30k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Crossdressing, Humor, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Festivals, Dancer WWX, Insecurity, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, mild possessive behavior)

~*~

6. Hello, I'm itmf fics where wei ying doesn't have a close/good relationship with the jiangs (not bashing, more natural consequence of their behaviour to him) similar to stray cat by suprised_by_witches. Preferably where he finds support outside the jiangs/ doesn't reconcile with them or at least he isnt the one constantly reaching out to them

🔒 To Speak Up by Vrishchika (M, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Not Jiāng Chéng Friendly)

🔒 Lessons in Belonging by Nyatci (M, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, Childhood Friends to Lovers, POV LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Jiang Family Bashing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobia, Good Uncle LQR, background 3zun, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumed Asexuality, but it’s just an assumption, some mild non-overly-explicit smut, Domestic Fluff, wangxian adopt a-yuan, 5+1 Things, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Jealous WWX)

Love Don't Belong To Me by airinshaw (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Kissing, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Happy Ending, PTSD, Panic Attack, WWX's canonical self-esteem issues, Canonical Child Abuse, not as dark as the tags imply, Past Relationships mention)

~*~

7. I'm in the mood for fics where upon first meeting LWJ thinks WWX is a barely-holding-it-together hot mess only to find out later that WWX is working himself to the bone to look after A-Yuan and the Wens.

Any time period/AU is acceptable.

Bonus points if LWJ does a little grovelling for allowing himself to make assumptions.

My only requirement is that it's gotta have a happy ending! 💗 @greywake

🧡 i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization) fits but it just features A-Yuan, not the rest of the Wens

🔒the stars in the hazy heaven tremble above you by cicer (G, 64k, WangXian, Fantasy, Cinderella Fusion, Mutual Pining, Background NMJ/LXC, background JC/NHS) may also work but I think Lan Zhan is more annoyed by Wei Ying than thinking he's a hot mess

~*~

8. Itmf: a proper war time fic with baby juniors as a bonus addition ✨✨ @jaywuji

🔒 A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX’s questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding) If 8 is looking for fics that describe the horrors of war, A Heart Undying does an excellent job but does not feature the Junior Quartet.

🔒 Forget Myself in Memories by geethr75 (T, 10k, WangXian, XuanLi, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travel Fix-It, Juniors travel to the past, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Past WWX meets future WWX in MXY's body, Past JC meets future JC, Sect Leader JL, Sect Leader OYZZ, Sect Heir LJY, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Happy Ending, JGY dies as MY, SS and JZ dies, JGS dies, WQ and WN lives, JYL and JZX Lives, no golden core transfer, No golden core melting, Alternate Timelines)

Stubborn Shadows by secretlyteo (teobunn), teobunn (T, 24k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, mostly based on donghua and cql)

Time Travel, Obviously by nirejseki (Not Rated, 1k, Time Travel, Crack)

Lan Yuan's War by BurningTea (G, 196k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Dad lwj, Sunshot Campaign, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Rumours, CQL Verse, Mental Health Issues, Sick LWJ)

~*~

9. Hello! ITMF a fic where WWX is in Ghost City after his death, not necessarily a ghost king or anything though

Not Only Gods Are Listening by a_dancer (Not Rated, 69k, WangXian, HuaLian, Post-Canon TGCFm MDZS Fix-it, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, YLLZ WWX, Crossover)

let this soul be your whisper by merthurlin (T, 28k, HuaLian, WangXian, Post-Canon TGCF, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds MDZS, Canonical Character Death, Canon Divergence, Found Family, kid fic but watch out, ghost city's express family therapy)

Raise It Up, Roll the Dice by GhostySword (T, 5k, Canon Divergence, Crossover, Fairy Tale Elements, Deal with a Devil, Grief/Mourning, Canon-Typical Gore, Excessive PDA, lots of feels, Ghost City’s Spirited Away Vibes) Bonus! - which features Wei Ying living in Ghost City after his supposed death.

~*~

10. Hi, I'm having difficulty finding a fic where Wei Wuxian isn't portrayed as just a bundle of insecurities and self-worth issues. I would love something similar to the Wei Wuxian from The Shade of Old Trees, he's super strong, a genius, confident, and charming.I prefer canon setting, but at this point I will read anything,The longer the better! Thank you

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing) might appreciate Tawaen's fics! - is a good one. I also recommend browsing the "BAMF Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian" tag - there are a lot of gems in there!

🧡 Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 163k, WangXian, JFM & WWX, JC & WWX, WRH & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LWJ & NHS, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Genius WWX, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Angry WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Angry LWJ, One-Braincell WangXian, Idiots in Love, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Soft WangXian, Married WangXian, Soulmates, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Immortal WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, not gusu lan friendly, Immortal LWJ)

Sunset, Sunrise by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte) (T, 59k, WWX & WRH, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Crack, Temporary Character Death, sorry I killed a-Yuan for a few paragraphs before the time travel, WWX is a Wen, Genius WWX, WRH gets to rewatch the series as a treat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in this house we acknowledge that all the sects have flaws, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, WWX Has ADHD, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Autistic LWJ, Loss of Limbs)

transmuter by WithLoweredVoices (Not rated, 113k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Magical Realism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Bitter Plants Bearing Sweet Fruit by Kryal (M, 83k, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, canon-typical horror elements, Worldbuilding, Desert, Misuse of Historic Setting, Original Character Death(s), Case Fic, aftermath of canon, ridiculously long author notes, Established Relationship, Nothing Explicit But Shameless Innuendo)

The Counterfeit Lotus by Greywake (E, 35k, WangXian, Royalty, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Intersex Omegas, WWX Has a Vulva, unintentional misgendering, Medical Examination Detail, Crossdressing, Questioning Sexuality, mention of miscarriage, BAMF WWX, Genius WWX, Politics, Eventual Smut, A Little Light CNC, Orgasm Denial, First Time, Getting Together, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, SS Being an Asshole, Emperor LXC, Prince LWJ)

~*~

11. Hi! Ty for all the awesome recs (　-∀-)

I'm itmf a) any wwx pregnant that lead to him being kicked out by the jiangs, or B) jyl critical fics

11A)

All The Years Lost by UseMyMuse (T, 26k, WangXian, Teen Pregnancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Single Parent AU, Forced misunderstandings, Forced miscommunication, Mpreg)

The Winner Takes It All by YilingSani (M, 46k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Old Friends, One Night Stands, No Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Forgiveness, Second Chances, Inspired by Mamma Mia! (Movies) Teen Pregnancy, Mpreg, mention of miscarriage, Birth Trauma, amniotic fluid embolism)

Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, SangXu, ChengJue, ChenLi, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Modern Era, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching - Omegaverse, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC)

11B)

A Matter of Choice by mrcformoso (T, 17k, WangXian, Dark LWJ, POV WWX, Flashbacks, references to grooming, References to Manipulation, References to Underage Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Depression, Panic Attacks, Dissociation Self-Esteem Issues, Abusive Jiang Family, JYL critical, Jiang Family Bashing, WWX Needs a Hug, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt WWX, References to Torture, References to Starvation, references to cannibalism, Please read all warnings in author's notes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultivation Sect Politics, Genius WWX)

My heart knows (you’re the missing piece) by makexianxianhappytoday (T, 73k, WIP, WangXian, Jiang Family Bashing, Canon Divergence, Rogue cultivator!wwx, JYL Bashing, WWX leaves Jiang sect, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, JC Bashing, Protective! LWJ, Butterfly Effect, No Golden Core Transfer, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, unless they deserved it, NHS is friends with WWX, Mastermind! NHS, JZX is WWX's friend, Good brother! LXC, LY is ALIVE, BAMF! WWX, a lil OOC ngl)

~*~

12. Heyyy ! Thank your for your wonderful work ! For the next itmf I would love to have your favorite nie huisang / jiang cheng centered fics (preferably looong fics please) ! I am very open to canon but prefer modern au, thank you @sebyyw

Adventures in Roommates by eleloh (E, 37k, ChengSang, College/University, Roommates, First Time, Misunderstandings, Sexual Experimentation, Jealousy, Pining for someone actively having sex with you, sexual awakening, Light body issues/scars, Crying, idiots to lovers, Brief NHS/OMCs, Casual Promiscuity)

stop being cute by skyestiel (T, 10k, ChengSang, SongXiao, QingLi, 3Zun, WangXian, College/University, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Social Media, Kissing, Candy Hearts, First Dates, Mutual Pining, Awkward Flirting, they're in love, some canon elements, could be read as a standalone piece, or at least i hope, mainly sangcheng but other ships are mentioned)

What's Wrong with Secretary Nie? by chai_sang (mariexa) (T, 11k, ChengSang, implied WangXian, Modern AU, ceo JC, Secretary NHS, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, POV Outsider, Fluff, Shenanigans, HR approved flirting, No Drama, Well adjusted Jiangs)

break my soul in two by shoelaces (T, 57k, ChengSang, WangXian, Modern AU, Amnesia, Car Accidents, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Trauma, Recovery)

our footsteps sing a reckless serenade by ThirtySixSaveFiles (E, 45k, ChengSang, background WangXian, background XuanLi, background 3zun, Modern with Magic, Urban Fantasy, Everybody Lives, (Except JGS), Arranged Marriage, pining for the person you’re sleeping with, Politics, Donghua Hairstyles, Emotionally Significant Braids, so much hand holding, Minor peril)

this boy, half-destroyed by queen_gee (T, 64k, ChengSang, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Slow Burn, Character Study, Love, Tragedy, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Loss, War, falling in love despite it all, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, tw for suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation)

🔒Confluence by captain_apostrophe (M, 122k, ChengSang, Modern with Magic, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Canon, Whump, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, but they're gonna have to earn it, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Drinking, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunk Driving, Self-Harm, A tiny bit of smut, Minor Poly Quartet, Identity Porn, weaponised levels of sad, including NMJ being really mean to NHS, don't read this if you aren't prepared to cry, Suicide)

not until the bright moon shines by shoelaces (T, 84k, WIP, ChengSang, Modern Cultivation, Reincarnation, national parks, Inspired by Firewatch (Video Game), Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, they're both real sad in this one) and if the requestor enjoys AUs I'd like to generally recommend the author roseclaw as being a prolific source of quality longfics in many genres for SangCheng

The Threads of Fate by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 133k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Good Uncle LQR, Protective LWJ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Pining LWJ, WWX in WWX's Body, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Oblivious WWX, Siblings JC & WWX, Supportive JYL, Protective NHS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Comic Book Science) It's not tagged as such (yet), but NHS and JC work together and time travel and develop deeper relationship too😉 (it might even become romantic soon). They are also focus of the story and it's enjoyable to read.

~*~

13. Hello!! I’ve been reading a lot of danmei novels and got in the mood for some wangxian fics with Cnovel settings, like interstellar w/ mecha, entertainment circle or even zombies with superpowers, I’m really not picky… (thank you for all the hard work, I’ve been finding fics to read with your lists for quite sometime now!!) @pinsluke

~*~

14. hi!!! i’m itmf a fic that has jc defending wwx’s honor after witnessing lwj hurt him in some way, basically like how he and wwx gave jzx a hard time for hurting jyl before. it can be like canon teenji rudeness or just miscommunication like the scene near the end of “put your heart where your mouth is” by protos_metazu_ison @nalalie

~*~

15. itmf wangxian age gap fics w A) older!lwj and younger!wwx

B) or teacher!wwx (specifically like a cultivation instructor) and disciple!lwj. i like the idea of lwj being overwhelmed by wwx’s unconventional teaching methods, very unlike the structured lessons he’s used to from the lans, if a fic similar to that exists

no modern aus for either pls!

15A)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

To the Solitary Me, Who Loved You by gremlinweiying (T, 207k, WangXian, WIP, Underage Sex, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Canon Divergence, Older LWJ, Younger WWX, Age Difference, Genius WWX, Soft WangXian, Protective LWJ, Fix-It of Sorts, Dark LWJ, Size Difference, Jiang Family Bashing, But Not Much)

Smoke signals. by springssea (E, 12k, WangXian, CSSR & WCZ Live, Time Travel Fix-It, WWX in WWX's Body, WangXian in Love, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Has Feelings, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Older LWJ, Younger WWX, Warning: XY, BAMF WQ, BAMF LWJ, Protective LWJ, Jiang Family Bashing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inventor WWX)

I Am Happy I Met You by Bhargavee00 (Not Rated, 34k, LWJ & WWX, WIP, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Sect Leader LWJ, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Dragon LWJ, Madam Lan Lives, QHJ Lives, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, Protective LXC, Protective LQR, Good Uncle LQR, WangXian Are Soulmates, WWX Goes to Gusu, Gusu Lan Sect, Yunmeng Jiang Sect Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, LWJ Is So Whipped, Older LWJ, Good Older Sibling LXC, Sunshot Campaign, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX is a Lan, WWX is So Whipped)

~*~

16. Hello!!! Do you have any fics where Jiang Yanli and/or Jin Zixuan survive, but Wei Wuxian is still killed? Like he still does the whole dying and coming back to life thing but with one of them still alive (or both!).

Thank you!!! I really appreciate all the searching you guys do, I love going through all the lists. :)

picking up the pieces by KouriArashi (M, 111k, JYL & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Alternate Canon, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Regret, Family, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, Eventual Happy Ending)

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN and JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

finding you always, all ways by BlueFrogs (T, 31k, WangXian, ChengQing, Reincarnation, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Romance, Memory Loss, technically there is character death, but he comes back lol, Age Difference, due to reincarnation) which has We Ying reincarnated (born to new parents and without his memories but gets connected to the Jiangs and cultivation world again as he grows up).

🧡 like speaking to my heart by SnowshadowAO3 (T, 613k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Daemons, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death)

A Bell That Tells Us to Rise and Fight by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (T, 120k, WangXian, ChengQing, XuanLi, SongXiao, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Everyone Needs A Hug, Yunmeng Bros, BAMF Women, Minor Character Death)

~*~

17. this is going to be very niche but itmf a fic where wei ying still has someone he doesn’t talk to anymore as his emergency contact and ends up in the hospital. could be lan zhan, the jiangs, anyone. would also take the othwr way around (with wy being the contact) but would really rather some wwx whump. thanks !

Hanging by a Thread by Greywake (T, 5k, WangXian, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, mentions of domestic abuse, First Meetings, re-meet-cute, Rescue, Family Reunions, First Date, First Kiss, Car Accident, Modern AU, Firefighter LWJ, Teacher WWX)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[xxx-wounded-angel-xxx]

Tear you appart - Felix Volturi x reader

Felix Volturi x fem! reader - contains smut

3456 words

content warning : swearing, darker and wilder than my usual Felix, possessive Felix, size difference (both him and reader like it) - Smut ahead ! please no judgment, this is the first time I'm writing some I tried my best I feel so embarrassed 😅 Stop at the divider if you don't want the smutty part that contains : dirty talk, voice kink, size kink, penetration, virgin reader (she's an adult in her 20's !), praise kink

Taglist : @agirllovespancakes <3

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of your mate. First, Felix was big. Like…two meters tall and really muscular. Like wow. And second, he… was busy. Like very busy, which you could comprehend since he was one of the highest ranked guards of the Volturi Coven. And the executioner… that's it you had said it. His job was to brutally kill people, and you did not fully know what to make of him because of that.

He was kind to you of course. But you could barely see him. He had a very important place in the coven after all, it would be mean to hold it against him, he couldn’t help it after all. But it was making it harder for you to understand him, how could you get to know him better if he wasn’t there with you?

Ever since you were staying with the Volturi after finding out that you were Felix’s soulmate, your existence had gotten kind of lonely. The current secretary would go shopping with you if you needed something but you were mostly staying in your quarters that were adjacent to Felix’s. So, you decided to spend the time by decorating as much as you could your quarters to your own taste.

As a goth, you took advantage of the Halloween season to buy home decor. Artificial black roses, deep red and purple ones, black lace curtains, gothic prints you paired with vintage looking frames Heidi found for you in an abandoned room… You kept the walls white but painted the furniture black. Lots of bookshelves were acquired to hold your book collection, CDs and DVDs, Felix had made sure you had a good TV and even better stereo when you said you basically lived with music. Anne Stokes and Victoria Frances’ art hung all over your walls, nemesis now dark fairy figures and cult cuties shelved neatly above your desk, nightmare before Christmas plushies and figures scattered all around your quarters with the occasional Hello Kitty and Kuromi: it was starting to look like home.

When December came by you bought red velvet curtains, and red crystal beads. A lot of them. Surprisingly, you were now finding every week rose bouquet, that you would put to dry and keep in elegant vases. You were sure they were from Felix, even if he never mentioned it the few times the two of you had met in November.

You were working on the canopy of the bed, after installing the black lace curtains and strings of white pearls that were easy to find as Christmas tree ornament, you were making garlands of red crystal beads that would reflect the light all around your bed canopy. Attaching bead after bead, you were disrupted by Felix. You looked at him, surprised as you saw him sit beside you on the black silk sheets of your bed.

“Good evening my darling mate”

This evening, you finally got to spend time with your mate. He apologized for his lack of presence beside you, the coven had been exceptionally busy and he had not been able to give you the time you deserved. But now, he was here, and could finally take care of you, his mate, properly.

You talked for hours that night, She Wants Revenge playing low in the background as you finally got to know each other.

But no matter how interesting this all was, you were getting tired. Felix noticed your yawn, and with a smile put you to bed, tucking you in and gently kissed your forehead goodnight.

Your Felix held his promise. Week after week you got to know the other better. Going from strangers to friends… to more. After a few months you realized that Felix wasn’t a friend anymore. No, he was more. You wanted him to be more. But it wasn’t easy. He was your soulmate! It was supposed to be easy! But it wasn’t. At all.

Spring came and left, and so did summer. It was the middle of autumn, and you still did not know how to tell your soulmate you liked him. How could you? How could a simple human compare to a vampire? He had not turned you yet, it seemed that he quite enjoyed your human habits for now. Maybe he liked your softness, the warmth of your skin or the color of your eyes? But that did not resolve your problem. How could you tell him when you had never done this before? You were in your twenties and not had your fist kiss yet!

You had started a diary to keep your memories, express your feelings and your thoughts. And the most recent entries were all about him. About Felix, the gleam in his eyes, the way his skin shone brightly under the sunlight, how hot you had found the glimpses of his toned and muscular body you had been able to see, the way his thunderous laugh made your heart smile… How… You love him. That’s it, you had admitted it fully: you loved him. It was written black on white in your diary. Your heart was in his hands. You did not need a prayer when you had his name.

That was the last line you wrote, leaving your diary on your bed as you left your bedroom to take a relaxing bath before going to bed in your favorite attire.

You came out of the bathroom, all clean and fresh, humming some She Wants Revenge song, when you froze. Felix. Felix was sitting on your bed. Felix was sitting on your bed holding your diary. Felix was reading your diary where you very explicitly wrote how much you loved him. Fuck.

 When Felix looked at you, you felt like you could die from embarrassment. You tried to leave, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself your back against a wall, Felix’s body pressed against yours preventing you from running away. Anyway, where would you have gone? This was your room, for fuck’s sake! You shivered as he used his big hand to raise your head so he could look you in the eyes.

“You meant it?”

“What”

“What you wrote in your diary about me. You mean it?”

You had never seen Felix that serious before, his husky voice had lost all humor.

“It… It is… Yes, it is true. I … I really mean it.”

You blurted out the last words, anxious. What if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear? What if he hated you now? What if… Wait, why was he smiling?

“You have no idea how long I’ve longed for this. May I?”

You nodded, not sure what he was asking for. He cupped your cheek, and to your surprise he kissed you. You closed your eyes.

It was better than what you had read in your books, much better. His lips were soft against yours, his kiss tender but quite possessive at the same time. You returned it, quite clumsily due to your inexperience, but still with enthusiasm. He was the one to break it so you could breathe again. You were only human after all. Your body needed it.

“Damn, that was…”

He laughed at your reaction.

“Can you do it again?”

Smirking, he eagerly accepted your request.

Later, when you were too tired to stay awake, Felix accepted to stay under the covers and hold you. The feeling of his strong and much bigger body wrapped around your much smaller frame brought unholy thoughts to your mind, that you quickly shook away, but it still let you the time to show slight embarrassment. You thought for a moment that Felix would take advantage of it, but he didn’t, only kissing the top of your head and bringing you closer to his body.

“Does that mean that we are together now?” “You could say that dolcezza.” “So you’re my boyfriend?” “Absolutely not. I’m your mate. If you want a more human term, just say that I’m your husband.”

You looked at him, shocked, and that little shit that was your mate had the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“I… I think mate is an appropriate term.” “As you wish.”

Your heart was beating so fast he couldn’t not hear it, and his bright smile was the confirmation. Luckily for you, Felix had decided to go easy on you for tonight. But you feared what his teasing would be like…

You fell asleep with these thoughts in mind, Felix’s arms holding you tight against him. “Buonanotte tesoro mio, ti amo…”

When you woke up the next day, Felix was still here, holding you.

“Hi” “Hi. Slept well?” “Yes” “Good”

Bringing you closer to him, Felix buried his face in your neck. You froze as it felt like he was smelling you, and he left a kiss where he could feel your pulse. Being this close to him felt nice, really nice. He smelled good, too. Something musky, homey.

“Are you sniffing me?” “You did a few moments ago” “Touché.” A pause. “So?” “You smell nice. Like home.” “Ah, that’s a mate thing, you know? I smell good like that to you only.” “And me? What do I smell like?” “The tastiest thing I’ve ever met.” “Felix!” “What?! You should take this as a compliment! You smell delicious!”

He had that cocky look that looked so good on him. You couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

It was near Christmas now. More than one year since you met Felix, a few months since you realized you loved him, and a few weeks since the two of you were fully mated. Well fully… There was something the two of you had not done yet. It was… sex. For fuck’s sake, you were an adult, you could say the word sex! But… that did not erase the fact that you had basically no experience in dating. Felix was your first kiss… and would be your first lover. The thing was that he was not aware of it. How could you tell him! This man was cocky enough, if you told him, it would sign you way to a never-ending teasing! Fuck. Wait, that was the point! This man – or vampire – was going to be the death of you.

Your thoughts were a complete mess. You were sure than even Aro couldn’t understand a single shit if he were to read your mind. Which was why it was a good thing that he hadn’t asked for a while. But maybe it could actually help? Wait no! You couldn’t let him know you were desperately trying to get in the pants of his executioner. All of it was driving you crazy.

You tried to keep up with appearances with Felix, behaving as normal as you could with him, but you couldn’t help but let some touches linger more than necessary, brush against him every time you were close with him, dragging the kisses as long as you could without accidentally killing yourself from the lack of oxygen… All of it you thought Felix didn’t notice. But that was forgetting something: your mate was very much a predator. And as a human, you were very much prey for him, even as his mate.

Your heartbeat running faster when he was close, the way his low voice would send shivers down your spine, or how some kisses and touches could get you clenching your thighs… Felix noticed everything, and your asshole of a mate was reveling in it, your love like the thrill of the hunt. He took great pleasure in it, day after day, trying to drive you crazy until you would be your back against a wall, forced to tell him exactly what you wanted. And he would make sure you beg for it, dragging the thrill of the hunt as long as he could. But lucky for you, he loved you more than it. He would try to not make you beg, not too much at least.

Your Felix had become great at reading you, your expressions, your desires. And being as old as he was, it had not been hard for him to put two and two together: the way you returned his affection, always eager but also quite clumsily, always holding back afraid of going too far or doing wrong… That darker, possessive side off him was extremely satisfied of it, no one had touched you like that before, no one but him, you were forever his.

After a few weeks, your struggles were not funny anymore, he wanted you to feel desired, to not see your inexperience as a bad thing. You were so damn beautiful and desirable; he would show you how much he wanted you.

He would be off duty for the next few days, it was perfect. The next time he would get in your bed, you would not be sleeping for a good while.

For the past few days, it seemed like Felix was toying with you, always managing to get you where and how he wanted. He was slowly taking you out of your comfort zone, it was like he had something in mind as he would hold you close, soft breath in the crook of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He would let you back up if you were too uncomfortable, of course, but the bastard knew what he was doing, always taking you further and further of your comfort zone without crossing your boundaries, teaching you a few things about you in the meantime. Damn, did you always have that size and voice kink or was it of his doing? Fuck, you had no idea but did not care much, it was too good for the reasons why to matter anymore.

All of this led you to that very moment, your Felix towering over you, your back against the wall of your room. Voice low, whispering in your ear, driving you crazy.

“Aren’t you pretty like that, all flustered? Your blood smell so good I might just eat you…”

Of course, this led you to grow even more flustered, your blood rushing and tempting him even more. He took another step, and lowered his head even more, leaving cold kisses on your neck, his cool breath driving you crazy. You move your head to give him a better access, and let out a soft moan as his teeth scrap your neck.

“You like that don’t you? To be all helpless as soon as I touch you. My beautiful darling…”

He lifts you, claiming your lips and you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist. He bites your lower lip, and you let out a soft gasp, your Felix taking advantage of it, his tongue meeting yours to explore your mouth. After a while the two of you part, soft panting can be heard from you. At this moment, you realize you left your stereo on, and as your notice what song is playing you send to hell every hesitation and kiss him passionately.

“I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, close your eyes, girl, so lovely, it feels so right

I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear, "I wanna fucking tear you apart"

It drives the both of you crazy, leaving you only wanting more, more than everything you had already done. So when Felix carries you to the bed, you continue to kiss him. When he lays you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you drag him close and deepen the kiss. When he takes off your shirt, you unbutton his, hands roaming everywhere on the other’s body in a frenzy haze, kisses left everywhere.

“I want you” you pause. “No, I need you.” You let out a moan as he rips your bra and leave kisses on your breast, a smile oh so smug brightening his face as he finds your sensitive spot. You writhe underneath him, clenching your thighs together, left wanting more, needing more of him.  

“Felix…” His name leaves your mouth as a soft moan, and he can’t help but chuckle at your neediness, he’s finally got you where he wants you to be, he’s going to drag on this teasing as much as he can.

“That’s my name darling, say it again…”

He’s so smug but you can’t help but do as he say, especially when his pants and yours disappear, and his hand slip in your silky panties. As he brushes against your clit, you can’t help but buckle your hips, trying to get more friction where you need him the most.

“Eager, aren’t we?”  Always that smug expression, he knows he is driving you crazy and he revels in it: you’re his and he is the only one able to get these reactions from you. He leans over you, pressing his body against yours, claiming your lips once again. You whimper as you can feel his hard bulge against you, increasing your arousal to an extent you didn’t know was possible. But you weren’t the only one left craving for more.

“Please Felix…” “I need you to use your words tesorina. Tell me, what you want?” “You. I want you I need you!” “So greedy my darling… Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer him as he rips your panties, throwing away what’s left of them before making his own underwear meet the same fate. He’s bigger than you anticipated, yet the only thing you can focus on is how much you want him inside of you.

Not breaking eye contact with you, he strokes his penis a few times, making sure it’s slick with his precum and your arousal, and get on top of you, teasing your wet folds with his hard length.

“Are you sure you want this?” He looks at you with such seriousness, trying to read your face and be sure this is what you want, that he’s not going further than you’re comfortable with. “Yes Felix please” “You only have one word to say and I’ll stop if it’s too much for you”

You nod, and satisfied with your approval Felix thrust into you. You moan at the feeling; you feel so full of him. You expected it to hurt, being your first time, but it doesn’t, your love prepared you enough.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it my darling? My cock filling you up, bringing you more pleasure than you’ve ever had.”

You can only whine and moan, too lost in the pleasure you’re experiencing for the first time. Felix eats up every of your reactions, satisfied that only him get to make you feel this good.

“You’re so responsive to my touch” Felix praises you, and his words do something to you you weren’t aware of it being possible. Something good. Really good. Felix, attentive to all of your reactions, notice and whispers sweet praises in your ear, driving you wild. He thrusts faster, eliciting more moans from you. It feels so good, you can only focus on him and the pleasure he gives you, moaning his name.

“I love hearing you cry out my name, tesoro. It’s music to my ears.”

He finally finds an especially sensitive spot of yours, hitting it relentlessly, eliciting moan after moan from you. He growls in pleasure, getting you closer and closer. You feel something ready to snap inside of you.

“Please Felix I’m close so close!” “That’s it darling, come for me.” He kisses your shoulder. “Come for me, let me feel how much you love me. I’ll be right behind you, filling you with everything I have.”

The pad of this finger brushes against your clit, and with his dirty words it’s enough to make you snap, riding the first climax of your life. Your Felix follows quickly, his cool cum filling your cunt as he moans your name, “you’re mine all mine my [Y/N] forever mine never letting you go my sweet and beautiful [Y/N]”

You fall back on the bed, trembling with pleasure and exhaustion. Sliding out of you, Felix admires for a moment your mixed release dripping down your inner thighs, before laying down beside you and holding you close, whispering sweet praises in your ear. He kisses your forehead tenderly, and you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you” “I love you too tesorina”

Exhausted, you fall asleep, safe and spent in your mate’s arms, Felix never letting you go for a second, holding you tight against him the whole time. This is what eternity should feel like, and he will make sure it always is that way for you.  

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 16 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I wanted to apologize, I'm posting late and the chapters aren't even very good. Plus, I won't post the next chapter until Wednesday the 18th. I have a lot of things to do and I need to get a little ahead on writing this story. Then after, I'll bring the posts closer together and post the chapters every two/three days.

Sorry, I hope you still liked the reading a little bit, though. I wish you have a very good and happy day. With all my love, ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Enjoy the read !

Chapter 16

The four of them appeared in a huge room with a high ceiling. The Town house.

Luxiana frowned, still stuck on Rhysand's words. She barely had time to recall what Feyre had learned during their meeting with the queens - and therefore what she had told her afterwards about this city called Velaris that Rhysand had hidden and protected from everyone - before she was already somewhere else. She opened her eyes wide and hiccupped silently in surprise as she took in her surroundings. She released Rhysand's hand in spite of him, and began to spin around. 

She was in what appeared to be an entrance hall. The place was bathed in light and had the look of a dream. There were decorations on the walls that seemed to cost a small fortune, and the several rooms adjacent to this hallway appeared to be a huge living room and dining room with an enormous table. She looked down and lifted her feet one by one as she saw that she was walking on a soft red carpet. The whole place was luxurious and exuded wealth. 

Cassian couldn't hide his big, mocking smile. She didn't seem used to so much opulence, and he adored her even more for it, but seeing her so amazed filled him with hilarity and affection. And then his heart swelled with joy. Since he'd met her, he'd imagined countless times what would happen and how she'd react if they succeeded in bringing her here. Now she was here at last, and he couldn't have wished for better. She was even more beautiful than he could have predicted. The light from the building made her skin, hair and eyes glow. Then Cassian noticed something, vibrating even more. Here, his soul mate looked like a star. 

Azriel detailed her with a gaze he knew to be shining. He could literally feel his eyes sparkling. And if he hadn't been completely absorbed in memorizing his soul mate's every expression, to make sure he could continue to see her even with his eyes closed, he probably could have tried to hide it. He could almost feel his muscles trembling with excitement. They'd taken another step forward in their relationship today. She was now truly at home with them, and she was no longer upset. Azriel couldn't wait to see where this was going. 

Rhysand looked at her with a slight stress that compressed his stomach. He was afraid his soul mate wouldn't like his home. Well, it didn't really matter, because he'd modify the whole building to suit Luxiana's preferences, but he'd like her to feel comfortable already, to feel at home already. Because this was her home. Forever. It didn't even matter if she didn't accept him as her soul mate, she'd still be welcome with him. Because even if she never loved him back, she was still that sunny, smiling, funny young woman whose company Rhysand already enjoyed so much. "We're at the Town house, this is my place," he said, shoving his hand back into his pocket so as not to show her that he was playing with his fingers nervously. 

Then he glanced at Cassian and Azriel. He blew out a smile, reminding himself that they shared the same soulmate now and that if he wanted to live here with Luxiana, he'd necessarily have to include his two brothers in the equation. Rhysand realized a little more. He was going to have to share everything with his brothers if she accepted all three of them. Really everything, including his girl, his houses, his wealth, his rank. But he didn't really mind. Cassian and Azriel were his brothers and he already shared a lot with them. Besides, if it meant he got Luxiana in return, then it would be worth it. "Well, to the three of us," he added. "Do you like it?"  

She raised her eyes to the three Illyrians who were staring at her avidly, but she paid them no further attention. She'd already noticed that they often stared at her strangely, but she just thought they were strange. "Daaaaaaaaaammmmmnn yeah," she exclaimed, laughing. She placed her hands on her hips, looking at Rhysand with eyes wide with pleasant surprise. Even the other courts didn't have buildings this beautiful. This was indeed the prettiest place she'd ever seen, and yet she remembered loving the winter court. 

Cassian burst out laughing so hard he leaned back, holding his stomach. He laughed for so long and so uncontrollably, he couldn't even breathe. His soul mate didn't disappoint. In all the scenarios he'd imagined, he'd never once thought she wouldn't swear when she saw the place. He was so proud to see that he already knew her well. "Of course the first word she could say in our home was a bad word."

Azriel smiled tenderly, still detailing Luxiana in the same way. "That's not very distinguished of such a pretty young lady," he teased gently. 

She gave them a dark look between her wrinkled eyelids. "Don't judge me, I was caught off guard." Then she bit her lower lip, her eyes shining with mischief on the lord of the night. She leaned toward him a little, detailing him up and down, "sssoooooo, are you that rich?" She pointed out the hall and the works of art with a vague movement of her finger.

Rhysand's heart pounded so hard at the sight of his soulmate's pretty face leaning towards him that he almost jumped. He smiled wryly, bringing his face close to Luxiana's, almost pressing his nose to hers. And he had to force himself not to break the distance a little more, especially as she didn't back down. "Much richer, in fact," he declared proudly. 

Luxiana tried not to weaken and had to fight herself not to take a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She didn't want to seem drawn in or turned inside out by Rhysand's scent, but it had tickled her lungs. So she hiccupped theatrically in surprise as she jerked upright. She cleared her throat, glancing away. She tucked a lock of hair, that had escaped her braid, behind her ear. "And...um...are you...," she joked, giving herself a shy look and pretending to stammer. "Uh...single, by any chance?" 

Cassian calmed down, stopping laughing all of a sudden, returning to a serious face. He blinked several times. Had he heard what he'd just heard? He opened his mouth wide. He could see from the mischievous flash in his mate's pupils that she was teasing them, but the fact that she'd asked Rhys that question had done something to him. He was both jealous and pleased. It was so strange that he froze, not knowing how to react. She was a little interested in them. Well, in his brother. And maybe she was only joking, but he'd vowed to become even richer than Rhys if it attracted his soulmate.

Azriel raised an eyebrow and smiled. He knew she wasn't the kind of girl to be baited by money, especially not by looking so kind and sweet. But he certainly hadn't expected to hear such a direct and bold question from such a cute young woman. 

Rhysand's eyes widened for a second, bewildered, before he burst out laughing, so hard he had to take a step backwards. But he wasn't laughing because he found his soulmate's joke funny, he was laughing because he was bubbling with joy. 

Luxiana pursed her lips to keep from smiling. She definitely thought she was very funny and was really proud that she had managed to make the lord laugh. Remembering what Feyre had told her about Velaris, she recalled what she'd understood about Rhysand and what he'd had to sacrifice to protect that city. So she just wanted to give him a good time and appease him.

Rhysand calmed down slowly, gradually stopping laughing, but he couldn't help showing all his teeth. He was just vibrating with happiness at the idea of her asking him that. And at the idea that, maybe, she was interested in him. His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he was sure she could hear him. He raised his hand slowly, running his index finger under Luxiana's jaw, caressing the skin from her throat to her chin as he lifted her head a little toward him. He plunged a serious gaze into his soulmate's. "I haven't got anyone. I've been waiting for you." 

Luxiana's heart missed a beat at the lord's words and she couldn't stop her cheeks from flushing. She shook her head, biting the front of her tongue, cursing herself as she looked up at the ceiling. She couldn't believe he'd managed to turn his stupidity against her, and she hated herself for blushing at such words. But she wouldn't admit defeat so easily. She crossed her hands behind her back, giving herself an innocent look. "Great then, so I can try to seduce you ?" 

Rhysand wanted to scream and jump around like a teenager. He was so happy to hear these words from his soul mate. He knew it might just be a joke, but that was enough for him. "Oh you weren't trying until now? Because it was already working just fine." 

Luxiana blew out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "I guess it must be my natural charm, I'm not very surprised," she quipped haughtily, trying not to look as taken aback as she was. His body tickled her. "But anyway, will you show me around?"

Rhysand took a deep breath, his chest heaving with a strange feeling of affection and peace. He loved the look of confidence and seduction his soulmate had adopted, and he loved knowing it was meant for him. Luxiana was no longer angry with him, and it had been as simple to change her behavior as taking her to see her best friend. The lord extended his elbow, his arm bent, inviting his soulmate to embrace it, "with pleasure, demoiselle."

Luxiana leapt on the spot once and for all, letting out a squeal of delight, before grabbing Rhysand's arm and wrapping herself around it. Then she enthusiastically followed the handsome purple-eyed Illyrian as he began guiding her towards what appeared to be a living room. 

Azriel watched them walk away with a look he wanted to be jaded, but he couldn't stop smiling.

"Hey!?" screamed Cassian as he followed them, running. "We're here too I remind you, and we're rich too ! Luxiana !"

Rhysand restrained himself from bursting out laughing at Cassian's jealousy. He leaned toward his soulmate's ear, "I'm richer," he breathed.

The blonde let out a small laugh before turning back to Cassian while continuing to follow Rhysand, "You'll be option three, then. If option one," she pointed at Rhysand with her index finger, "or option two," she pointed at Azriel, "don't want me."

Azriel and Rhysand burst out laughing at the blonde's words, while Cassian held back his mirth. He opened his mouth wide, hiccupping with fright. "What? I'm option three?" he exclaimed, falsely offended. He could tell his soul mate was joking. At least, he hoped she was.  "And may I ask what they have that I don't?"

Luxiana laughed so hard that she had to let herself fall a little more on Rhysand's arm and hold on to him a little tighter so as not to fall. She didn't answer; she wouldn't know what to say anyway. They really had nothing less or nothing more than the other two. Luxiana found all three of them just as sexy, tall, strong, muscular, handsome, charismatic, kind, rich, sensual... She shook her head and laughed even harder, thinking that she'd had a good time and was going to enjoy the weeks ahead in such charming company. 

Rhysand laughed, but not because he was amused by the situation, unlike Azriel, but because Luxiana's closeness filled him with happiness and hope. He wasn't used to feeling this good. So vibrant. Things could move forward between his mate and them now that she no longer held a grudge. 

Cassian followed them -ignoring his brother who was trying to show his mate the mansion by showing her the rooms- continuing to ask Luxiana the same question over and over, insisting on an answer. "No, but what do they have that I don't?" And, although Luxiana was trying to ignore him, the Illyrian could see that she was pursing her lips to keep from laughing. It encouraged Cassian to keep going.

Azriel followed them silently, delighting in all Luxiana's expressions, those "Woah" every time she entered a new room, even when it was just the bathroom. She seemed genuinely amazed by the smallest thing, and that made Azriel's heart melt a little more. She was so enthusiastic. She'd ask questions about building construction, about things that didn't even matter, but Azriel loved hearing them and Rhysand loved answering them. His mate was so alive, so sunny. She awakened every part of his body.  

Rhysand introduced Luxiana to her bedroom, and he laughed as she shyly stepped into it, detailing it. "Oh," she said, her mouth wide open as she admired the beauty of the room, her eyes shining. "It's gorgeous, I love it."

Rhysand smiled affectionately. He loved that she loved his home. "Good, make yourself at home. And if during the night you need anything, anything at all, my room is the door just to the right of yours. Cassian's is to the left and Azriel's is opposite, so don't hesitate."

Luxiana's body burned. It was adorable. She stopped circling to turn around and rest her eyes on the three Illyrians. "That's really too sweet, thank you." She didn't even flinch when she noticed that Cassian was only inches away from her, arms crossed, his gaze insistent because he'd just asked her again why he was the third option. She knew he was there even if she hadn't heard him, she'd felt him. Azriel was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a smirk. Rhysand had his hands in his pocket and was detailing her with a tilted head. "So you three really live that close together? Isn't it complicated living as roommates with his two brothers?" 

"Cassian and I didn't live here before. We only moved here a few days ago," Azriel explained without even realizing what he was saying. God, he'd dreamed so long of having his soul mate here with him, in this house, and now it was finally happening. He almost couldn't believe it.

"For what reason?" asked Luxiana, curious. 

"For you," Rhysand simply blurted out as he detailed her reaction, eager to see how she would react. 

Luxiana squinted for a second. Did she really know who she was to feel the need to place her between the three of them under close surveillance? Anyway, it wasn't as if they could stop her doing anything. She raised an eyebrow, trying to look pleasantly surprised, but she wanted to know more. "Well, I'm flattered that the three most powerful warriors in this court feel the need to keep such a close eye on me. But I promise I'll keep my head down and stay calm, at least until I've discharged Feyre from the service she owes you. After that, though... you probably won't be too much of threes."

Rhysand winced, lowering his eyes. He didn't know what to say. He didn't like his smate thinking that they were so untrusting, that they needed to keep an eye on her when they didn't. But neither could he see himself giving her the real reason why they'd taken over the rooms around hers and why they were still glued to her. 

Azriel's smile faded. He didn't like the idea that his soul mate thought they couldn't handle her. Of course, he was convinced of the opposite. They were the three most powerful and probably the most intelligent and influential Illyrians in the country, and they certainly wouldn't let themselves be outmaneuvered by a human. Even if this human was their beautiful mate. But it had to be said that some doubt lingered in the master spy's chest. She seemed so casual and reckless. He was worried. 

Cassian laughed out loud. "Oh because you think you can put up with all three of us?" He asked this question as if it was nothing, but a double meaning resonated within Cassian. He was a little dreading the answer to his question. He didn't really know what to expect, but he hoped he'd be reassured. He hoped she could really deal with all three of them in a possible future relationship.

Luxiana glanced up at him with assurance. Then, very slowly, the corner of her lips lifted, "Oh, because you think the three of you will be able to stand ME? No," she nodded haughtily, "I'm going to wear you out."

The three of them froze for a second in surprise, then burst out laughing in spite of themselves. 

Cassian was relieved, breathing a little easier. An huge weight, though back again, had left his shoulders for just a second. How could she reassure them without even knowing it?

Azriel had never laughed so much in one day as he did today. "I'm afraid it could be true," he admitted, talking about his doubts and uncertainties. 

Rhysand slowly calmed down. Everything seemed so simple yet so complicated with his soul mate. It was a strange sensation to hold her close and talk to her. She was so interesting. He dreamed of being able to discover her freely. He held out his hand to her. "Come, I'd like you to meet two people. They've just arrived."

Luxiana inclined her head as she caught his hand and followed him, curious as to where he was going to take her and who he was going to introduce her to. "Who?"

"The last two members of my inner circle, my closest friends...," Rhysand glanced intensely and brightly at Luxiana beside him. "My family."

They walked to the dining room, where Mor and Amren were waiting with impatience for the blonde and boredom for the brunette. They turned as one towards the three Illyrians and Luxiana as they entered the room. 

Mor had a broad smile on her lips, wanting to appear as sympathetic as possible to meet the soulmate of the three men in her life. She felt a little anxious. What would she do if this woman didn't like her? When she laid eyes on Luxiana, her breath caught in her throat. She tried not to let anything show, but like the first time she'd seen her, she'd been completely taken in by this woman's beauty. If she wasn't tied to Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel, she would have taken a chance on her.

Amren was bored in advance by this encounter. Sitting cross-legged in her chair, she breathed heavily as she checked her manicure, but when she laid eyes on Luxiana, everything changed. She contracted. Her face closed a little more than usual. She rose slowly from her chair, not wanting to make any sudden moves, feeling ... in danger? She detailed the young woman attentively. Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to stare at her, forcing her lower jaw not to lift from the top of her face.

Luxiana hiccupped as she caught sight of Mor. Her eyes widened as she stopped in her tracks, bringing Rhysand to a halt, unable to pull her by their entwined hands. He turned back to her with a puzzled look. But Luxiana only had eyes for Mor. She vaguely remembered seeing her at the Archerons, but she'd never been able to talk to him. She regretted it. Luxiana couldn't keep her eyes from shining with admiration. She'd also heard stories about Morrigan and what a powerful warrior she was. This fae was one of the few female warriors, in fact. She had earned the respect of the worst fae and even the worst Illyrians in this country. Luxiana was overwhelmed with admiration. She hoped with all her heart that one day she would become one of her friends.

Azriel and Cassian stopped at their soul mate’s side, turning their gaze towards her. An awkward silence settled over the room as the three Illyrians scrutinized Luxiana inquisitively. Why was she suddenly silent? It wasn't like her. Noticing this, and not wanting to appear intimidating, Mor hastened to break it. She rushed to Rhysand's side, facing Luxiana, holding out her hand in front of her. "Hello, my name is Morrigan, but you can call me Mor!" she exclaimed cheerfully, trying to sound as nice as possible.

Luxiana opened her mouth wide this time.

Azriel frowned. His soul mate seemed uncomfortable, or at least taken aback, and he didn't like it. He pivoted fully towards her to place his hand on her cheek. He shivered as his fingers made contact with Luxiana's cold, bouncy skin. He turned her head in his direction except that Luxiana continued to stare at Mor. "Are you all right?" asked Azriel, genuinely concerned.

Luxiana blinked several times as she looked up at Azriel, finally noticing him. She shook her head, returning her eyes to Morrigan. She opened her mouth several times, searching for words, but nothing came out. She didn't know what to say. She wanted to express her admiration for her, but she wanted to play it cool and not besiege her with every one of her thoughts she has. Under everyone's insistent stares, she moved automatically to grab the blonde's hand and shake it vigorously, unable to hide her excitement. "Uh... I'm sorry! My name's Mor! Uh, no, no, that's me! I mean, that's you! I'm Luxiana. Oh, sorry, isn't it hot in here? Phew, I'm so hot." The stream of words flowed out of her without her being able to stop it. She was talking nonsense. "Sorry I'm freaking out a little. You know you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Really you're beautiful," she spoke without any filter, her thoughts coming out raw, as they appeared in her head. "Oh my god, maybe I'm gay. I think I'm gay," she turned to Cassian as she continued to shake Morrigan's hand. "Am I gay?"

Everyone's eyes and mouths dropped open in surprise. 

Rhysand was no longer of this world. Was his soul mate flirting with a woman? His cousin no less? Didn't he have a chance with her... again!?

"No!!!" cried Cassian, a strange sort of jealousy spreading through him, burning his skin. He was shocked; if he thought he had no competition with one person, it was Mor. But now that this was the case... Something else awoke in the Illyrian’s mind. Such things as naughty images of Mor and his soulmate together.

Azriel's eyes darted frantically back and forth between Mor and Luxiana. "Is this some kind of fucking joke?" Anger froze his vessels so hard it burned.  His chest compressed. He swore silently as he looked up at the ceiling. Was this fate's way of playing with him? By making his soul mate fall for the woman he'd loved for 500 years and could never have?

Mor burst out laughing, finding her cute. Her pride was reassured to see that Luxiana liked her. How ironic that she was the soulmate of her three best friends. "It's adorable, especially when I think the same of you. I think you're even more beautiful than I am. Just my type," she winked at her, almost making Luxiana stumble. 

Rhysand forced himself to laugh, but the syllables of the sounds he made were so far apart that everyone could see it was fake and that he wasn't enjoying the situation at all. Was his soul mate really flirting with his cousin??????? Did his cousin was flirting back? He turned back to Mor after she'd spoken. " No," he said weakly, to forbid her to approach her.

Luxiana paid no attention to Rhysand. She took a deep, exaggerated noisy breath, still shaking Mor's hand. Then she swiveled towards Rhysand with a wide, dazzling smile. "She thinks I'm beautiful!!!" she almost shouted, jumping for joy.

"No," Rhysand repeated, apparently the only thing he could say as he was so taken aback by this unexpected situation. 

"Certainly not, in fact!" gasped Azriel. He grabbed Luxiana by the hips to make her let go Mor’s hand and swing her over his shoulder. He almost ran out of the room with Luxiana bouncing on top of him. They were both followed by Rhysand and Cassian, still in a state of shock.

They arrived in the hall where they had first set foot. Rhysand closed the door behind them with an absent look, while Mor was still laughing her head off. Azriel abruptly placed Luxiana on the floor. 

With Mor no longer in her field of vision, the blonde pulled herself together. "Woah," she yelled, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "That was completely crazy what just happened. It was fucking Morrigan."

"And what just happened?" shouted Azriel, both hands raised, breathless with shock and anger. 

Luxiana detailed Azriel with incomprehension. Then she understood him. "Oh," she realized. He was jealous. She grimaced. “Oh no, is that your girlfriend? I didn't mean to sound inappropriate, I just..."

Azriel blew out a breath, catching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Then he turned his jaded gaze back to Luxiana as she continued to speak. "No," he interrupted her curtly.

Luxiana frowned, then, trying to understand, she turned to Cassian. "Is this your girlfriend?"

Cassian blew out a laugh, shaking his head negatively. 

She then turned to Rhysand, no longer understanding anything.  She went to ask him the same question, but he beat her to it. "No, she's my cousin."

"Oh," she then added, lowering her eyes. No matter how hard her brain worked, she couldn't understand what had just happened. "What's wrong then?"

"You're not gay!" screamed Azriel again, aghast, eyes wide with the obvious. 

Luxiana raised an eyebrow before scowling and crossing her arms." And how do you know?"

Azriel huffed and let out a growl. He closed his eyes tightly. "Because, I just know it!" This woman was his soul mate. He'd already died of jealousy at having to distrust all males, half the population, now he was learning that he also had to fear a woman stealing her from him. He was going to collapse. 

"After…one doesn't preclude the other," Cassian observed with a light shrug and a salacious grin on his face.

Luxiana pointed at Cassian and nodded vigorously, as if he were absolutely right. Rhysand and Azriel gave their brother a look so black, the night would look as bright as the sun beside it.

Cassian raised his hands in the air. "What?" he defended himself. "Oh come on, I couldn't be the only one who was turned on by the situation."

"Yes!" cried Azriel. "Yes," breathed Rhysand wearily at the same time.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You joyless bunch."

Azriel blew out all his air again. "Don't flirt with Mor, okay?" he ordered sternly.

"I wasn't flir..." then she paused. She hadn't meant to flirt with Mor. She'd just completely panicked and said anything. The woman was just incredible and Luxiana had been under pressure. And she could have said that to Azriel, but who the hell did he think he was to forbid her to flirt with someone? He'd already done it with Lucien. So once was okay, but twice? Was he going to do this every time she met someone? Luxiana took offense, "And why not?"

"Because," Azriel growled with an insistent dark look. "Just don't anymore."

Luxiana, wanting a clue to explain their behavior, glanced at Rhysand. But he was staring at her with furrowed brows, seemingly of the same opinion as Azriel. She then looked to Cassian, who only shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. 

After all, the Illyrian with the red siphons was also a little jealous. He wouldn't have said no to sharing his bed with the two blondes, but no matter how much he pretended otherwise, the idea of Luxiana touching anyone other than the three of them would drive him mad with rage. 

Luxiana huffed through clenched teeth. "You're weird, but okay." Then she smiled viciously. "Well, for now. Can we go back now?"

Azriel gave her a jaded look before stepping aside to let her pass, still not believing his ears.

Rhysand cast a sidelong glance at his soul mate. Maybe she'd been right earlier, maybe she'd managed to wear them out.

Cassian opened the living room door and let Luxiana enter inside with an elegant gesture. The blond rushed back into the room, but she could feel Rhysand and Azriel's suspicious eyes burning into her back. They were surely making sure she didn't get too close to Mor.

Luxiana stopped in front of Rhys's cousin, who was still laughing. "Sorry about that," she apologized with a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mor, you can call me Lux. I hope we become friends."

"Just as happy, Lux," she replied, glancing mockingly at the three Illyrians behind Luxiana who were killing her with their pupils.  "I'm sure you'll brighten up our lives."

They laughed together and then Luxiana finally noticed the little brunette woman behind the tall blonde.The little fae had her arms crossed and was staring at Luxiana with squinted eyes. She was scrutinizing her as if she were from another planet, which almost made Luxiana uncomfortable. But the white hair girl had also heard of her. Amren. She was powerful, she knew. But she stepped cheerfully towards the brunette, holding out her hand as if she knew nothing. "Hello, I'm happy to meet you! You're just as beautiful as Morrigan. Rhysand seems to have a knack for surrounding himself well."

When Luxiana had approached Amren, the three Illyrians had put on a serious face. They tensed up, muscles contract, ready to intervene. None of them really knew how Amren would react. Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel had warned her. They'd even threatened her. If she dared even think of harming their soulmate, they would act. But they knew Amren wasn't intimidated by threats, and if she really wanted to hurt Luxiana, just because she was human, she would. The breaths of the three Illyrians had stopped and even their hearts seemed to have stopped beating.

There was silence as Luxiana continued to hold out her hand to the brunette. 

"Amren," Rhysand warned her curtly, silently ordering her to be very careful what she did and above all not to upset her soul mate. She might be disappointed or sad if Amren was mean to her, and he didn't want to see those expressions on Luxiana's cute face. 

But the brunette didn't even hear him, still too focused on Luxiana. Her eyebrows furrowed a little more every second. The three Illyrians had described her as weak, fragile and human, but Amren couldn't see it. Something was wrong. She didn't know what it was, she couldn't guess, see or feel it, but she was convinced that something was wrong. And the flashes of confidence, threat and madness she saw shining in the depths of the young woman's pupils didn't fool her. They couldn't be a sign of naivety. This young woman knew very well who Amren was and what she was capable of, but despite this, her gaze exuded no fear, no hesitation, only pure danger. A danger that made Amren shudder. A danger she'd never seen anywhere else. Ever. "What are you...?"

"...doing?" Luxiana replied so quickly afterwards that it made everyone think Amren hadn't finished her sentence, even though his question was well and truly over. “I’m introducing myself.” She gave her a fake innocent smile that only the little fae could see.

Amren's eyelids twitched. This creature knew in advance what question she was going to ask her and had already anticipated what she was going to do. So much that she had already prepared her answer and the timing of it. It was as if she'd already anticipated her reactions and this discussion. But above all, as if she didn't want the three Illyrians behind her to suspect anything. And the smile she gave her… It was a threat. 

Amren could have killed Luxiana, but something told her she couldn't even hurt her. Amen could have mentioned something to Rhysand but she said nothing because all the threat she glimpsed in the blonde's gaze was clearly not directed at them. In fact, it was wrapped in a layer of tenderness and kindness. The corner of Amren lips twitching upwards for a split second before disappearing. This creature was intriguing. She couldn't wait to find out what she was capable of.

The other four present behind them widened their eyes. "Did Amren just smile at Luxiana ??????" shouted Cassian into Rhysand and Azriel's heads.

"We probably just all hallucinated," Rhysand replied, not believing his eyes either.

But Amren reached out to Luxiana and grabbed her hand, shaking it just once. 

The lower jaws of Mor and the three Illyrians dropped, almost falling to the floor. "I've got to sit down," Cassian muttered, dropping into a chair.

[goldfades]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 ───── LUKA DONCIC

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (request for my lovely jo, @wanderlusturous) you, a hotheaded wnba star and your equally chaotic courtside boyfriend luka dončić take turns being menaces on and off the court, earning the title of Crash Out Couple with every tech, shove, and courtside screamfest

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | banter, luka being an instigator, it's kinda cute

The first time you meet Luka, he’s not quite a household name yet—but he’s well on his way. The smirk, the aura, the almost reckless abandon with which he commands the court—it’s all there. You’re sitting at a bar in Manhattan after a grueling Liberty practice, sipping on some overpriced cocktail that tastes like regret and stale citrus, when he strolls in, all easy confidence and mischief. You’re vaguely aware of who he is—because, duh, basketball—but you don’t care. Not about his growing fame. Not about the headlines that tend to follow him like a stray dog.

At first, it’s just banter. He comments on the Liberty cap perched on your head like he knows something. You volley back, sharp and unbothered, because you’re you, and nobody gets to talk slick without catching a little heat. You don't even realize you're flirting until he pulls out that grin, all teeth and menace, and asks for your number like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You give it to him—mostly because you’re intrigued by the audacity.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and the “Crash Out Couple” is practically an ESPN institution. You’d roll your eyes at the nickname if it weren’t so hilariously accurate. You, with your unapologetic on-court antics, and Luka, with his penchant for egging on entire benches, were practically made for each other. There’s a viral video that resurfaces every few months, some grainy courtside footage of Luka heckling refs while you jaw at a six-foot-four forward breathing down your neck. The caption reads, “Soulmates.” You both pretend to hate it, but the truth is, you kind of love it.

The media has their narrative: the fiery, unrelenting WNBA star and the NBA's most charming troublemaker. But what they don’t see is how it started—how the two of you fit together in a way that no one else ever really could.

Before you were dubbed half of the league’s favorite chaotic duo, you were just a girl with a chip on your shoulder and a game so good that even your doubters had to sit down and shut up. You grew up on New York asphalt, weaving through defenders who didn’t care if you were 13 or 30. You’d seen it all—trash talk, cheap shots, elbows that left bruises—and you didn’t just survive it; you thrived in it. You weren’t Sabrina Ionescu good in college—you were Sabrina Ionescu-adjacent, a little grittier, a little rougher around the edges.

By the time the Liberty scooped you up, you’d already perfected the art of letting people underestimate you. On the court, you were all business—sharp elbows, sharper words. Off the court, you weren’t much different.

And Luka? He had the same energy, just dressed up in a European accent and a billion-dollar smile.

So when the two of you finally crossed paths, it wasn’t fireworks or love at first sight or any of that fairytale nonsense. It was a slow build, a series of exchanges that started as friendly competition and escalated into something neither of you could ignore. You pushed him; he pushed back. You taunted; he laughed. And when the time came, he showed up for you the way you didn’t even realize you needed.

The arena hums with energy, a pulsing beat of chatter, sneakers squeaking on hardwood, and the occasional blare of the PA system announcing players warming up. You’re on the court, loose-limbed and laser-focused, bouncing a ball between your hands as the Liberty logo gleams under the bright lights. The crowd’s a blur, faces blending together, but you know exactly where Luka is without looking.

He’s courtside, leaned back like he’s sitting on his own throne, wearing that damn smile that always means trouble. He’s dressed low-key—a hoodie and jeans—but the way he carries himself, you’d think he was the one suiting up to play.

“You look nervous,” he calls out, loud enough for half the court to hear.

You roll your eyes, dribbling lazily as you make your way toward him. “Why would I be nervous? You’re not the one guarding me.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “That’s a shame. I’d shut you down in five minutes.”

“Five?” you fire back, smirking now. “I’d have you in foul trouble in two.”

The assistant coach whistles sharply, breaking the moment as you’re called back into the fold. You turn, already putting him out of your mind, but not before Luka leans forward, his voice following you.

“Just don’t get ejected, okay? I want my money’s worth.”

You don’t look back, but your grin gives you away.

The game starts, and it’s clear from the jump that they’re gunning for you. You’re no stranger to being a target, but tonight it feels personal. Every time you touch the ball, there’s a defender glued to you—sometimes two, sometimes three. They’re in your face, hands swiping, shoulders digging into you on every drive.

It’s annoying, but you don’t let it show. Not yet.

You’re still finding your rhythm when the first cheap shot comes—an elbow to your ribs during a fast break. You stumble, barely, and the ref doesn’t call it. Luka is on his feet instantly, arms raised as he shouts something in Slovenian that’s definitely not family-friendly.

You wave him off with a quick glance and grit your teeth, setting up on the next possession. They want to frustrate you, throw you off your game. Fine. Two can play that.

By the second quarter, it’s obvious they’re not letting up. A hard screen sends you sprawling, and when you get up, your expression is thunderous. The forward who set the screen smirks, muttering something you can’t hear but understand perfectly. You take a step toward her, jaw tight, but your teammates pull you back before the whistle can blow.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Luka laughing, leaning into the drama like it’s his own personal soap opera. He’s clapping now, shouting something about “that’s my girl!”

It’s all fuel. Every shove, every sneer, every comment—you take it, you feed on it, and you channel it into the next play. You cut through the defense with surgical precision, drawing fouls and making them pay. By halftime, you’ve put up enough points to silence most of the chirping.

But Luka? Luka’s louder than ever.

When the buzzer sounds, you jog off the court toward the locker room, passing by Luka on your way. He’s waiting, still grinning like he’s enjoying this more than anyone else in the building.

“Having fun yet?” he teases, leaning over the railing.

You stop, towel slung over your shoulder, and level him with a look. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He throws his head back, laughing, and for a second, you forget how much your ribs hurt.

By the time the third quarter starts, you’re running on pure adrenaline. Your body aches, your jersey clings to your skin, and the defenders are still swarming you like vultures over a carcass. But you’ve got that look in your eye—the one that tells everyone, including Luka, that you’re done playing nice.

They keep testing you, and you keep answering. Elbow jabs in the paint? Fine, you’ll fight through them. Double teams in the corner? Bring it on. But there’s only so much a person can take before they hit their breaking point.

And that point comes when you drive to the basket, slipping past one defender before the next one—a towering forward with about four inches and twenty pounds on you—steps into your path. She doesn’t go for the ball. Instead, she throws her shoulder into you with enough force to send you stumbling back.

The ref blows the whistle, finally calling the foul, but you barely hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

The forward grins, smug, like she’s gotten away with something. And that’s it. You snap.

Without thinking, you shove her—hard. Hard enough that her sneakers screech against the hardwood as she stumbles back a few steps, eyes wide with shock. The crowd erupts into chaos, the kind of noise that rattles your bones.

She comes back at you immediately, barking something that you don’t catch because your teammates are already between you, dragging you back while her team does the same. The refs are blowing their whistles like it’s a lifeline, trying to regain control.

And Luka? He’s on his feet, losing his mind.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he yells, clapping his hands so loud you can hear it over the chaos. “Push her again! She deserved it!”

You glance his way, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. He’s leaning so far over the railing it looks like he might climb onto the court, his hoodie halfway off, gesturing wildly as he yells something in Slovenian that probably translates to “start the fight!”

The announcers are having a field day. The crowd is on their feet. Social media is already typing up their captions.

But you? You’re still locked in, eyes blazing as you stare down your defender, silently daring her to come at you again.

The refs eventually restore order, handing out double techs for good measure, but the damage is done. The entire arena is buzzing, and you can feel the shift in momentum.

You walk back to the bench, chin high, and when you sit down, Luka catches your eye again. He’s grinning like he’s never been prouder in his life.

“You really gave them their money’s worth,” he calls out, voice practically dripping with pride.

You grab a water bottle, smirking despite yourself. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the game plays out like a blur. The other team never quite recovers, and the Liberty take the win. By the time the final buzzer sounds, your name is trending, along with Luka’s, under the now-iconic title: Crash Out Couple.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[melancholymetropolis]

The Summoning

plot: Reader is freshly separated from her shitty ex and buys a new house in the middle of nowhere.

pairings: TraditionalVampire!Miguel O'Hara x Reader

genre(s): Soulmate AU; Forced Proximity; Hurt with Comfort

warnings: unedited. mentions of DV and abuse. LARGE AGE GAP (Miguel is almost 300 years old). creepy basement. reader is very reserved, but not really shy. miguel falls first and HARD. mind reading. declarations of love every five minutes. miguel is an absolute simp for this woman. PIV SEX. BLOOD DRINKING. pet names (darling, sweetheart, mi amor, etc.) praising. multiple positions. rounds and rounds.

a/n: there is over 4k words of smut in this. you're welcome.

w.c: 7.5k

Something had drawn me to the basement. The broker told me that it was completely bare and covered in cement. There was nothing to see or storage yet— since I just officially moved in last week. But my body kept pulling through the Victorian manor anyway. I descended the grand staircase, into the kitchen, and right to the back door. The basement had been directly adjacent to it. A tingling sensation coursed through me as I turned the doorknob and inched down the stairs. My nerves were buzzing and my head was going fuzzy. I could almost hear a voice crawling through my mind. It scoured the vast plane before meeting my subconscious. Despite the intrusive nature of the presence, I was not threatened by it. For some reason, my body did the exact opposite: I welcomed it. As I walked through the pitch-black basement, I allowed the foreign spirit to enter my mind.

Come to me, gentle creature.

In the far edge of the dark abyss, a candle flickered on. It was followed by another and another. One by one candles started to light throughout the room. Warm light started to gradually fill the space around me. They formed a perfect ring around me. My eyes drifted to the ground and widened at the sight. Words scribbled in yellow chalk were written underneath my feet. I captured words like “sanguis”, “potator”, “monstrum”, and “daemonium”. It was times like this that I wished I took Latin more seriously in High School. I would be able to beautifully translate the foreign tongue below me. I narrowed my eyes and continued to search the scribbles on the floor. There had to be something I recognized, some word in English that didn’t stray far from its Latin roots. 

Suddenly, another candle flickered to life; following the same pattern as earlier. But, instead of following a circle pattern, it created a path to the other side of the room. The low light exposed more Latin words written in chalk on the floor. The loopy handwriting was almost decorative with how it graced the floor. Some sentences seemed never-ending. They covered the floors entirely; my eyes didn’t know where to look. I scanned the scattered lettering frantically, trying to piece together anything that could tell me what the hell was going on. 

About thirty feet away from me, the thick path of candles split into two. It started to form another shape— it was a rectangle. Just outside the shape, my eyes picked up a word written in bright red. I didn’t need translation to understand what it meant, as its meaning was universal. 

VAMPYRUS

The entire basement was encased in the warm light of hundreds of candles. The entire room was covered in Latin scribbling and horrific drawings. There were images of a massive figure with great fangs. He was drawn with bright red eyes and a disgusting scowl. His nails had been massive and strong. There had been claw marks embedded into the cement walls. Dried spatters of blood dripped near them. I could feel my heart begin to pound in my chest as my breathing increased. Panic coursed through me as I took several shaky steps backward. Then it finally hit me. The rectangular shape was not a decorative choice. The candles had been surrounding something I almost didn’t recognize: a casket. 

Don’t be afraid, tender beauty. I am no harm to you.

Before I could even acknowledge the voice ringing in my mind, the lid of the casket started to slide open. Inch by inch it moved from the inside as subtle movement sounded from within the space. My mind was racing, desperately trying to piece together how I could get out of the situation. From the copious amounts of pop culture that I had consumed, I knew that vampires were vulnerable to silver of any kind and fire. Yet, the only silver thing I had to my name was a crucifix my grandmother gave me for my 15th birthday. There had been no signs of any wood near me, meaning I couldn’t make a stake even if I knew how. The candle’s fire was too weak to create any damage and to form a lasting flame. 

I was simply stuck. 

The casket’s lid fell to the ground with a loud thud. A massive body began to rise from within the space. A broad chest was covered in a pristine white dress shirt, which seemed to glow in the low light. That was the only thing I caught a glimpse of before the vampire’s body came racing toward me. I didn’t even have time to scream. His hands were on my body before I could blink. They gripped my waist tightly, before pulling me into a tight embrace. My head rested comfortably at the top of his abdomen, while my arms lay limp at my sides. The vampire had been at least a foot taller than me and I was no small girl. I was roughly 5ft10, definitely taller than the average woman in town. The creature’s size and gentleness had been a peculiar combination. It was something I wasn’t expecting. 

“So. . . you’re not gonna kill me?” I asked awkwardly.

“Of course not,” he stated, pulling away from the embrace a bit. His deep brown eyes glimmered in the low light. “I believe I told you I wouldn’t, mi amor.” 

His voice was smooth and thick. There was a hint of an accent there as well. On any other occasion, I would've found the man insanely attractive. He had strong features: deep-set brown eyes, a strong straight nose, and prominent cheekbones. The vampire’s thick black curls were combed back, highlighting his perfectly shaped eyebrows. His warm skin tone laid the pale-skinned vampire myth out to dry. The monster before looked graciously kissed by the sun as did I. In this low light, it seemed like we have the same complexion. That little fact gave me some kind of solace. 

I would much rather be in a ring of candles with a BIPOC vampire, than a grumpy white one.

I slipped out of the arms of the swooning vampire and created some space between our trembling bodies. "Can we. . . uh. . . talk?"

"Yes, I would love that," he replied with a firm nob. 

On the outside, his emotions seemed completely unreadable. He looked every bit like a big, scary vampire from the past. However, something within me told me otherwise. The familiar fuzzy feeling from before was coursing through me. Waves of curiosity, adoration and. . . relief washed over me. Everything within me told me that he was waiting for this very moment for a long time. That the vampire had waited a significant time to meet and embrace me. He wanted nothing more than to be in close proximity to me for an eternity.

"Could we maybe not have this conversation in a creepy, witchy basement?" I suggested, hesitantly.

"Anything for you."

Before I could utter another word, the massive vamp placed one arm underneath my knees and another against my shoulder blades. In one fell swoop, he lifted me off the ground and started walking to the stairs. 

"Wait! The candles—"

Just as they lit themselves up, they sizzled out. 

The vampire took careful steps out of the basement. He held me firmly against his body as he slowly climbed up the stairs and walked through the corridor. His eyes drifted along the walls, taking in the home's decor. He nodded at the forest-green walls and mused at the gold accents. Upon entering the living room, the vampire’s eyes flickered to the window. He took in the full moon in the sky, allowing the milky light to coat his skin. 

After about thirty seconds, the vampire remembered where he was and placed me on a nearby couch. He took a seat in the spot next to me and remained silent. Almost like he was waiting for further instruction.

I nervously turned away from his fiery gaze and cleared my throat. The tension between us had already been so intense and we just met. It was so hard to focus when something so attractive was close to me.

Breathe, little dove. There's no need to rush anything. We have an eternity together.

"That! How do you do that?" I blurted. "How can I hear your voice in my mind?"

"Because we are fated to be together," he replied simply. 

"You're gonna have to give me more than that, vamps," I chided, crossing my arms over my chest. "Let's start with your name. Who are you? Why were you in my basement?"

"My name is Miguel O'Hara," he started. "I was born in 1723 in Mexico. My mother was Mexican and my father was Irish— their love was the purest thing I had ever seen. It wasn’t forbidden, but interracial relationships weren't exactly common. My Mexican side didn't necessarily appreciate my mother dating someone that wasn't her heritage, so they pushed me out of the village when I was ten years old." He sighed and shook his head at the statement. Almost as if he was still in disbelief by it. "We lived in the woods for about five years peacefully, until fever struck. It had taken both of my parents in a matter of weeks. Leaving teenage me to fend for myself after that."

Although I wasn't expecting to give his entire life story, I wasn’t mad at it. It gave some humanity to the hulking man next to me. 

"I met a witch not too long after that. She invited me into her home, fed me, and gave me a change of clothes," Miguel continued. "She was the first kind person I met in a long time and I decided to stick beside her. We grew close and I told her everything. About my parent's relationship, how their families rejected me, and how utterly lonely I felt when they died. I told her how I, one day, wanted to share that same love with someone. How I wanted to devote my life to that person. How I wanted to live forever with them."

"You were cursed, weren't you?"

"At the time, it was meant to be a blessing. Something to give me hope. Something to make me want to continue living, because I was tired," he confessed.

"Oh, no. . . I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

But the look on his face told me that it still bothered him. 

We stood in silence for a few moments, just letting the information settle in the room. I couldn’t stop glancing at his saddened face every so often. There was something deep within me yearning to comfort him. I wanted to embrace his huge body and place his head against my chest. I'd say sweet nothings, while I played in his hair. I wanted him to hear the steady beat of my heart, in hopes that it would soothe him.

It would, gentle creature. Just one touch and all the pain would drift away from my body.

My eyes widened at the statement as a fate blush dusted my cheeks. "Woo. . . lord give me strength," I swallowed hard. "You know how to make a girl feel special."

"That's because you are," Miguel replied, gripping both my hands. "I waited over a century to be graced with your presence and I could already tell it was worth the wait. Everything about you is just so intoxicating, from those big brown eyes to that wondrous mind. You are everything I ever wanted and more."

My heartbeat started to increase once more, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was lust. To hear such tender words from a man like him had made my heart glow and my womanhood heat. He was praising me for simply existing and that was enough for him. He didn't expect me to be anyone else or to change. From what I could tell, he liked me just the way I was.

Unlike Richard, my soon-to-be ex-husband.

The ill thought made a sour look flutter onto my face. I shoved the faulty memories back into the box that they sprang out of and sighed. I wasn’t to think about the divorce, let alone talk about it.

"So, given the information you have provided, you are about 300 years old," I concluded. 

"That is correct."

"And it would be safe to assume that this used to be your house?"

"Yup."

"And you've been in the basement the entire time?"

"Mhm."

"And the real estate agent knew?"

"Not exactly," he countered. "The section of the basement we were in was sealed off for at least a century. I had started to lose faith in your arrival and decided to rest until I was graced with your presence. The witch had told me that I would instinctively know it was you. There would be some kind of force pushing us both together. And she was right. I mean why else would you buy a house in the middle of nowhere."

I turned away from him, desperately trying to limit the thoughts of my past from flaring right back up. I simply wasn't ready to share that part with him yet. 

A yawn, suddenly, ripped through me and took over my being. I looked down at my wristwatch and realized that it was well into two o'clock in the morning. 

"How about we call it a night?" Miguel suggested. "You seem exhausted and we could always continue this tomorrow."

"Alright," I said, slowly rising to my feet. "Well, good night then." 

"Good night, sweetheart."

Miguel O'Hara was a traditional vampire in every sense of the word. He was allergic to silver and all things holy. Meaning, that little crucifix my grandmother gave me had to stay in the jewelry box from that point forward. He was also deathly sensitive to sunlight and remained asleep for the majority of the day. He didn't necessarily prefer to sleep in the coffin, but he continued out of respect for me. 

Finally, he drank blood and from the dried splatters along the wall, lots of it. I didn’t know where he got it or who he got it from, but I refused to ask. Some things were better left unsaid. 

After a few more encounters with the friendly vampire, he revealed that he awoke from his deep slumber a month before our meeting. It was around the time I was touring the house for the first time. Miguel detailed how his heart grew with anticipation as my footsteps echoed throughout the home. He knew from the moment I stepped out of the car that I was the woman he was looking for, a missing piece to a very complicated puzzle. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to me, but since I primarily arrived at the estate during the daytime he couldn't. 

In pure vampiric fashion, Miguel decided to wait on the night of the full moon to make his grand appearance.  The mysticism of the event was supposed to soften the blow, at least that's what he assumed. Since the curse was performed on a full moon, our connection would be amplified during that time. Which was why he was able to read my thoughts so clearly and I read his emotions. 

The more I talked to Miguel, the more fairy tale-esque the situation felt. It was as though I was a princess, forced to stay in a drafty old castle with a mysterious prince. Someone that looked brutal and monstrous on the outside. Someone that has the capability of ripping someone's head off without breaking a sweat. Yet, he was the kindest man I had ever met. 

My eyes flickered over to one of the many gifts that Miguel has given me over the last few days. There had been about two dozen Double Delight roses sitting in a pristine crystal vase before me. Their white core seemed to glow in the moonlight, while red tips glittered like rubies. I had never seen something so pretty. I don’t know how he managed to order them, with him being a vampire and all, but the action had struck something in me. Miguel didn’t get me flowers out of obligation. He didn’t get them because it was an anniversary or a birthday. He had gotten them just because he knew they would bring me joy. 

I cried when I saw them. 

"You have to stop crying every time I give you something," Miguel said, placing a box on the kitchen counter. "You're going to make me want to kill your past lovers."

My eyes widened at the statement. "Why would you do that?"

"Because they didn't treat you right," he replied nonchalantly. "I mean, what is courting if not showering a woman with gifts?"

I could feel the tears immediately well in my eyes. "Miguel. . . " I murmured.

"You didn’t even open the gift and you're already crying," he tsked. The vampire pulled a tissue from the box and lifted it to my face. "May I?"

I nodded.

Miguel closed the gap between us. His massive body towered over my own, completely encasing me against the counter. He brought the tissue to the corner of my eye and began to dab. His tired brown eyes fazed into mine with an unreadable emotion. It was a cross between uncertainty and adoration. It was almost like he was pondering whether I had truly been his perfect match. If I would ever accept the union and show him who I was. He could sense that I was hiding something, but never pushed. Miguel was a patient man. He was fine waiting an eternity for me to trust him, as long as I stayed with him. 

The vampire lowered the tissue from my face but kept his body close to mine. His brown eyes stayed steady on my face. They digested my worrisome demeanor and presented a soft facial expression. I took my bottom lip between my teeth and nibbled nervously. My eyes kept stealing glances at his soft lips. They have been my main distraction for the past month and I was beginning to lose my self-control.

As a freshly separated woman, the temptation was as strong as ever. A big, strong, rich vampire wanted to take care of me for an eternity? How does one say no to that? I was struggling too.

Kiss me.

I shouted the two words out loud in my mind, in hopes that he'll hear them. His eyes widened from the statement and a slow smile crept onto his face. His muscular arms wrapped around my plump body and pulled me even closer to him. I could feel my ample bosoms squish against his hard abdomen, which sent a shiver down our spine. Miguel’s thoughts were just as dirty as mine and we were tempted to make them a reality. 

The vampire slowly leaned on closer, forcing our noses to touch. He parted his lips and gradually inched towards my mouth. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. The first brush of his lips made my heart stop. My knees felt weak and Miguel had to gather me in his arms. A pleasurable sensation skated across my nerves. Fireworks had exploded behind my closed eyes and everything seemed to still be around me. 

It was simply magical.

Miguel goes to pull away, but I grip his shirt to stop him. Slowly but surely I had found my strength and hooked my arms around his neck. I kissed him back. I welcomed every emotion that blossomed from our union. Adoration. Longing. Lust. I moaned against his lips and brought my body closer to his. A growl erupted behind his throat as he lifted me off the ground. My legs were wrapped around his hips and my arms were securely around his neck.

Are you sure this is what you want, mi amor?

His Latin accent was thicker than usual in my mind. The lust was quickly eating away at his polished demeanor. The carnal desires were slowly coming to the light and his inner beast was almost ready to pounce.

I couldn’t wait.

I pulled away from the drooling vampire and scanned his face. His pupils were dilated and his mouth was partially open. He didn't have to use his lungs or breathe if he didn't want to. Yet, Miguel was heaving. The kiss had seemed to bring life to him, forcing him to take rapid breaths. 

His thoughts were loud in my mind. 

Miguel wanted me. He wanted me in every way one could imagine. 

He wanted me on the floor. Bent over the couch. Against the wall. He wanted me in the shower, hands pressed against the glass. Hovering over the bathroom sink with my arms behind my back. He wanted me in the kitchen, across the island with my legs on his shoulders. He wanted me in the study, fucking me so hard the books fell off the shelves. He wanted me in my bed, my thighs smothering his face while my hips wiggled against his mouth. 

Miguel wanted to truly break the house— our house in. The vampire wanted to fuck me on every available flat surface possible; from the top of his coffin in the basement to the expensive rug in front of the fireplace. He wanted me in the best and the worst way. He wanted me in any way he could have me.

And, to my surprise, I was going to let him. 

I want you, Miguel. I want you so bad it hurts. 

His eyes fluttered closed and he tightened his grip on my body. Miguel pressed his forehead to mine and released a shaky breath. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear, Y/N.” 

His plump lips locked with mine moments later. The kiss was even more intense than its predecessor and it made spin. My hands found their way into his hair, tugging and pulling the curls as I wiggled my tongue in his mouth. The Latin man blindly started to take steps out of the kitchen. Like an expert, he managed to walk through the hallway without bumping into any furniture or walls. He slowly walked up the stairs, while dropping messy kisses down my jaw and to my neck. My eyes rolled back as he sucked the tender area. My whimpers bounced through the house without warning. The sheer sounds of my pleasure were starting to stir things within me. 

My ex always wanted me to be quiet when the moment came. He said my moans were “nauseating” and took him out of the mood. Richard preferred I be as silent as a mouse while he climbed on top of me a humped me like a rabid dog. The sex never lasted longer than ten minutes and there was rarely any foreplay. The act felt like a chore, rather than an activity we could enjoy together. 

It was one of the many things Richard ruined for me.

Miguel lowered my body onto a familiar surface and pulled me away from the embrace. I opened my eyes to see his big brown eyes staring down at me. A look of pure bliss had graced his face as a took me in. He looked at me as if I were the only woman in the entire world. Like I was his most prized possession. Miguel O’Hara looked at me as if I was his entire reason for existing and I could feel my heart swell with an emotion I almost forgot existed: love.

I was beginning to fall in love with a man I had barely known for a month. 

I was falling in love with a man that rested for a hundred years, waiting for me.

I had started to fall in love with a vampire. A monster to some, but an absolute sweetheart to me. 

The fanged bastard was starting to creep into my cold heart and repair everything I thought was broken forever. 

Miguel had made me realize that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that I wasn’t broken. I just needed the right lover to make me whole.

My trembling hands reached for the buttons on my shirt. I fumbled with the little pieces of plastic, silently cursing myself for being so nervous. Without saying a word, Miguel’s gentle hands replaced my own. His nimble fingers undid the buttons in a matter of seconds. He slipped the cotton garment off my shoulders and tossed it aside. The longs digits gently caressed my soft center and shoulders. Miguel’s touches were light and respectful— something I wasn’t particularly craving at that moment. With shaky hands, I fumbled with the belt buckle of my pants. I undid the fastening of the dark blue jeans and started to push them down my waist. The vampire moved his hands lower, assisting me in the undressing activity. As he did that, I removed the hair clip from my head and allowed my box braids to fall to my back.

Miguel growled at the sight. He took in my pretty purple lingerie set and crawled on the bed. It was a vintage lacy number, with handmade lace and silk ribbons. I had bought it sometime after he had given me the twelfth gift; it was one he had to assemble. His bulging muscles and breathy grunts had practically pushed me to the lingerie website. My dirty, little mind couldn’t help but imagine him making those noises while I was underneath him. For that reason, I decided I needed to be ready. I needed to wear lingerie just in case I got lucky.

“You’re as beautiful as a painting, mi amor,” he purred. “I could stare at you forever.”

A warm sensation arose to my cheeks as my heart began to pound. “Miguel. . .”

“My darling. . .” he replied, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped the thin cotton fabric from his muscular arms and tossed it aside. “I have waited for this. . .” Miguel unbuckled his pants. “I have waited for you. . .” He slid the dark grey trousers down his muscle thighs and allowed them to pool at his ankles. “For over a century and that wasn’t nearly as hard as being in the same house with you for the past four weeks.” 

The final thing remaining on his body was a pair of boxer briefs, which I had bought him. The bulge, now unrestricted, was bigger than I could’ve ever imagined. It was bigger than I could have ever had, yet I wasn’t scared. If what he told me was true, then we were made for each other. Completely destined to be united. So, in other words, I should be able to take his monster dick with no problem.

Touch me. 

Within seconds, his massive body was hovering atop mine. His lips were dancing along my neck as his fingertips wiggled between my thighs. They pushed past my waistband and down my curly mound. The callous pads gently caressed the sensitive lower lips, which caused my body to shiver. They separated the vulva and found my happy-swollen pearl instantly. A gasp erupted from my throat as the man above me rubbed large circles against it. It had been so long since I had been touched so intimately by someone else— I had almost forgotten what the sensation felt. Moans spilled from my lips as my hands pulled against his hair. My body vibrated against his, begging Miguel to take it just a single step further. My slick channel felt so empty and practically unused. It craved to be stretched and probed. 

“You are so wet. . .” The vampire growled against my neck. “I’ve barely even touched you. . .”

“Please. . .” I mewled, rolling my body against his. “Stop the teasing. . . I can’t take it anymore.”

Miguel released a deep chuckle. “Whatever you say, mi amor.”

In the blink of an eye, my underwear was off and the vampire was beneath me. My thighs rested on either side of his handsome face and his large hands were on my hips. I looked down and immediately noticed the facial expression he chose to wear for that occasion. It was pure adoration. My curly mound and sensitive vulva were in his direct line of vision. The vampire had been staring at it as if it were the most marvelous thing he had ever seen in his 300+ years of living. With tender hands, he pushed my hovering hips down on his open, waiting maw. Electricity shot through my body as his tongue lapped against my folds.

“Oh fuck. . .”

My hips rolled against his eager face, while I used the headboard to stabilize myself. The velvet muscle caressed the sensitive area, sending shocks through my body. His firm grasp directed my hips closer to his face. The gentle pulling didn’t stop until my pelvis was comfortably resting on the hot mouth and prickly chin. The fear of smothering him had come and gone; Miguel O’Hara was a traditional vampire in every sense. He didn’t need to breathe. He could feast on my beloved womanhood for as long as he desired without coming up for air. Shivers ran through my spine from the idea. A feeling of triumph coursed through my veins, alongside the pleasure giving me goosebumps. I had truly hit the lover jackpot of the millennia. 

Eventually, his soft lips found the aching pearl underneath her curtains. The lips wrapped around the bud and trapped her in a cage. A powerful suction fired up in Miguel’s mouth and my eyes snapped open from the action. My hips started to have a mind of its own. I rolled them faster on his face, harder too. He alternated between sucking and lapping the oozing cunt— my god did it feel oh so good. Desire was coursing through my needy body. A hunger I didn’t recognize was forming in the pit of my stomach. There was a sort of power in the position Miguel had placed me in. My thighs were completely smothering his face and his mouth was full of my cunt. My hips were fucking his hot mouth like they only had five minutes left on Earth. My hands gripped the headboard so tightly I thought I might break it. I could feel my peak nearing, but the notion didn’t stop my movements. I fucked myself against his mouth for what felt like hours until my back suddenly arched and my toes curled.

“Fuck!” I cursed as my legs shook against his face. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face!”

Slowly, all the feeling left my body except Miguel’s mouth on my pussy. My limbs numbed and my head drew blank. I could no longer hear the sounds of the sultry moans dripping from my lips, just my rapid heartbeat exploding in my chest. There was a warm sensation at the pit of my stomach, one I hardly recognized. My mouth fell open and my movements came to a screeching halt. My thighs squeezed shut, and my body hunched forward. One of my hands gripped his hair, while the other remained on the headboard. Short shouts spilled from my lips. Incoherent phrases followed soon after. There was not a cohesive thought in my mind at that moment. 

The orgasm felt long and raw. It unearthed something unholy within me. I wanted more of it. I wanted more of him. I needed Miguel inside of me right then and right now.

When my soul had returned to my body, I dragged my twitching lower half to his awaiting cock. It was still hard, throbbing, and glistening. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and ran the tip along my puffy pussy. I let it circle my clit a few times before aligning it with my entrance. 

“Y/N, wait— Shit!”

My slutty hips slowly sank onto the vampire’s cock, earning a violent twitch of the member inside of me. I firmly placed my hands on his chest, pushing my hips down even more. There was a subtle burn from how much he stretched my needy pussy, but I didn’t mind. I only made it about halfway down the shaft before Miguel started to rub my forgotten clit. Moans fell from my lips as I pushed down just a little bit more. Before I knew it, the entire member was buried in my snatch to our surprise. We looked down in shock at where our curly bits met in shock. 

We are made for each other, huh?

Miguel’s eyes sparkled at the statement and a wicked grin fell on his lips. 

Before I knew it, the vampire had placed me flat on my back with my legs hugging his waist. His deep brown eyes were looking into mine with such intention— I didn’t need to hear his voice in my mind to understand it. Miguel, then, hooked his arms underneath my shoulders and placed his forehead against mine. His hips rolled slowly against my womanhood. The painstakingly muted movements made my body sing with anticipation. It felt as though he was testing the waters. The vampire wanted to see just how used how much my heat accommodate his massive cock. He needed to make sure I wasn’t being hurt in any way and that the motions weren’t too rough for me. 

I brought my lips to his and gave him a seductive kiss.

Fuck me like you mean it.

The massive man groaned against my lips and started to litter lazy kisses against my neck. 

You’re going to be the death of me.

Before I could process what he meant, the vampire lifted his head from the area and readjusted his body. He placed his palms flat down on the mattress and raised his body from mine. Our chests were separated, but our legs were tangled together. It seemed like he preferred it that way. He took in my expression once more before increasing his thrusts. The process was gradual. The pressure and speed increased in small increments. Again, Miguel was testing my limits as to how much I could handle. He was doing everything in his power to make sure this was a comfortable experience instead of a painful one.

The moans didn’t start flying from my mouth until a few moments passed. My entire body was jiggling from the force applied to his thrusts. My eyes slipped shut and my back arched against his looming body. 

"Please," I whimpered. "Please, Miguel. Just a little harder."

I could feel a pleasurable flame ignited within me. I wanted nothing more than my body ablaze and the wind knocked from me. The hunger was still prevalent even after the hardest orgasm of my life. I wanted Miguel in any possible way I could have him. Above, below, and adjacent. On my back, my stomach, or my side. I wanted him to plow his massive member in me, just as desperately as he sucked into my snatch. 

With a growl, Miguel hoisted my body in the air and pulled me onto his lap. Instinctively, I hooked my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He sat back on his heels and held me tightly against his chest. Without warning, his hips rose from their slouched position and collided with my center. A gasp tickled my tongue and air escaped my lungs. The thrusts were deep and hard. They pushed through me with such intention and precision that it was supernatural. The smooth head of his member was nestled against a pleasure point I forgot I had. The snap of his hips had sent the head to kiss the underside of my cervix, which was sending shock waves through my core. His strength and speed were unmatched. The hip thrusts were so quick that it felt as if Miguel was vibrating against me. My entire body felt tingly and warm. Deep throaty moans shot out of me as my eyes fell closed. My walls fluttered against the devilish member and I could already feel my peak begin to rise.

“H-h-holy Sh-sh-shit,” I stammered, digger my nails into his shoulders. “M-M-Miguel. . .”

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the smile slowly take over his face. 

 Take me, mi amor. Take all of me. My cock, my power, my adoration— it is all yours to have. To hold. To cherish.

The sweet words had sent my insides into a frenzy. My heart swelled from the dedication. It made the impending orgasm all that much sweeter.

I am yours. In this lifetime and the next. I will remain by your side as long as you breathe and even after that. 

His name was the only word I could formulate in my mind as he continued to pound into me. I chanted it over and over again in my mind since my tongue wasn’t cooperating properly. I thought about our life together and what it could look like. Our nights would be filled with cuddles and kisses. Declarations of love and tiny gifts to show appreciation towards each other. There would be no arguments or spats over silly things. I wouldn’t have to hide in my bedroom because he came home too drunk or pretend it didn’t happen the next morning. I could ask him to fix things and it would get done. I wouldn’t have to wonder if his love was true, since he had no problem with telling me every chance he got. From what I gathered from his mind, there was nothing I could do to make Miguel love me even less. Nothing I could do to provoke him to yell at me or attempt to hit him. Even if I drew a stake into his heart, Miguel wouldn’t even stop me. He told me, “Death by your hand is the only way I would want to go.”

What he had for me was more than just love and trust. It is more than simply being fated to one another. He had the drive to be a good partner, someone worth loving. It showed in everything he ever did. From the copious amounts of gifts to the gentle words in my mind as he fucked me into another dimension— Miguel O’Hara simply loved loving me and that made my heart ache.

The orgasm collided with my body and immediately pulled me out of my daze. My eyes rolled back and my head fell as well. Short, curt gasps puffed out of my mouth. Fireworks exploded throughout my mind as the orgasm progressed. His movements remained steady and consistent, making it even longer than intended. 

On my pleasurable way down, one of my hands crept up to Miguel’s head and took hold of his dark curls. I moved my head a little bit and exposed my neck. 

Drink.

Miguel stopped his rapid thrusting and looked down at me. “Are you sure, darling? Because you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I interjected. “And I trust that you won’t drain me completely. So, drink.”

His brown eyes fluttered to my exposed neck and shaky breath left his lips. “Just let me know if I am hurting you, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Slowly, Miguel sunk his teeth into the soft flesh, earning a small gasp from me. There was a small pinch, but then it was followed by gentle suckling. My eyes fluttered closed as a glorious sensation arose within me. It was foreign, something I could only describe as delectable. The forbidden nature of the act was feeding my carnal desires in a way that nothing else had. In a way, Miguel had been getting his fill of me just as I got of him. The transaction was nowhere near normal or mundane. The supernatural nature of it was making my head spin and my desire spike once again. 

My hips rolled against his lap as he continued to drink from my neck. His member was still hard nestled between my sensitive walls, but it was twitching. It signaled to me that Miguel was just as turned on as I was by the act. I pulled our bodies back, resulting in me on my back again. His mouth slipped from my neck with a groan.  Miguel sat up from his slumped position and looked up at the ceiling. When he opened his eyes, they were pupil-less. The once-white sclera was shrouded in black with specks of white, from the moonlight. His mouth was painted a deep crimson and his fangs were longer than than I had ever seen them. He looked every bit like a scary, bloodthirsty vampire; yet I wasn’t afraid of him. Not for one second. I was even more turned on. 

“Filthy little minx.” His voice was deeper than before. It rumbled through me and straight to my core. “You entice me with such a tempting offer and then lay there all pretty and docile.” He licked his lips slowly, capturing every stray drop of blood at the corners of his mouth. “It’s almost like you want me to ruin your pretty, plump body with my vampiric tendencies.” 

He pulled my rear back onto his lap but left my upper back against the mattress. Miguel’s massive hands took hold of my hips before he snapped his against mine at a sickening pace. It wasn’t nearly as fast as before, but it was a little bit harder than earlier. My breasts bounced atop my chest as the thrusts pierced through me. The vampire was no longer kissing the sweet spot beneath my cervix; he was obliterating it. My fingers gripped the sheets beneath me and I held them tightly. 

“Oh Fuck!” I yelled, staring directly into his eyes. “Just like that! Don’t stop!”

The sweet lover that I had grown to adore had left and been replaced with something I can only describe as a monster. The nature of his movements could no longer be described as tender and loving. They were animalist and rugged. They were unholy and disgusting— yet I couldn’t get enough. Miguel had fucked me like I was the last woman on earth. There was no hate or malice in the action. It left like he needed me. Like I was the only person that could get him that turned on and ready to risk it all.

“And you would absolutely correct, mi amor,” he groaned, staring down at me. Never breaking his pace, not even for a moment. “No woman will ever have the power that you have over me. To me, you are the last woman on this Earth that will get this kind of care and devotion from me. I will spend an eternity trying to prove myself worthy of your adoration. You are my first and last love.”

“Oh yes!” I screamed, gripping the sheets harder. “Keep going! Please keep going.”

A snarl crept from his throat as his dangerous pace continued. Even in the heat of pleasure, I could feel his hips fluttering and his cock twitching. Miguel was starting to reach his limit.

Come with me.

The vampire threw his head back and shouted a word in spanish. His hips had done their best to keep their iron will and delectable pace, but they became sloppy and unorganized. Miguel’s chest was rising and falling as if he had just ran a marathon. His mouth was agape and his fangs were still long. His thighs were vibrating underneath my rear and his member twitched violently within me. Yet, like the gentleman he was, Miguel’s hand found my aching pearl and he started to rub it viciously. 

Our bodies rasped and shook against one another. Our breathing was practically in sync as we the throes of pleasure collided with our spirits.

I love you, Y/N.

The vampire had shouted the statement in my mind as his cock shot hot liquid into my snatch. Miguel whimpered and whined as he emptied the load in me. It was a beautiful site. To have a have a man enjoying sex and passion without limiting the experience was delightful. I could feel my heart begin to warm and my mind gain a glossy haze. A gentle pool in my belly started to overfill and my orgasm poured onto me. It was a gently as a river and just as powerful as the ones prior. It caused my entire body to relax into the mattress and my rear to slip from Miguel’s lap. I threw an arm over my face as my body trembled and twitched. 

Without missing a beat, Miguel moved from his position between my legs. He took a spot on the right side of my body and pulled me into his arms. He cradled me as the aftershocks of the orgasm died down. The vampire murmured sweetnothings into my ears and mind. Reassuring me that everything was okay and that I was safe. After a few moments, I lifted my head from his chest and found his eyes. They had went back to their normal state. My shaky hands brushed against his sharp jawline and strong nose bridge. I cupped his cheek, before pressing his lips to mine. 

I adore you. 

---------

a/n: I have seen the asks and the messages. I appreciate your support and I will try my best to get on them as soon as possible. I will be posting every Sunday once again.

next on the queue (hopefully): Peter B Parker x Reader x Miguel O'Hara

[crsssie]

soul ("are we mates?" "why the hell wouldn't we be?")

leon kennedy x reader || childhood friends / vague college au

wc: 840 || summary: what's the need of a label in the face of stability?

You wonder some days if Leon's grown tired of being friends with you.

You hadn't really gotten close to him until the two of you were in high school — and even then, the two of you didn't attend the same school. He had gone to one of the privates in the area while you had transferred out to a public, and it was strange that the two of you would find yourselves on the giant oak tree between your two homes, talking about your day and catching each other up on news about people you barely knew.

You barely knew your classmates when you had gone to middle school with him.

He didn't know any of your friends. Only a handful of faces from when the neighborhood would gather together to barbeque once a year.

That's how it started, and it was surprising when Leon had gotten accepted into your dream school and you had somehow made it off the waitlist. 

You'd never seen Leon so excited over something — and he had begged you to accept even when you mentioned that maybe money would be a problem.

"Pull up. Please."

"I might go insane without you, yeah."

"More the reason to come."

And then you had felt like the two of you had grown apart. Staring at him in the shared club meetings, him no longer willing to drive you alone in his car because of... boundaries, or whatever. You had given him a look when he told you, and you shook your head. It doesn't matter as long as the two of you still talk.

You find a bench in the park at the dorms to chat with him on. 

The oak of the tree in your home has become an oak bench. 

"Do you tire of me, Leon?"

He blinks at you, laughing.

"Couldn't dream of it."

You cling onto pieces of the two of you in the past when he used to bring you small things when traveling, winking at you as he would present you with silly things he found that he knew you'd like. To be loved is to be known. perhaps. You don't know. You don't know what Leon thinks of you. It's unsurprising that the two of you had lasted so long as friends. You're not into him — at least, he isn't adjacent to your type. A strange exception you'd learned to make. His family never questioned what happened after he locked his door after 10pm. 

You'd stayed up til 4 with him on the tree once.

You don't know what you feel for Leon. 

An overwhelming affection and happiness, maybe. You just adore him so much it's incredible. You doubt you've ever felt so much affection for someone. But it's not quite romance. No. Not love. It's more... affection. Overwhelming affection that you feel when you have so much security in a relationship that neither of you really need to say anything to the other.

"I love you" You laugh.

"Appreciate you too."

Whether it's romantic or platonic no longer really matters to you, you don't think. 

It's plenty to be the only person he texts back when he's arranging rides for the club, eyes lighting up when he spots you in the crowd, waving and flicking his chin up. You learn the sign he holds up with his hand when he's in agreement. You bleed and ooze with his habits the same way he picks yours up, giving you a look instead of saying something he knows he'll regret, your drink order memorized as he chews on the jelly he's pretty sure he'd never have without you, and the single photo you had posted of the absolute joy on your face while laughing saved in his phone (a secret he'd take to the grave).

But it doesn't matter how you feel or look because Leon makes you feel so much stability in your relationship that you can't help but laugh until you can't breathe, head thrown back in glee when it's just the two of you, and you don't feel anything when he asks you to help his cousin — you do not need to know what you are. Friends, something more, soulmates even — because Leon and you know that it's not something that a simple word could even begin to define. 

"What are you gonna do without me?"

"Die, probably. Joke."

"I'd die without you too. I'd probably be dead already."

You wonder occasionally if he's tired of you, and sometimes you'll say it, sometimes you don't, but when Leon raises a brow at you after you message him that you're starting to feel tired, he'll just take over the conversation naturally and let you slip off.

So, no. 

You doubt you'd ever get tired of being friends with Leon, and, well, you're sure he'd say the same.

"You tired of being friends with me?"

"We are for lifers. We can NOT stop being friends. You have too much blackmail on me."

"And if you get married?"

"That's not a problem of the present. No use thinking of a future that isn't here yet."

"Damn, okay, deep."

"Oh, shut up."

[suudonym]

stream of consciousness thoughts about jp>en translation as it pertains to closeness in demon society, etc.

it's no mystery that when iruma asks azz and clara if he can think of them as friends, the word he uses is 友達/tomodachi. it's a casual word that denotes... you know, a friend. someone you like to spend time with. very straightforward.

there's also a more formal word for friend, 友人/yuujin, but to the best of my knowledge this one doesn't get used in mairuma, and this may be because it seems to strictly avoid using the 人 kanji (hito/jin/nin/person). it's often said that the way 人 is written makes it look like the two strokes are supporting one another, implying that people are things that live with the support of others. to my understanding this isn't the actual origin of the glyph, but it is a fairly common saying - and so it fits the worldbuilding nicely that the highly egocentric demons don't have 人 in their language. they do use the word "hito" sometimes, but I can't recall seeing it written in kanji

speaking of words demons do have, we see 仲間/nakama quite a bit, but while there are plenty of situations where it's valid to translate nakama to "friend," you don't actually have to like someone to consider them thus. someone is your "nakama" when you're united under the same banner, so to speak. it could be a classmate or a teammate or a coworker - anyone you share circumstances and goals with. the fact that this is one of the most friend-adjacent words demons have is also very like them.

demons also have 仲良し/nakayoshi and 仲が良い/naka ga ii, both of which describe getting along with and having a good relationship with someone. so demons do clearly have the concept of friendship, even if they don't have the word for it.

anyway, soulmates. the word iruma uses to describe what azz is to him is 親友/shinyuu, which is... I mean, it's really hard to translate this as anything but "best friend." it's a very close friend and/or someone you've been friends with for a long time. however, there's two reasons it's hard to translate 親友 to "best friend" specifically in the context of mairuma, both of which are summed up in this exchange:

it's a word that azz doesn't recognize. demons have the word "best" and azz knows the word "friend," so why would he have to ask what a "best friend" is? shinyuu sounds completely unlike tomodachi, so to have the same effect, the english word used to translate it also has to sound completely unlike "friend"

iruma's kind of embarrassed about it. "best friend" is usually a rather light term in english and not one we'd typically get flustered talking about. your best friend might just be the person you like spending time with more than anyone else. you could be talking about the past and say someone "was your best friend back then" and it doesn't necessarily suggest that you had a falling out or anything, you might have just kind of drifted apart or met someone else you got even closer to or something similar. I don't know if I'm explaining this completely accurately but from what I gather, "shinyuu" is more of an intimate, time-tested friendship. there seems to be a certain level of emotional vulnerability associated with it that "best friend" doesn't always convey by default.

if absolutely pressed for an alternative translation, I might posit "kindred spirit," but that doesn't quite feel like as natural a thing to say as "soulmate." I do think it's a shame that it has that automatic romantic connotation, but honestly that's society's failure. embrace the concept of platonic soulmates, you cowards.

anyway, them's the thoughts.

[sophiethewitch1]

the bats are literally perfect for this weird guideverse/soulmates au I've had forever. i had other ideas for it but its like so perfect.

The low-down is that in this universe there are soulmates. People usually have only one, but in the case of the 'Weavers' who have multiple soulmates, who are all superpowered types known as 'Awakened' they have two or more soulmates. The Awakened are obviously yandere-adjacent, and if their very human Weaver dies they go apeshit and destroy cities. superhumans x their mortal tether.

Anyway normal citizen reader who suddenly is connected to the bats and has to deal with these superhumans who are tied by the soul to them. trying to balance their more feral natures with your purely human one. au of this au where reader is soulmate-less and is their surrogate or something. there's so many concepts. i should really just write a fated mates mini series for these mfers

[tequiilasunriise]

The sheer soulmatism of Lenore and Annabel fucks me up so bad everytime I think too hard about it okay sit down y’all.

The way they were immediately drawn to each other even though they had no memory of anything! No reason to immediately become so attached and protective and trusting! Not even death could part them, it’s almost like reincarnation in a way. The sins of living and the pain that comes with being alive washed away not by holy water but rather split blood, and in this new life they’re reborn into a blank, clean slate. Even in this memoryless ‘next lifetime’ they still choose each other without hesitation, without question, and I am on my knees sobbing.

The parallels of Annabel fainting! Annabel fainted when she learned that Lenore was actually alive, and Annabel also fainted when remembering how she died, and by extension, how Lenore died too (not related to soulmatism but in one scenario her lover caught her despite the injury, and in the other Lenore had no such hinderance but failed to catch Annabel regardless and that parallel kills me so softly). The soulmatism that is reacting the same exact way when you learned she lived vs remembering how she died, the soulmatism that the love is still the same. Oh how the love is still so tragically the same, crossing that threshold of death, despite the unhappy ending you shared. Annabel faints because it’s learning you have a second chance at love vs remembering how that same love was ripped away and I am no longer on my knees but laying facedown on the floor.

(The way Annabel looked at Lenore before collapsing in both scenes but with DRASTICALLY different vibes of disbelief like okay yeah sure, sure okay mhm just smash my ribs and rip my heart right out why don’t you?)

Now, NOW, the thing that truly ends me? The crazy red/blue symbolism these two carry.

Lenore is the embodiment of red. Her thoughts come in red print, as do the ribbons she was wrapped up in. Her fiery (pun intended), confident personality, her pure raging defiance rallying those around her. What’s more, Lenore’s anger and bared teeth is painted red the same way her love is, because red is not just the color of anger. Red is love, and Lenore, my god, she cares so openly about the people around her that her heart’s just painted bloody and brazen on her sleeve. Born from self-made infernos into the person she was always meant to be- flirty, quick-witted, taking what she wants when she wants- she is a young Montague wrapped up in her family’s house colors trailblazing down her own paths.

(But unlike dear Romeo who scaled a tree to look upwards towards Juliet on her balcony, Lenore was in a tree looking downwards at her counterpart, and this parallel is so important as the scene is clearly a Romeo/Juliet parallel but without the sweet sappiness but rather tension and just like, 1000x more interesting ‘can I trust you fr fr-ness’.)

Annabel is the embodiment of blue. Her thoughts come in blue print, and her ribbons are a deep blue to match. Blue is the color of calmness, and she seems so tranquil with a gentle yet firm confidence that puts people around her at ease. A natural born leader with such cool-headedness. Oh, but underneath that mask? Sadness. SO MUCH sadness, Annabel is an ocean of it, she’s a peaceful smile with a melancholic heart shot through. Young Capulet holds not pure innocence like her Juliet-counterpart but rather a deep rooted loneliness, like guys, Annabel is actually just so fucken SAD I think we really need to address this more yes she’s a total girlboss but also Annabel is the personification of hollowed out loneliness that comes with your beloved being ripped away from you.

This really got away from me, but my point?

Lenore, the embodiment of red, has blue eyes.

Annabel, the embodiment of blue, has red-adjacent eyes.

FORGET LAYING ON THE GROUND IN TEARS I AM CURRENTLY CLIPPING THROUGH THE FLOOR AND HEADING STRAIGHT GAY TO MY GRAVE IN THE BACKROOMS!!!

YOUR HONOR THEIR EYES ARE THE GODDAMNED COLORS OF THE OTHER’S MOTHERMARYFUCKING S O U L LIKE WHAT IN THE JESUS H CHRIST BUMBLEBY SOULMATISM IS T H I S S S⁉️⁉️⁉️

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 18

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | AO3

-----

Fortunately, Eddie doesn't actually have to participate much once he and Robin make it back to the living room. The best seating seems to be reserved for the injured and injured adjacent, since Max is already sitting between Lucas and El on one of the couches, with Dustin and Steve on the other. Steve scoots over, leaving the middle cushion open for Eddie to claim, and Robin comes to sit on the armrest of the couch by Steve. He drapes his arm over her thigh, and she checks his shoulder with her hip, shooting him a little smile.

He watches them for a moment, attempting to be an adult and sort out what he's feeling about it now that he knows Steve and Robin are soulmates, but after a few moments he concedes that's going to take longer to process than he's got right now.

Everyone else is scattered around the room in various seating - Will and Mike squished together in the armchair right by Max, Lucas, and El's couch, Erica curled up in the second armchair, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle occupying what looks like chairs dragged in from the dining room.

Conversation goes around in circles. There isn't an active threat forcing them into a quick decision, which apparently means they interrupt each other and veer off on tangents and attempt to solve at least four problems at once.

Eddie's a little too floaty from the pain meds - and a little too occupied with Steve's thigh pressed up right against his own - to join, but it's nice, listening to them. It reminds him he's not alone.

They talk about what to do with Vecna - nothing, for the moment, just continue to let El rest and rebuild her powers, with El and Will keeping an eye on Upside Down things; what to do about the gates still open in Hawkins - regular patrols, no one goes out alone and everyone brings a weapon and their walkie with them at all times; what to do with Hopper, who has apparently been alive this whole time and was being held in a Russian prison after being captured at Starcourt - which, sure, of course, it's not like that's the craziest thing that's happened this week. Some guy named Murray is working with his contacts and they're going to spin a story to present to the Hawkins PD.

Eddie watches Steve out of the corner of his eye when he feels him go tense at that one, sees him shift his hand on Robin's leg so it's palm up. She immediately takes it, lacing their fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze. He debates with himself for only a moment before he lets his own hand rest on Steve's knee, squeezing it lightly as well.

Both Robin and Steve turn to him, smiling at him in a way that makes warmth bloom beneath his ribs - Steve with surprised affection, and Robin with a pleased little knowing. He ducks his head and pretends to be really focused on what the group is arguing about.

At some point, the conversation shifts to what they're going to do about Eddie's situation, and, unfortunately, then he really does have to focus.

He doesn't really want to. They don't really seem to have a lot of ideas other than to get Hopper reinstated at Hawkins PD, to work with Murray to come up with a story to pin everything on Henry Creel, carrying on in his father's footsteps.

It just makes him tired.

"This is a lot of talking for what's essentially wait until everyone's back up to full strength and then we can figure out the details," he says after a while.

Steve snorts next to him. "It's not like Eddie's going anywhere," he tells the others. "He's safe here until we figure it out."

Some part of Eddie - the Eddie he was before all this, who didn't need anyone and was convinced Steve Harrington was a jackass - kind of wants to bitch about being under house arrest at the Harrington palace.

But, well. That part is a fading ember compared to the rest of him that wants to grab onto that and take it as an excuse to make himself at home in Steve's life and never leave. The rest of him wants everyone to just get the hell out already, so he can stop trying to pretend he isn't pants shittingly nervous about finally telling Steve he thinks they're soulmates.

Platonic soulmates, he reminds himself.

It takes forever.

Everyone stays for dinner, and Eddie really wants to be pleased about that, to bask in the sounds of so much life, of bickering and teasing and shouting and a fierce, aching love that's woven into every word spoken and every one left unspoken, into every gesture and laugh and shout. To bask in the way that it includes him, how easily he's been folded into it all, how it makes him itchy and content all at once. To bask in the way it makes Steve come alive, golden and vibrant and looking like he's never been happier.

It's just that it also makes him even more antsy about confirming once and for all if Steve is his soulmate, and every time he sees him light up or look so goddamn fond beneath a bitchy expression, he kind of wants to bite him. Or, barring that, get his hands on him, run his fingers over the words etched on Steve's skin to see if it's really true, what he's heard about. If it really does feel like nothing else when your soulmate finally touches the words they've marked you with forever.

Robin keeps shooting these little looks at him, which doesn't help at all, especially because he catches Steve looking back and forth between them with a little scrunch to his forehead - that only gets deeper every time Steve meets Robin's eyes and she just looks back at him, wide eyed and innocent.

She does loudly mention her curfew multiple times, though, and that she's sure Eddie is exhausted after being subjected to them all day, which is worth the protesting shouts she gets from his Hellfire trio.

When they finally all leave, well. Eddie is kind of exhausted, and he tips his head back to rest on the back of the couch for a moment.

"You want me to carry you upstairs?" Steve asks.

His voice is teasing, but when Eddie cracks open one eye to look at him, he looks sincere.

"Thanks," Eddie grumbles. "But I think I'll try to keep what's left of my dignity."

He does kind of want Steve to carry him up, is the thing, but he definitely doesn't want to admit it. Or to deal with it while he's still trying to figure out how the hell he wants to do this.

Steve looks like he wants to say something scathing about Eddie's dignity, but he holds himself back, and offers out a hand to help him up instead.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie grumbles, deciding to respond to whatever Steve thought of anyway, just to show him that nope, he can't get away with that.

He does take his hand, though, and leans on him as they walk up the stairs. He counts each step as they go, telling himself over and over that okay, he needs to get this sorted out before they reach the halfway point - before they reach the top - before they make it halfway down the hall - at least before they get to Steve's room, come on -

Eddie plops down onto Steve's bed, silently cursing himself as he accepts the bottle of meds Steve offers him, downs two and hands it back.

"So," Eddie says, because he's an idiot. "You and Robin, huh?"

Steve's brow furrows in confusion, which - yeah, fuck, of course it does, because Eddie literally announced that out of no where, and he focuses on that and not on how cute Steve looks.

"She told me this morning," he clarifies. "About the whole two soulmate thing."

His expression clears up, goes all warm and fond even as he rolls his eyes. "That's what all those looks were about, I knew it was something."

When he looks back at Eddie, his expression is a little more closed, eyes a little wary. "Yeah. She and I are soulmates, and we've both got another one we haven't found yet."

Eddie nods, hoping he's accurately conveying just how cool he is with this. In the grand scheme of things, his maybe soulmate having another soulmate is a whole hell of a lot more normal than everything else that's happened in his life recently. "The same one, you think?"

That gets a small smile. "Nah, we've compared." Steve picks at the label on the bottle of pills, not looking at him. "You don't think it's weird? Or I'm - just greedy, or something?"

He flinches, just a little, because if he's being honest - yeah, if he'd found out a year ago, hell even a few months ago, that Steve Harrington had two soulmates, he probably would have rolled his eyes and called him greedy. Little rich boy taking more than his share, Mr. Popular Jackass who of course has two people destined to fall over him. He thinks back to what his uncle had said to him, before high school, and feels shame curl at the bottom of his gut.

"I think," Eddie says after a long moment, because he's still an idiot, but he doesn't want to run anymore, he doesn't. "That I'm your other one. Your - uh, platonic. You and me, platonic soulmates."

Steve looks - all right, Eddie can't actually figure out how he looks.

"I think I like weird," he continues, because he doesn't know how to shut up. "I think you're so, so different from everything I thought you were, and I'm still a little pissed off about that, man, the Munson Doctrine was sacred and here you are blowing it all up. I think if I had to have a jock for a platonic soulmate, I don't want it to be anyone but you."

Steve's looking up at him with these huge, liquid eyes, now, and Eddie's tongue feels like it's glued to his mouth, and then -

"I didn't miss you before I even met you," Steve says, and Eddie feels the quick prickle of heat around his ankle, and -

"Holy shit," he says, laughing because he doesn't know what else to do with all the feeling bubbling up inside of him, because -

Because Steve'd told him that Nancy was the only person that he'd ever wanted to be his soulmate so bad that he wanted to test it, and it - it's not the same, it's not, and when he comes down from the high of having found his soulmate he's going to realize how fucked he is if he doesn't get over this crush on him, but -

"I didn't think about my soulmate all that often," he says, just so Steve can have the same feeling he does, and then he ducks his head a little, hand tugging his hair in front of his mouth. "Yeah? You wanted it to be me, too?"

Steve quirks a little smile. "Yeah. I really did."

Eddie groans. "Jesus, Steve, you can't just say stuff like that to me."

Steve's smile grows. "Too bad. I'm going to say stuff like that all the time, you're going to have to learn to take it."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck don't think about that, nope, don't think about Steve - his soulmate Steve - telling him how much he wants him and showing Eddie how to take it and - Eddie laughs, feeling it bubble up through his chest, a little bit giddy and a little bit hysterical.

Before he knows it, Steve's huffing out a little laugh, too. "I knew you lied in there with Mike, man, I could feel it. I just couldn't drop my pants in the middle of the living room to check what it was, but when I did, you were going to be so busted."

"I mean, you could have. There were a few people in there who probably would've appreciated the view," Eddie teases. "You might've scarred Mike for life, though."

Steve's lip curls into a grimace, and then they're both giggling again.

"Thanks for being brave," Steve tells him quietly when they've managed to put a lid on their laughing.

Eddie twitches, barely resisting the urge to twist to check to see if he's got a new lie on him. It's just - Eddie hasn't been brave. The one time he did decide to be brave, he nearly died, and people keep yelling or almost crying at him about it, so he's pretty sure they think that was more stupid than brave. "For being what now?"

"For being brave about this," Steve says. "I've kind of wondered if it might be you for a while, just kept telling myself it wasn't the right time to ask."

Oh. All right, yeah, he did beat Steve to it, didn't he? He grins at him. "So when did you first start wanting it to be me, huh?"

Steve rolls his eyes, and for a few moments Eddie thinks he's not going to answer, but then he says, "In the woods, when we were trying to find the gate. After you tried to make Lucas feel better, got him and Dustin distracted."

That - Eddie wasn't expecting that, even though part of him thinks yeah, it would be about the kids. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I suspected earlier. There wasn't a lot that could give you away, but what you said about jocks being violent monarchs - some of your table speeches had similar phrasing."

Fuck.

It's - he'd known, that he and his soulmate would have to talk about why they stopped talking. Known that he and Steve would have to talk about it. He'd just kind of hoped it was another one of those things he could add to his pile of later.

"Steve," he says softly, but he can't think of what to say to continue, and it just hangs heavily between them.

"I know," Steve says after a moment. "I figured that was why you stopped talking to me. That you realized I was one of the kind of people you hated."

He wants to tell Steve that he wasn't, but he's too worried it'll be a lie. Steve was the kind of person that Eddie used to hate - not really because of anything Steve had done, but because of what Eddie assumed about him, because it was easier to believe all the popular kids were the same than maybe some of them were different.

"You aren't," he says instead. "The guy I was talking about - he graduated the year before you - you're nothing like him. You weren't even back when we were in high school. You weren't a bully, man, just kind of a bitch. I was the one who didn't care about the difference."

Steve considers that for a moment. Then, "I'm still kind of a bitch."

Eddie lets out a bark of startled laughter, hand coming up to press against his abdomen. "Fuck, dude, don't be funny, it pulls at my stitches."

Steve grins at him, entirely unapologetic.

Eddie almost hates to ruin it, but - shit, he has to know, and he lets out a slow exhale. "That why you stopped talking to me, because you knew I didn't want you to?"

Steve's grin fades, but he looks like he'd kind of been expecting that question. "That was part of it. But also, I was mad at you," he admits. "Everyone always had these expectations of who I was and who they wanted me to be, and when I saw you talking about jocks and popular kids like they were the enemy, I realized you had them, too. I knew I wasn't going to live up to yours."

"Fuck my expectations, you're better than anything I could have dreamed of." Eddie - hadn't meant to say that, and he spends a quick moment freaking out a little in the back of his mind, because that didn't sound platonic at all.

Steve doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, just gives him a pleased little smile, ducking his head like he thinks it's going to hide how his ears have gone pink.

"It's not like your expectations were that unreasonable, lumping everyone together aside," Steve says. "I could have taken a step back and wondered why it pissed me off that you expected me not to be a violent jackass, but I was too busy getting wrapped up in all that popularity shit. I'm sorry for that."

There's a pause, then, "I'm not sorry for being a jock, though. I like sports, that's not going to change."

"I don't want it to change," Eddie says, but it comes out more like a promise. "You already did a hell of a lot of changing, man."

Steve gives him a little crooked smile. "I guess a good thump on the head will do that to you."

Eddie grimaces. "Upside Down shit?"

"Nah, just Nancy and Jonathan, actually. When Jonathan and I had that fight in the alley, I - I was angry, and hurt, and I wanted to make him hurt. It comes easy, you know, knowing what to say to hurt someone the most. How to be cruel."

The other side of being good with people, yeah, Eddie knows that. He'd never been on the receiving end of it, but he'd heard the gossip about what happened when Steve Harrington got pissed. It's what he meant when he said Steve was a bitch.

"Later, I was sitting with Tommy and Carol, listening to them talk about jumping him as soon as he was released from the station and I just kept thinking - I sounded exactly like my dad in that alley. That's the kind of people that Tommy and Carol were, and that's who I was going to be if I stuck with them."

"But you didn't," Eddie says.

"But I didn't," Steve agrees, giving a little shrug.

Eddie's quiet, in case Steve wants to say more, but it seems like he's done talking about that, because after a few moments he gives Eddie a little smile.

"So I, uh. I told you mine, you gotta tell me yours now. When did you change your mind and decide you wanted it to be me?"

"Oh, uh. Same as you, actually. I didn't admit it until after the first time in the Upside Down, but when we were in the woods, and you looked at me like I was doing something good, and I - yeah." Eddie's pretty sure he's a little flushed, now, and he looks away.

Steve just gives a little hum, and Eddie looks back at him, eyes narrowed, but he can't quite make out his expression. Eddie barrels on past all that, then, not giving him time to do - whatever that face he's making is a sign of.

"I wondered way earlier, though," he adds. "I kept getting stuff about not being all that hurt and not wanting to go to the hospital, and then you'd show up all beat up. Which, by the way, I was really mad at you for, you kept scaring the shit out of me."

"Sorry," Steve says, and he does look reasonably apologetic. "At least I went to the hospital this time?"

Eddie raises one eyebrow, assuming the withering look he gives him is enough to tell him exactly what he thinks about that. "How about you stop needing to go to the hospital, huh?"

Steve looks at him, quiet for a long moment. Then, "You're the one who said I'm a paladin."

"And I already regret it." Eddie nudges him with one knee. "Mike's convinced you're a barbarian, anyway."

Steve makes a face, like he's immediately having some regrets of his own. "Mike's in on this now? I'm still not playing with you guys any time soon."

Eddie grins at him. "Any time soon isn't never, man, I-"

He cuts off as he realizes that this is the second time that Steve has said he wasn't playing any time soon, and it prompts him to remember -

"You lied!" he shouts gleefully.

"What?" Steve asks, caught off guard.

"Hang on, gimme - just let me-" Eddie grunts as he tries to pull off his sweatshirt too quickly, ends up twinging his shoulder, and has to do it more slowly.

"There," he says triumphantly. "Left shoulder blade, it says I'm never going to play this thing with you, man, you might as well stop asking."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "How do you know that was about this?"

"Because you're good at adjusting your words to make sure what you're saying isn't technically a lie, and this fits. I'm right, aren't I?"

Steve is looking at him like - well, like Eddie probably looked at Steve when Steve told him that he knew what it meant when Eddie's face shut down. Like he didn't realize Eddie noticed that about him, and Eddie almost lets himself get tripped up on it, but - no, he doesn't want to go there, doesn't want to let them get off track.

Instead, he just waggles his eyebrows at Steve, who groans.

"Okay, okay. I knew after I said it that those kids were going to wear me down sooner or later, I just didn't want them to know that."

Eddie scoots a little closer, until their knees are brushing together. "Have you played yet?"

Steve tips his head back, like he's looking to the heavens for support. "I played. Erica wanted to practice as a DM, so Robin, Dustin, and I played for her first game. And before you ask - yes, I did have a good time, but I don't really think it's something I'd want to do all the time."

Yeah, all right, that's fair enough, and it doesn't really put a damper on Eddie's glee. It means it's pretty likely that he could get Steve to play for a one-shot sometime, maybe even a short campaign.

If he's honest, part of him was a little worried that he might not look at D&D the same way after all of the comparisons to a campaign he was doing, but no, he feels the same excited energy that he has before. It's a relief to know that this wasn't taken from him.

Steve's tipped his head back down and is looking at him, now - or, more accurately, looking at his bare torso, eyes scanning a clear line from his neck and shoulders down to his waist, and back up again. Eddie's mouth goes dry, and abruptly he feels - self conscious? Hesitant? Some kind of nervous energy, which is stupid, because it's not like Steve Harrington would - but shit, Eddie knows the way Steve looked at him after washing his hair, he doesn't think he was so out of it that he could conjure that out of nowhere -

"Let me get the first aid kit," Steve says, pushing himself up.

And right, yeah, the first aid kit. For the bandages that Eddie almost forgot he was wearing, which is a far more likely reason that Steve was staring at his bare chest, except - well. Except there'd been a hunger in Steve's eyes, and Eddie doesn't think it's just because the guy was so damn eager to change out his bandages.

He drops it, though, reminds himself platonic over and over again until Steve comes back with his massive first aid kit.

Steve strips off his own sweater before he sits back down on the bed, and Eddie doesn't bother to try not to look. Now he doesn't have to feel bad about letting his gaze sweep over every bit of that perfect, hairy chest, eagerly reading any bit of writing he can see, and - wait.

"Can I?" Eddie asks, making grabby hands at him.

Steve looks down at himself, sees where Eddie had been staring - at I love it when coffee is so weak you can barely taste it just below his collarbone - and huffs out a little laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Eddie reaches out, just barely brushing over the words with his fingertips, and Steve sucks in a harsh breath.

"Bad?" Eddie asks, going still.

"No," Steve says. "Just different."

He's going to take that as permission to continue, so he keeps going, rubbing his thumb over If I could have a whole swarm of silverfish in my room, I'd be so happy on Steve's side. Steve shivers, and Eddie reminds himself - platonic.

"Here, let me-" Steve reaches down, carefully peeling off the bandages from around his stomach.

His demobat bites look a lot better than the last time Eddie saw them - less open and weeping, more stitched and healing, which makes Eddie give a soft sigh of relief.

There's ink leading up to one of the bites, looking like it got cut off, and Eddie leans in a little to see it better.

For your mo, it says, and Eddie barks out a laugh.

"For your modesty, dude," he says, lightly touching it with one fingertip. "It caught me. It was for my own sanity, I knew I was going to keep trying to see your writing."

Steve huffs out a little laugh. "I didn't even feel it."

"The gaping stomach wound probably edged it out a little," Eddie teases. "You feel it now?"

Steve's gaze catches and locks on his. "Yeah."

Eddie swallows. "You said it was different?"

Steve hums an affirmative. "From Robin's. It feels different when she touches her words."

Right.

Of course it does.

"How does hers feel?" he asks. He half fears it'll come out jealous, but - no, it just sounds curious, and he realizes that's mostly what he feels.

Curiosity, not jealousy.

"It's changed, but at first it was… fizzy," Steve says. "Like butterflies in your stomach, or drinking a beer too fast. Now it's like - holding hands in the rain, or the first drink of hot apple cider when it's cold. Like coming home."

Huh.

"Poetic," he says, half teasing and half sincere. "What does mine feel like?"

Steve considers that for a moment. "Electric," he decides. "Like static shock, or the moment before a first kiss. Or a metal guitar solo in the Upside Down," he adds slyly, then reaches out for him. "Can I…?"

"Yeah, uh, go ahead."

Steve's eyes scan over him again, like he's looking for something, and Eddie's gaze drops down automatically to his own torso. Which - is covered in gauze and medical tape, and at this point he's pretty sure there's more bandage showing than skin.

"Not a lot of real estate left, though," he says.

It comes out shakier than he'd meant it to, and he sucks in a ragged breath. If at least one of his lies on Steve had gotten cut off, he knows that means a decent number of the words on his own skin are gone.

Fuck.

He hasn't really looked at himself, but now he wonders which ones it is, what words he'll never see again. If it's the ones that he read over and over again, that made him smile so wide when he was fourteen, the ones that made him so fucking angry, the ones that scared the shit out of him. It shouldn't matter, he tells himself, because they aren't meant to have this many words between them anyway. It's supposed to mean there's something wrong with them, that there's too many lies to make things work, but - it's different, it means something else.

It's always meant something else, to Eddie.

"Hey," Steve's saying softly. "Eddie, hey, look at me."

Eddie nods, already preparing to hear Steve tell him that it's okay, that it's better this way, that less words are a good thing, and then looks up.

"I'm not taking my rain check now."

There's a sting somewhere on his lower back, and Eddie blinks at him.

"What?" he asks.

"My rain check," Steve repeats, like it's supposed to make more sense a second time. "To tell you the things I like about you. I'm not taking it right now."

Eddie's mouth goes dry, and he feels like he can't do anything but stare at him.

"I don't think you have a good heart," Steve says.

Lie, blooming over his spine.

"I don't think you're clever. I don't find you funny. I don't think you're really good with the kids. I don't think you're brave."

Each one of them a lie, writing themselves on Eddie's skin forever, and every one of them steals more and more of Eddie's breath. Fuck, if he keeps going, Eddie's going to kiss him, going to ruin this right after he found it.

"Steve," Eddie says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not proud of you."

"Touch me," Eddie blurts out, sounding a little strangled.

Steve's brows furrow, pupils blown wide as he looks at him.

Eddie forcibly wrangles his thoughts back into some semblance of order. "Didn't you want to…?" he trails off, gesturing at his own torso, jerking a thumb at his shoulder where he knows at least some writing is visible.

"Oh!" Steve swallows, looking like now he's the one who has to get his thoughts back in order. "Yeah, yeah I did."

He reaches out determinedly before Eddie can try to think too much into that, resting his palm flat on Eddie's chest for a moment - right over his heart, and Eddie wonders if he can feel how quickly it's beating, if he - then it slides up, smoothing over where some of his words peek out from under the bandages.

Fuck.

Despite Steve's halting poetry about how his soulmate touches felt, Eddie wasn't prepared for this. It feels like -

It feels like Steve's fingers running through his hair, blunt nails scratching over his scalp, little goosebumps shuddering over his skin. Like hot water washing everything away, strong hands cradling his head in their grip.

"Oh," he breathes out, not really meaning to, but his entire brain has just shut off.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, sounding pleased, and his hand sweeps up, stroking over any bit of soulmate ink he can find. "What's it feel like?"

"Like a hot shower after a week in the Upside Down," Eddie tells him, because that's true, and easier than admitting it feels like when Steve washed his hair for him.

Steve huffs out a little laugh. "Pretty damn good, then," he teases, then pulls his hand away. "Speaking of showers - we should both probably take one before we change these bandages. You want help with yours?"

Yes, fuck yes, he really does.

And yet -

"Nah," he says, and it's not a lie. He knows there's no way he can handle being in the shower with Steve after all this. "I can stand long enough now, I should be good."

If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd think there was a brief flash of disappointment in Steve's eyes. But he doesn't say anything, just helps him remove his bandages, gets out a clean set of clothes for him and gets the shower going.

"I'll be right outside, just yell if you need anything," Steve says before he steps out of the bathroom and leaves the door open a crack.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths before he looks at himself in the mirror. It's… not as bad as he was expecting, really. He'll have scars over his stomach, scattered across his chest, curving up to his neck, but it's no where near as bad as it could have been if the bats had been able to go at him even just a little longer.

He's lucky, in more ways than one.

The shower goes - fine. He manages. He can't really wash his hair, but he gets the rest of him okay, gets to look at Steve's shower products and grin a little at his shampoo and conditioner - Faberge Organics, with honey and wheat germ oil. When he's finished, he even manages to mostly towel off and get dressed, forgoing the shirt for the moment.

He pokes through the first aid kit while he waits for Steve to take his turn in the bathroom, not entirely surprised at how well stocked it is, considering everything.

When Steve's finished, Eddie insists on bandaging him up first, carefully wrapping them around his stomach and trying not to think about Nancy doing this for him in the Upside Down, or what he'd thought it might mean then, or what it means that Eddie's doing it for him now.

It means they're soulmates, and Steve trusts him. When it comes down to it, that's all that really matters.

When he's finished, Steve twists a little so Eddie can spread some ointment over his shoulders and back, hissing in sympathy at the healing skin there.

Steve slips on a short sleeved t-shirt, then returns the favor.

His hands brush over the words on Eddie's skin often enough that he's reasonably sure it's purposeful, especially because they linger on the ones that Steve'd just put on him.

Eddie huffs out a little laugh, more to diffuse the way the feeling keeps bubbling up inside him than anything else. "This a thing for you?" he teases.

To his surprise, Steve's ears go a little pink. "I mean, kind of? It's - nice. I know everyone says that having so many lies is bad, and it's supposed to mean more when you only have a few to touch like this, but…"

He trails off, but he looks like he wants to say more, so Eddie stays quiet as Steve finishes bandaging him up.

"Did you know you can get them removed?" Steve asks after he's done.

There's a surge of panic, and Steve must see it in his eyes, because Steve's own eyes widen.

"Shit, I'm sorry, that - wow, that was really bad timing, I can't believe I just said that when you-" he cuts off, gesturing at Eddie's torso. "I don't want to remove ours, I'd never remove them."

The panic fades, a little, though he still has to resist the urge to cup his hand over his own side, where some of his words are missing.

"I'm okay," he says after a moment. "You can keep going."

Steve frowns, looking uncertain.

"Please," Eddie adds. "I like it when you talk to me like this."

And that's the right thing to say, because it makes Steve light up a little.

"Okay," he says. "Just - let me know if it's too much, okay?"

Eddie nods.

"My parents never had any visible words, no matter what they wore," Steve continues after a moment. "It was a point of pride."

Of course it was. It usually is - that's not something exclusive to the rich. The fewer lies you have, the better your match is, everyone is supposed to want that.

"They always told me to be careful what I said, that my match was going to be someone like them, someone who didn't have lies between them. Said I would be messing up her life if I told too many lies and she had to have a visible mark. I believed them."

"What changed?" Eddie asks, before he can help himself.

Steve gives him a crooked little smile. "When I was like eleven or twelve, my mom got a few on her arm, where she'd have to wear long sleeves to hide them. Never knew what they said, but I saw them. I was… I don't know, shocked, I guess. I couldn't believe what happened. She wore long sleeves for a couple of days, and the next time I saw her arm, they were gone. I asked her what happened, and she just - looked at me, and told me it was nothing to worry about. 'The Harringtons aren't liars, sweetheart, those were a mistake.'"

Jesus Christ.

"I didn't really know what to think at first. But then I heard her and my dad fighting. She was yelling at him about the money she just wasted getting his little mistakes corrected." Steve's face mimics a cold expression, then, a haughty sneer at his lips as he says, "'What good is all that Harrington charm if you can't even get your little bimbos into bed with you without lying? The next time I see any words, that's the end of your trips alone.'"

He deflates, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. "It was like - the cheating wasn't even worth fighting about anymore, but the lying? That's when I started realizing that it was all about appearances with them."

Eddie's quiet for a long moment, fitting all of that into what he knows about Steve - and what he tried to figure out about his soulmate, all those years ago. "She was the one you lied to about being able to handle it by yourself."

That little crooked smile is back. "Yeah, after she started going with my dad on his business trips. I figured out how to handle it eventually. You, uh. You really helped a lot, you know, when you started talking to me. Made me feel like I wasn't alone."

Fuck if that doesnt make him feel all warm and pleased, knowing that Steve had gotten something out of it like Eddie did, even if it had gone sour for a while.

"My uncle helped me talk to you most of the time," Eddie admits. "I think he knew that it was probably going to go south at some point, but he wanted me to figure that out on my own, you know?"

Steve smiles. "Your uncle sounds like a good guy."

"He is," Eddie replies, trying to push past the twisting in his gut at the reminder that Uncle Wayne is out there with no idea what's happened to him right now. "Course, he also called us little jackasses with no impulse control."

That makes Steve laugh. "He was probably right," he says, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Anyway, I, yeah. It's how I figured out I had two soulmates, because Rob got freaked out at all the words appearing on her skin at first. It wasn't until we actually met that we figured out how we both really feel about them."

Eddie's breath catches, mouth going dry. He licks his lips, trying to work up enough saliva to speak. "How's that?"

Steve's quiet for a bit, brows scrunched just a little like he's trying to figure out how to put it into words. "They're a lifeline," he decides finally.

And what the fuck is Eddie supposed to do with that?

"So I just, yeah, it's kind of a thing for me." Steve runs his thumb over a scattering of ink on Eddie's sternum. "I get it."

Nope, no, Eddie is not equipped to handle this right now, not prepared to deal with the shuddering feeling that rocks into him with Steve's touch to some of his words at the same time that Steve just validated every feeling he's ever had about having so many lies splattered across his skin.

He sucks in a ragged breath, and just barely manages to get out, "Thanks. For, uh." Eddie clumsily jerks a hand at himself, vaguely in the direction of one of the lies that Steve had just said tonight.

"Yeah," Steve says, and fortunately for Eddie's everything, that's it.

Admittedly, Steve looks pretty drained, too, and Eddie gets the feeling that he's not the only one feeling wiped from this much emotional honesty.

With his soulmate.

He kind of thinks that exhaustion or not, there might be too much on his brain to sleep quickly tonight, but his brain has also apparently decided it would really rather just not.

It shuts off pretty much the second he's under the covers and flat on his back.

This ended up being the longest part so far, but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! We're definitely winding down now - I anticipate probably six or so more parts to this and then it'll be wrapped up.

-----

Part 19

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination