#they have collabs for everything else lol

[quotergirl19]

Just saw an interview where Nicola said she knows Daphne and Kate were virgins but she feels like Penelope is, “giving VIRGIN,” and Luke said she’s, “extra virgin,” and now I need a Bridgerton Williams Sonoma collaboration for Penelope’s Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

[moonsidesong]

im sooososososos excited for the eventual finale live show for splatoon 3. its gonna be sooooooo gooooodddddddddddddddddd

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

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[cherrycranes]

Religious Experience (Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader Summary: You had always been in love with Damien, and now that he's about to leave, he decides to show you just how much he loves you too with God Himself as his witness. Word count: 4,060 Contents: (Minors DNI). Some fluff, reader is 20, Damien 24. praise & body worship, unprotected sex, cum eating. BLASPHEMY, lots of it. If you're catholic please just refrain from reading this I warn you. As a former catholic, I poured all my religious knowledge (and disrespect) here. Author's notes: My usual collab with my dear @fuckiingloser. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard at the end so you can visualize! Stream "Experiencia Religiosa" by Enrique Iglesias, the inspiration behind this fic title lol.

Ever since you could remember you had always had feelings for Damien, the handsome, slightly older neighbor boy who was friends with your older brother. Getting him out of your little head was impossible. Everywhere you went, you saw him. Around town, at church every sunday morning, in the open fields when you returned from school or even in between the fog of your dreams. It could have been just a silly little girl crush had it not transpired into your young adult years.

It was your 19th birthday about a year and a few months ago. By that time, your well established infatuation with Damien had learned how to hide in the depths of your heart, convinced that it might just never be. Still, something finally happened, something that made you see stars and feel heat in places nobody had reached yet.

After your birthday party had ended, and all your friends were making their way home, you and Damien shared a soft, passionate kiss in the barn, born from an impulse or maybe a secret desire. You felt like you were dreaming. Damien was as gentle and sweet as you had always imagined, even more so. He kissed you like you were made from the most delicate fine china, and you would have melted in his arms and told him everything you had always felt for him, had your brother not interrupted you by calling his name. After this brief encounter, nothing else happened. You even started to doubt it ever happened at all. You and Damien just saw each other occasionally on the streets and shared a couple of smiles and waves, and sometimes a few flirty comments, but nothing more.

You were 20 now, and Damien was set to leave for England in less than 3 days to go work and study in one of the best hospitals in the world, something he’d always dreamed of. Leaving your small irish town behind to pursue bigger and better things in life. And sadly, it also meant that you were going to be left behind too…

Sitting on your usual spot next to your family in the sunday mass, you couldn't help but feel Damien’s eyes burning into you. The O’Donovans always sat on the bench behind yours, and you were used to Damien’s presence there, quite often right behind you. But that day it felt… different… 

You slowly turned around to look, and sure enough, Damien’s pale blue eyes connected with yours. He gave you a soft little smile that made you blush and immediately face forward again, trying so hard to concentrate on the Father’s words and failing miserably. 

The rest of the mass, you felt Damien’s eyes on you, and not even the presence of Jesus Christ himself would have been able to prevent the thoughts that started to flood your mind… And the feelings that caressed you insides like a lick of fire. 

During the sign of the peace, when you had to shake hands with everybody around your seat, you felt less than holy when it was time to shake Damien’s. His body heat lingered on you, his gentleness made you drift back to the one kiss you shared, and his beautiful eyes made you tingle and blush once more. The mass ended not long after.

All the families congregated outside the church to talk before leaving to head home. You were hanging by the steps, waiting for your parents to finish their chit chat with some neighbors, when you suddenly felt a hand touching your shoulder.

“Hiya..” Damien said with his warm voice and with a gleam on his crystal blue eyes.

“Hi, Damien…” You whispered with a shy little smile, your head still reeling.

“You look pretty…” Oh, he could have killed you with that. More heat traveled to your face when you noticed his eyes roaming over you. “Couldn't help but stare…” 

“Thanks… You look handsome...” You struggled to reply, your ability to speak almost gone at the sight of his gentle smirk and his elegant dark blue suit that made him look even more mature and dreamy.

“My new suit for my new job…” Damien stepped a little closer to you, looking down into your eyes only a few inches from your face. “You know i leave soon…” he started again after an awkward pause and you nodded, a wave of sadness washed over the fire, reminding you once more that he was leaving everything behind, you included.

 “Yes, I know. Can’t believe you’re finally getting away from here like you always dreamed.” The sweet excitement in your voice was mostly just a facade, of course you were glad he was going to live his dreams, but the possibility of never seeing him again twisted your guts. Damien smiled, looking down at his feet silently for a second before making eye contact with you again. 

“It's not the only dream I have that hasn’t come true yet…” He whispered, his hand reaching out to graze yours softly. People shuffled by you but, at that moment, the entire earth was just you and him. Time slowed down and his touch left goosebumps on your skin.

“W-what do you mean?…” Your heart fluttered a bit, slight confusion clouded your mind as his eyes bore into yours. His hand came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you were almost certain he was going to finally address what had been going on between you for over a year now, when suddenly, you heard your mother calling your name…

“Meet me here tonight, around 8pm…” Damien whispered with a hint of urgency, his eyes checking towards your family. “Back entrance…”

“I promise…” You whispered, your mum walking up to you and politely greeting Damien before reminding you your father was waiting. 

“Bye, Damien…” You had to say, intrigued by the prospects of the clandestine meeting. As you reluctantly left, you gave him a little smile and a wave that he returned. 

The rest of the day was filled with overthinking from your part. You suspected something but you couldn't be certain of anything. Still, you trusted him, and as soon as 8 pm neared, you managed to slip out of the house and rode your bike to the church, hiding it in the trees and making your way around the back. There was Damien, still suited, leaning against the church backdoor, lost in thought. His beautiful gaze rose from the ground and met yours the second he heard you coming, and a lovely smile grew upon his rosy lips.

“You came…” He whispered, pulling you into a warm, protective hug, with your head gently laid on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.  

“Of course…” You whispered into the fabric of his vest, taking in his scent for a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes. The cold autumn wind blew and caused you to shiver ever so slightly, Damien noticed right away and, with his charming smile, pulled out a key ring from his pocket.

“Seán’s an altar boy this year… He gave me the keys…” The metal jingled quietly in Damien’s hands, and without much struggle, he found the key to the backdoor and opened it for you. He ushered you inside the dark yet familiar empty church. The darkened faces of Mother Mary and Saint Patrick stared at you from their dim candlelit spots. The full moon shone beautifully through the stained glass art, where several more saints looked at you with neutral expressions. Saint Thomas, Saint John, Saint Matthew and all the other names you had forgotten about for being so busy thinking about Damien during mass, neither of them judged you for being here. They just radiated in color and stared from their high spots.

“What did you wanna say?” Your whisper broke the silence, Damien’s hand made its way on top of yours in an act that momentarily made you fear he was going to break bad news to you. The flames of the candles flickered on his pale blue eyes, he released a soft breath before finally speaking.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you the truth…  The truth about how I feel for you…” Damien squeezed your hand gently, he could almost feel your pulse quickening. “How I’ve felt since we were kids… It's always been you…” 

It was a soft, gentle and very much awaited for confession. It felt like the saints above you had finally had mercy on your heart. Your gaze softened and the butterflies in your stomach reproduced en masse. If this had been just a dream, you would have spent the rest of your life asleep in hopes to dream it again.

“Ever since that kiss in the barn last year… I haven’t stopped thinking about wanting to do it again… And now that I'm leaving, I just knew I had to tell you how I feel…” Oh, but this was real. Very real. You could feel the warmth of his hands and the reverberation of his voice as he confessed. You could feel your eyes widening and your heart beating madly, ready to burst with his next words.

“When I come home this time next year… I want to marry you… Right here in this church.” This much happiness had never filled your chest before, you almost died and miraculously resurrected for all the saints to see. His confession was everything you ever wanted. “It’s you… It’s always been you…” 

In between your overjoyment, you could tell he was a little nervous, just as afraid to lose you as you were afraid of losing him. You eased his fears with a gentle smile and a squeeze to his hand that he reciprocated immediately.

“I love you, Damien… I've loved you for a long time…” You confessed, your voice soft and so dear to him. “I've thought about that kiss every single day too...” 

His beautiful eyes softened and he came much closer to you, holding your hand near his beating chest.

“I just want to show you how much I care before I leave…” He said sincerely. “I had to kiss you again, taste your lips one last time before I left… Something both of us can remember when i’m away..” 

He leaned closer, and you didn’t think about it for a second. Your soft lips met him halfway in a gentle, innocent kiss that made his hand come up to touch your cheek in adoration. You were his precious love, the woman he wanted to marry, the only one he wanted and desired… Carefully, his other hand tested the feeling of your thigh over your skirt, just gently, before pulling back a little.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly. 

“Yes, Damien… I want you… I want all of you…” You allowed yourself to admit after so long, the colorful lights of the stained glass windows colored your face in different hues, all matched the love in your eyes and the growing, unspoken desire between the two of you.

Another kiss followed, this time much more needier and too sinful for the sacred ground you were on. His hands held the small of your back and desired to go lower, his warm tongue licked your lower lip in search of entrance and you obliged happily. The candles had now been overshadowed by your burning passion. Something notoriously stirred in Damien’s trousers and something dampened between your skirt, and without much consideration for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, you decided to take action.

“I want you to be my first… I want to make love to you before you go…” His breath hitched a bit at your words and his eyes widened. No more words were needed. Another searing kiss followed, his hand held the back of your head with gentleness and caressed you with reverence. Your tongues melted together with an obscene sticky sound that was followed by a groan of his. 

His hand reached up to rub your breast over your sweater, giving it a soft squeeze. You moaned softly into the kiss, every nerve ending of your wet cunt reacting sweetly to him. Damien chuckled softly against your lips before pulling away.

“Love the little noises you make… Need to hear more…” He smiled against your lips, before going in for another sensual kiss. His alabaster teeth nipped at your bottom lip gently, teasing just how much he wanted to devour you.

“You know… I've touched myself thinking about you..” You admitted without even really thinking. The colors of the stained glass mimicking the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you realized what you had just blurted out. Damien loved it, however. His smirk grew wider and his hand moved to gently squeeze your thigh and the fabric covering it.

“Is that so?” He growled softly, his cock twitching at your words. “Show me…please…” He whispered, his eyes traced every feature of yours as his strong hand traced every detail of your clothed thigh. With a gentle bite to your own lip, you discarded every bit of catholic guilt and fear of divine punishment in favor of your own desires. God forgive you both for breaking the sixth commandment in His very house, but two people this in love could never be sinful.

Slowly, you sat yourself up on the white marble altar, the intricate decor and golden crucifix behind you crowning you like the angel you were to Damien’s eyes. You pulled your skirt up around your waist, showing him your white cotton underwear and soft thighs. His gaze stayed glued to you as you moved your hand towards your covered clit, your index fingertip giving you both just what you wanted. You moaned softly, teasing yourself. A glance down towards his trousers allowed you to find an aching tent in there, and a glance up towards his chest made you see just how heavy his breathing had gotten. 

Damien’s eyes flickered adoringly over you when you slipped your hand under the waistband of your panties and ran a finger between your sticky folds, letting out a series of sweet little moans that were like music to his ears. 

He leaned forward, drawn in by you. He hooked his fingers on the side of your underwear and slowly pulled them off you, needing to see everything like he needed air. The fabric now laid on the altar steps and your glistening pussy was exposed for him, all the saints on the windows and God Himself to see.

“Every part of you is so beautiful…” Damien whispered with lust and love filled words. 

You smiled, your finger sliding down and gently slipping inside your pretty and eager cunt to give it careful pumps in and out. Slick covered all the way down to your knuckle, and Damien’s mouth watered.

“Holy fuck… You are unbelievable..” He whispered, eyes full of amazement. You let out a series of little whines and moans for every praise he gave. Confidence filled you and desire burnt through you. Your finger kept teasing you physically and him mentally.

“Damien…” You moaned softly. “Want you inside…” 

No more sweet begging needed, Damien’s hand immediately went to the button of his trousers and as quick as a flicker of the candle lights his pants were pulled down to his thighs. The tent in his underwear was painfully obvious. Your cunt throbbed around your finger at the sight.

After a second or more of your pussy soaking and squeezing your moving finger, Damien pulled his boxers down, his hard cock bobbing free with its head sticky with beads of precum. Like the moonlight that bathed the town, Damien loomed over you, parting your legs with his hands and gently grabbing your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of your finger inside your aching cunt. 

“My turn…” He whispered gently, blue eyes admiring the glistening slick on your index and how it reflected the dim lights. A little grinning devil inside you coaxed you to hold it up to him and offer him a taste. He smirked and gave in to the temptation, sucking your finger clean with eyes closed and with a satisfied hum. His tongue moved around it for every last bit of your taste, and when none was left, he pulled it out of his mouth slowly.

“You taste like heaven…” He whispered with a smile, a mischievous giggle left your lips at the humor of it all. The crucified golden Jesus above you would have rolled his metallic eyes at you two had they not been closed. But even then, He would have understood.

Needily, you watched Damien’s hand guiding his cock towards your folds and tapping the tip a few times against them. You whimpered from the anticipation alone.

“Ready for me, love?” He whispered and you nodded, feeling more sure now than ever before.

His eyes fell to his cock and, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance. A soft gasp escaped your lips and he pushed into you, finding you warm, wet, tight and so delicious. He went in slowly, savoring you, each hand laid on the marble altar on each side of your hips. His handsome face contorted in loving pleasure was inches away from yours when he finally pushed all the way in.

Your arms snaked around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let you adjust to his size, sweet little moans telling him just how well you were taking him in.

“You feel so good around me…I love you…” Damien whispered adoringly, and your heart did a jump that competed to be much more intense than the feeling of your little cunt. Hearing those words from him did everything to make you feel… Well, truly blessed.

After a minute of your folds adjusting to him, he started to move, his hips slowly pumping back and forth and setting a perfect passionate pace. You moaned with a pretty sound that resonated within the church walls like a choir, all the discomfort gone and replaced with pleasure. 

“Oh my God….” You blasphemed, looking right into his eyes. His hot breath caressed your face like his hands would, his needy groan met your lips quickly, your mouth granting his tongue entrance like your wet pussy had granted entrance to his cock.

Damien devoured your mouth with a hard, wet kiss. His hips pistoned a bit faster and harder into you, hitting spots no finger of yours could ever reach. You both moaned into each other's mouths, your fingernails clawed into his shirt and back and held you tight.

In search for air, he pulled away from your lips but kept fucking you into the warming marble, your face twisted in delicious extasy for him. The colors on the windows reflected over your bodies so beautifully, convincing you that God did not mind if His house was used for something like this.

“God, you are just perfect…  Your pretty pussy, pretty face… pretty body.” Damien panted as his hips continued to move into you, truly and dedicatedly making love to you.

“My perfect girl…” He cooed before burying his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on the skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer… You feel too good..” He groaned into your neck, nipping at it a bit. Of all sins he was committing on that altar, lying was not one of them. His hip thrusts did get a little sloppier, his release came closer and closer each second and his kisses to your neck became much more desperate, as if he tried to ground himself.

You moaned at the feeling, overwhelmed by the sheer realization that all your dreams and fantasies had come true. The man you had always loved and thought about daily for years was on the brink of an orgasm in your sweet little cunt and giving you pleasure. 

He moved away from the skin of your neck and looked into your eyes, his almost rolled back but he fought for control.

“Jesus, I’m gonna come…” He whined a bit, his thrusts getting slower by the second, and before you both knew it, and perhaps as a little punishment by Christ Himself for using his name in such a filthy sentence, Damien actually came. His eyes squeezed shut and everything spilled deep in your cunt just as quick as it had started. 

He gently lowered his forehead to yours, the last bits of his thick cum seeping out of his cock with a few more pulsations, leaving him out of breath.

“Woah…” He whispered in disbelief after a minute of basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. “I’ve never felt anything that intense in my life…” He admitted, nuzzling his nose against yours and making you smile. A soft kiss followed suit along with a loving caress to your cheek.

“It felt so good when you finished inside me.” Shyness had no place in you now that his cum was dripping out of you, but it still managed to make its way into your voice. He found it absolutely adorable.

“Same for me..” He admitted. Carefully, he pulled back, his now softened cock out of you. He groaned at the sight of himself covered in both of you, he spread your legs open just to get a good look at what he had done to you.

“Oh…” He breathed out, admiring your puffy cunt and the way his semen dripped out of you and tainted the marble surface “Jesus…” Damien was marveled, Jesus nailed up high probably wasn’t. Still, something stirred in Damien, and the way he licked his lips foreshadowed just what it was.

“What's wrong?” You whispered, unease finding you again.

“Nothing… I've just never seen something so erotic… My cum dripping out of you… Looks unreal…” Damien was still out of breath, his cock twitched and threatened to get hard again just from the sight. His words,while flattering and loved, made you realize just how exposed you were. Suddenly, the detailed eyes of all the glass art apostles were very much pointed towards you. Looking at Damien was the only thing that reassured you of just how beautiful and right this was.

Without another word, Damien he leaned his head down, arms hooking around your thighs as he dived into your pussy. You gasped loudly, his tongue swiped easily across your leaking hole. You heard and felt him groan at the taste of both of you mixed together on his tongue. 

Your hand immediately found his soft brown hair, gripping it for leverage as you arched your back into his mouth. Obscene, sinful slurping sounds came from him, and moans came from you. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this, it was maddening. 

He hummed into your pussy, communion happening right between your thighs as he devoured your flesh and drank you both. He was like a starved man, and your pussy was the purest manna. 

“Damien… Oh-oh my God…” Blasphemies poured from your lips in the form of lovely cries, your eyes were on the vaulted ceiling as if the hand of God had torn the skies open in front of you. It was the first time in this very church that you actually felt a religious experience.

Damien’s tongue slowed down a bit, moving slowly against you before stopping and slowly pulling back. He looked at you, his face completely flushed and so proud of himself. 

“Woah…” You whispered, completely astonished. 

“Just looked so good… And we had to clean you up anyway, baby…” He whispered sensually, his hand softly rubbed your inner thigh and he leaned in for one last slow kiss. You could taste the faint mixture of your fluids on his tongue, it made your head reel. When he pulled away, he took your breath with him.

“I need to have my girl again before I leave… Meet here at the same time tomorrow night?” He asked, hopeful. You smiled, catching your breath.

“Of course…” You whispered, filling his eyes with love and excitement. With his hands holding your face so preciously, and in front of God Himself, Damien repeated an earlier statement that was the whole truth…

“I always knew you were the only one for me…” 

Pinterest moodboard so you can visualize this fic. Made by @fuckiingloser!

[daechwitatamic]

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

//

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies. 

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods. 

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat. 

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others. 

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on. 

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for. 

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting. 

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has. 

“A good week,” she observes. 

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers. 

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home? 

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket. 

“You have need of nothing?” she asks. 

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home. 

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued. 

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling. 

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name. 

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to. 

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King. 

She smiles at this, thinly.  “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy. 

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal. 

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer. 

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling. 

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours. 

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case. 

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck. 

“It’s not extra,” he mutters. 

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence. 

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes. 

You know that look. You are ignoring that look. 

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!” 

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home. 

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly. 

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel. 

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life. 

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable. 

The seasons turned. The hurts faded. 

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after. 

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy. 

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time. 

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be. 

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker. 

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more. 

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all. 

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it. 

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped. 

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand. 

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her. 

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm. 

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her. 

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks. 

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary. 

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers. 

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing. 

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it. 

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary. 

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone. 

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers. 

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know. 

She raises her chin and chants, 

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides. 

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter. 

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face. 

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it. 

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement? 

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience? 

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it. 

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center. 

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best. 

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel? 

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is. 

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands. 

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat? 

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years. 

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy. 

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed. 

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you. 

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply. 

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest. 

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch. 

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door. 

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest. 

Your forest. 

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark. 

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. 

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago. 

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away. 

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone. 

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows. 

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away. 

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss. 

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you. 

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer. 

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair. 

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck. 

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry. 

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie. 

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough. 

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger. 

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper. 

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade. 

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. 

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

[cheriecoke]

Can you drop some long series recs (any fandom!)?! I haven't had any come across my dash >.< Would love to read some!

omg of course!! I HAVE SO SO MANY RECS! a lot of the ones i've seen recently are ongoing, but i hope you give them a go & keep watching for updates <3 i have read quite a variety, so hopefully there's something for you tehe. some of them i haven't read yet, but have been on my list bc i enjoy their other works :) so i recommend them to since i know the writers are amazing!!

to have and to hold by @fedyenkas (chuuya, ongoing) - i just started this one today & it's so so amazing so far !! chuuyas characterization in it is sooo yummy. i haven't read a hybrid series before, so it's super unique to see how that fits into the bsd universe.

noble blood by @forest-hashira (satoru & suguru, ongoing) - i haven't read this one yet, but both of fallon's entries for my collab were incredible, so i can only imagine this is too! plus, the premise is SO insane, it's about dragon riders, and there's an entire sheet with all lore that they've created !! i can see how much love and care was put into this one, so i can't wait to check it out !!

oh, baby! by @tetsuskei (kuroo, ongoing) - i have yet to read the first part (everyone throw tomatoes at me) but risu posted some parts on her old blog & i read it there! it's so so sweet!! i looove all her writing, and dad!kuroo is just the cutest thing EVER.

waterloo by @fyorina (dazai, ongoing) - i haven't read this one yet either but i am SO SO incredibly excited to get to it. this one is going to be long, so it might be what you're looking for !! the first two parts are out already, and there's a posting schedule if you want to know when they're coming out :)

bulletproof love by @staryukis (gojo, ongoing) - i've really enjoyed this one so far and logan's writing is so captivating <3 it feels just like missing scenes from in between the canon jjk storyline. logan also has a mini zombie apocalypse series i've been excited to read after reading the other series !! it's dying (for your love).

regrets by @/kingkonoha (levi, complete) is so good !! i still need to finish it, but the concept is super cool & the reader is the antagonist so it's a really interesting spin on levi's actions in the canon universe.

tidal temptations by @fyodorloveclub (fyodor, ongoing) - i have also yet to read this one (cries myself to sleep my tbr is never ending), but everything flora writes is incredible, so i have no doubt this one is too. it's a merman fyodor fic, which is such a cool concept i'm so excited to see where it goes !!!

hell within reach by @/ddarker-dreams (chrollo, complete) - omg. ok i read this one like 2 years ago LOL, but it's finished and its about 80k long, and it's so good <3 i used to be an insane chrollo girlie & this is one of my favorite fics about him.

lover's delight by @lovelyluc (diluc, ongoing) - i don't even play genshin or know anything about it HSHFSDFH but this one is so sweet <3 you can really see how much awea loves diluc in this series, which is my favorite thing about reading fics, and it has so many of my favorite tropes !!

geheinisse by @honeybleed (jean & reiner, ongoing) - only the first part of this is out but it's SO INCREDIBLE. there's so much drama already, and nara does such a great job of setting the scene while getting you hooked immediately. nara also has a two part reiner fic (the first part is decades) that's completed and over 10k words that i'll never forget! her characterization of reiner is so yummy.

if it wasn't for him (would you have me) by @gojoath (yuuta, ongoing) - cella's the ceo of yandere yuuta, so if you're into him, i can't think of anyone else to recommend !!! cella wrote another yuuta series that i think is completed, so there are lots of amazing things to read on her blog <3

@osaemu has a streamer!gojo series that are all in the same universe & connect! they're so funny & everything sabs writes is amazing, so i encourage you to check out her work if you haven't

the lakehouse by @tetzoro (kuroo, ongoing) - rahhh i'm the worst bc i still haven't read this but aims is one of my favorite writers on here, so trust me it's amazing. this was written for october, so if you're missing autumn rn def read this one! aims also has another kuroo series coming soon <3

i know i left some people out, so if you're ever in need of any other recs, pls lmk tehe. and if you're a mootie of mine but have a series i didn't include, send it my way <3 but hopefully all these amazing ones will get you started!

[alotofrandomfangirling]

Promises (liveaction!Roronoa Zoro x female!reader)

Summary: Zoro and you are protective of each other 💚

Warnings: cursing, violence, mentions of blood, bullying

A/N: well, this started as a request but turned out to be more of a collab?lol @smolbeandrabbles sent me the idea and the inspiration song, and helped me through it so this came out hahaha i hope you like it! This is inspired by the song "New Fears" by Lights 🥰 also, there's a small time skip in the middle and the two scenes in italic are flashbacks!

'"Cause I have these new fears that carry me through

Every bullet I'm taking for you

So just hold on tight

I'll be coming, I'm coming for you, oh oh

And every night

I'll be burning, burning for you, oh oh

And I will back you up, I will show you love

I will give you all I got 'til I cannot

Hold on tight

I'm breathing, breathing for you, oh oh

It hadn't been long since you and Roronoa Zoro had started dating. That meant you were still trying to figure out this whole 'relationship' thing.

Not that it was hard, not at all. You both really liked each other, so you were willing to do anything for one another. It was just that... both being inexperienced, belonging to someone was a new adventure you were going to face together.

And it wasn't like a big effort either. Even before you were an official couple, both of you were already inseparable, ever since you joined the straw hats.

You got along like no one, you were always by each other's side and there was no one who could understand each other better. It was like you were long lost soulmates.

But... you just didn't say it?lol

Maybe you were both afraid the other one would see you only as friend? Or maybe you were just stubborn af lmao

It didn't stop you from stealing a little time with each other every now and then though 😏

You specially loved your late night talks. You had lost count of how many times you went to his room (or him to yours 👀) late at night just to chat.

Zoro liked asking you about your life before joining the straw hats. He loved hearing your sweet voice giggling while telling funny stories about that time.

You, on the other hand, loved when he talked about his childhood and the promise he made to his friend. The glint in his eye when he talked about that dream of his, it was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. That's when you knew Roronoa Zoro was the strongest and most determined man you had ever met and you couldn't help but admire that on him.

You also had a lot of fun teasing each other lol you usually joked about his fighting when you were training together ajskajskaj you knew he was the most skillful fighter you had ever met, but you also knew deep down he was a softie, so you loved seeing the shy smile he gave you whenever you teased him.

- you sure you need all those swords to beat me? - you asked teasing and emphasizing the 'all'. You held your dagger on your right hand, the only weapon you ever used and that fit you so well it felt almost like a part of your body.

That made him chuckle.

- of course i'm not using all of them, i gotta take it easy not to completely kick your ass - he said smiling.

- aww you're not getting soft on me, are you, Roronoa? - you said raising one eyebrow.

Was that a small blush on his cheeks?! Oh gosh, he couldn't get any more adorable. You had to look away or else you'd be falling even harder for that man.

- ha, you wish - he replied grabbing his sword and getting ready to start.

The whole crew (except poor baby Luffy 😅😂) had already noticed something was going on. And they would tease you like hell for that.

But still you wouldn't say anything.

I mean, not until that day.

The day Zoro fought Dracule Mihawk. That day could easily be top 3 of "worst days of your life".

Of course you believed in him and supported him no matter what, but you knew what he was doing was dangerous.

The way Mihawk showed no mercy, Zoro's painful grunts, the gash oh his chest... everything felt like a horror scenario and you just panicked because there was nothing you could do.

Fortunately your friends brought Zoro to the ship again, where he was taken care of.

Zeff said you all needed to stay with him and keep talking to keep him alive, but you were so shocked you couldn't even think of something to say.

After some time and with the support of your crew, you finally gathered your courage and decided to speak to him, from your heart. You couldn't let your best friend die like that.

You approached him and started talking softly, not really sure what to say, but hoping the words would come out eventually.

- hey, umm... i guess... um... we miss you..?

You took a deep breath.

- who am i kidding? I miss you, Zoro. I don't know why i never said this before and, oh my, do i regret it right now, but I... - were he even listening? You weren't sure, you just had to get it off your chest - I really like you. You're one of the best people i have ever met and i love spending time with you, and the thought of never being able to do that anymore is freaking me out. I know I could never stand in the way of your dream, because i believe in you, Zoro, i really do. But i also know I should have done more... more to protect you - you paused a bit before letting out the next words - joining the straw hats and sailing on the Merry, it made me feel so brave... and i thought i got rid of all my stupid fears. But now i realize i have a new one. And it's losing you, Zoro. Please, don't leave me...

Your voice broke at those last words and you started crying uncontrollably, hiding your face in your hands. The thought of losing him really made your heart ache.

Until...

- stop crying, i'm not going anywhere.

You lifted your head so fast it almost hurt. You couldn't believe it.

- Zoro?! Oh my gosh, Zoro, you're alive - your voice almost a whisper as you hugged him, careful not to hurt him even more.

He chuckled, eyes still closed and wincing a bit from the pain.

- oh my gosh, i was so scared i had lost y-

A realization immediatly hit you and your face went as white as a sheet. Was he listening? Did he... did he hear what you just said?!

Oh no.

- umm... how much... did you hear? - you asked slowly, a bit scared of his answer.

- enough to say i feel the same - he said with a small smile.

Yeah, so that happened. Was it cute? Totally. But it didn't stop you from shivering whenever you remembered that fight.

Confessions aside, the sight of Zoro lying on the ground with a pool of blood spreading around still haunted you and you couldn't seem to get it out of your mind.

That day you made a silent promise to always protect that man. Of course you knew he was the Roronoa Zoro, infamous pirate hunter and master of the three sword style, but you swore to yourself you would do anything on your reach to keep him safe.

--------*------------*-----------*----------

You were at a bar at Logue Town. It was the evening and Zoro invited you to go there for his usual booze (lol). Chilling with your boyfriend sounded really nice after spending a whole day cleaning the Going Merry, so, sure, you agreed.

You were drinking and talking at the bar counter and everything seemed okay until you heard two familiar (and very annoying) voices.

- wow, check out the loser we found here!

- no way he still has the guts to show up in public after that.

You turned around and confirmed your suspicions: yep, Shinjiro and Aki, the bounty hunter brothers that were a pain in Zoro's ass.

You (unfortunately) had already met them a few months ago at another small island. They both had pitch black hair, were very lean and tall and looked so ugly they could scare babies with just a smile.

At that time, you weren't even girlfriend and boyfriend yet, but Zoro already told you how much of jerks they were. He explained they had been competing and picking on him for years and, when they found out he had joined a pirate crew, it only got worse, so you knew what you were getting into.

On your first encounter with them, you were able to leave before things got heated, but it seemed like this time it wasn't going to be that easy.

You were already opening your mouth to throw all the bad names you knew at the brothers, but Zoro softly put his hand on yours and mouthed "they’re not worth it". You trusted him, so you immediatly went quiet and followed his strategy.

Sadly, Shinjiro and Aki weren't that smart.

They sat by the counter too, not facing the both of you, but speaking loud enough for you to hear it.

- hey, Aki, did you hear what happened with a certain 'pirate' with moss hair? He challenged fucking Dracule Mihawk to a duel! - Shinjiro said ironically.

"Don't say that name. Don't you dare say that name", you thought.

- no way! He could probably be the winner of the "biggest idiot in the whole East Blue" award - Aki replied with a nasty laugh.

Your blood was starting to boil. Zoro alone was twice the man both of them could ever be: braver, stronger and better in so many ways. Who did they think they were to talk about your man like that?

- yeah, either 'biggest idiot' or 'worst swordsman'. I heard Mihawk could take him down with only a small knife, right into his heart - Shinjiro gestured like he was puncturing his own chest.

'Right into his heart'.

Those words echoed in your head.

No.

They were bringing it all up again.

Mihawk's eyes. Zoro's painful voice. Your desperate crying. All flashes going back to your mind.

It was like you were reliving that horror again. Zoro even tried to talk to you and distract you from it, but it didn't seem to work.

- what a joke. And how did he not die? - Aki asked, acting clueless.

- he was so pathetic Mihawk had to leave before turning him into pieces. Not before slashing him right on the chest. Legend says if you go to the Baratie right now, you're probably still gonna find his blood on the ground - Shinjiro said and laughed loudly.

That was the last straw. You got out of your trance and decided to do something.

- okay, that's enough - you said sternly and got up of your seat.

You walked up to Shinjiro and looked him in the eye, your rage nearly melting him.

- oh, yeah? What you gonna do about it, little girl? - he said mocking you.

- here's what - you said and punched him right in the nose.

He was so taken aback by your sudden attack he couldn't even form a reaction. Guess he really underestimated that little girl's strength, right?

When he was still trying to understand what happened, you kicked him in the crotch. Yeah, such a nice move that serves right to a dick that was badmouthing your boyfriend.

As he bent down in pain, you quickly grabbed your dagger (you had learned with Zoro to never leave without a weapon 😅) and hit the back of his neck with the hilt, making him fall to the ground, unconscious.

Wow... did you really knock out the guy?! I mean, of course you were a very skillful fighter, but you were surprised by your willpower and quick thinking over there lol

You took a quick glance back at Zoro with a smug smile and he was there watching the whole thing just like that 'white guy blinking' meme. His girlfriend was kicking ass? For him?! Could she become any more amazing??

When you turned around, Aki was fuming.

- what did you do to him?! - he screamed/asked.

- oh, don't worry. He'll only stay like that for a few hours. You should actually thank me for not having to listen to his stupidity for a wh-

You hadn't even finished your snarky retort when you saw him coming to attack you.

You were usually fast in your fighting. You weren't the biggest or the strongest, but you were very fast, and you were proud of that because it always led you to winning.

But (you weren't sure if the attack caught you off guard of if the sight of Zoro looking at you so impressed had distracted you more than normal) apparently that time it wasn't enough.

When you realized it, Aki had pushed you to the ground and you fell with a loud thud. And as if it weren't enough, you noticed he had a knife in his left hand. You could only notice a long gash starting to bleed on your right arm.

You looked at Zoro as if asking for help and he was looking at you, but he didn't seem like himself. You had never seen that anger in his eyes, it was like he was possessed.

As quick as you fell, Zoro unsheathed his sword and knocked Aki out until he was laid on the ground, the point of the blade only a few milimeters away from his heart. Zoro knew how much you hated unnecessary killing, but this guy had crossed a line there (he had hurt his girlfriend?!) and needed to be taught a lesson.

- you lay a finger on her again - Zoro said through gritted teeth, his voice low and menacing - and i won't be this merciful. Was i clear?

Aki nodded frantically and you could see it in his eyes he was regretting everything and praying to get out alive.

Zoro sheated the sword again and stepped away, still murdering Aki with his eyes.

"That was freaking hot". No shame, but these were your exact thoughts as you watched the whole thing, still sitting on the ground and looking up at him. That was until you came back to reality from your little daydream about your extra hot boyfriend and noticed your wound was still bleeding.

Zoro hadn't forgotten about that either and immediatly kneeled down to check on you.

- (Y/N), are you okay? - he asked very worried about you and checking your arm. The way he looked at you and his soft touch gave you butterflies.

- yeah, i just need to... bandage this up - you replied weakly.

- come on, let's get back to the ship - he helped you get up and you walked back to the Going Merry, him checking on you every 10 seconds.

When you got back to the Merry, Zoro led you to the room you shared (yep, now you were on the 'sharing a room' basis *wink wink*) and helped you bandage your wound. You realized it wasn't that bad and hopefully it would heal in a couple weeks (which was a relief, cause if it was worse Zoro would probably go back to the bar and finish Aki right away 😅😂).

When you were done, you started rambling:

- hey, um... thank you for standing up for me back there. I know taking those guys was stupid, but they were badmouthing you and bringing all that back, i just couldn't stand it anym-

- hey, don't mention it. I couldn't let that jerk hurt my girl and get away with it - the way he said "my girl" made you all fuzzy inside - also, you did it for me first, so you could say we're even - he said with a small smile.

You chuckled. How could he put a smile on your face even in moments like these? That man was really a blessing in your life.

- yeah, i guess that's what makes us such a great duo - you replied winking.

He let out a small laugh and kissed your forehead. With that, you both started preparing your stuff to go to bed. I mean, after everything, both of you needed some good rest.

Soon you both laid down and went to sleep, holding tight to each other, like none of you wanted to let the other go (and you really didn't).

In Zoro's arms, you started thinking about everything that had just happened. Neither of you hesitated in protecting each other in face of danger. That was the moment you realized how far Zoro and you would go for each other.

You didn't lie, you were really a perfect duo.

That thought made you feel even more thankful for having found each other and for being in each other's life like that.

It also made you think back to that fateful Mihawk fight and what you told yourself that day. You had made a promise and you were going to keep it.

But what you didn't know is that Zoro had made one himself too.

Of course he had already promised to become the world's greatest swordsman and to find the One Piece with his captain. But he could fit one more, right? And perhaps the most important yet: to be by your side until the end of your lives.

"I'll take two times the misery

And half the glory

If it meant you'd be the champion

Of the story

And I'll take two times the agony

And half the wonder

If it meant you'd get twice

Twice the thunder"

[scoonsalicious]

Unsatisfied, Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: After game night, Bucky promised to ruin you come morning. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, Explicit Sexual Content: Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (FaceTime sex, hand stuff), Pocket still not being over her trauma, mentions of past injury.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi, besties!

It's me, ya gurl, with Part 2 of the post-Unwanted one-shot that's become a three-shot, lol! I fucking missed the absolute hell out of these two, and I'm so happy to be back with them for a little bit. Writing for Pocket and her Bucky is just like... I don't know. It's like I'm not even making stuff up, just channeling it, because it comes so easily, unlike literally everything else I try to write. I can't say when I'm going to resume WFLT. To be perfectly candid, I might put it on extended hiatus while I work on other things that seem to come easier right now. I don't know yet. I just want to be up front with everyone.

Here's where my attentions are currently focused: Finishing Unsatisfied, an untitled collab with @mrsbuckybarnes1917, writing Hunted, and plotting Unbroken. For some reason, there is just a giant Gandalf standing between me and WFLT, waving his staff and shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" I'll let you know when I whip him into the abyss. And yes, that does make me the Balrog in this scenario, and I, too, fall to my death in the depths of Moria. It's an imperfect analogy, okay? At least I'm not Sean Bean, dying all over the place.

Anyway, enjoy more Pocket and Bucky! I know I do! xoxo

“I miss you,” you moaned into the screen of your phone. Your voice sounded pitiful, even to your own ears, but you were lonely and you didn’t have the shame to hide it. Especially not from the man you were talking to.

“I miss you, too, sweets,” Bucky said with a dejected sigh that let you know your feelings of misery were mutual. “It shouldn’t be longer than a few more days, then I’ll come back home to ya, and we can pick up where we left off, yeah?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, his promise setting your skin awash in goosebumps. ‘Where you’d left off’ had been finally, finally, coming back together after nearly twelve months of self-imposed celibacy, spending the first night together, in your new apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms, with his co—

“At least we got our bubble bath before things went fully to shit,” Bucky added, a smile playing on his lips from across the distance, as though he knew exactly where your thoughts had taken you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, remembering the feel of him, so warm and solid, against your back in the tub. After he’d kicked out your friends from the impromptu game night they’d decided to throw at your new place, and you’d gotten over your freakout when Sam had inadvertently joked about Bucky ‘cheating’ at a card game, the two of you had spent a much needed evening just in each other’s company. Intimacy, but not sex, the way your therapist had recommended, with Bucky promising to ruin you come daybreak. 

Instead, though, a call had come from Fury in the middle of the night. A group of terrorists, counting some several enhanced among them, had stolen a biological weapon and were threatening to decimate the population of Shanghai unless the Chinese government gave into their demands, and so, The Avengers, Bucky included, had been called away.

You’d offered to go, just so you could stay close to him. You’d never even leave the Quinjet, you’d promised, out of the action, but neither Bucky nor Tony was eager to see you back on the field, not after what had happened the last time. Even though you’d had your last reconstructive surgery months ago, and your doctors had given you the all clear, between your boyfriend and your pseudo-brother, you weren’t leaving New York anytime soon.

That had been over a week ago. Negotiations with the terrorists had not gone according to plan, and they were probably going to have to fight it out. And as for you? You were ready to climb the fucking walls.

“How’s wedding stuff going?” Bucky asked, referring to your role as Maid of Honor in Pepper and Tony’s upcoming nuptials. “Keeping you busy?”

“Don’t you dare try to change the subject, Barnes,” you practically growled at him. “I am so fucking desperate for your cock, I swear to god–”

From somewhere off camera, you could hear a cacophony of sound– a combination of Sam and Clint’s uproarious laughter and Tony shouting “JESUS CHRIST BARNES, USE YOUR FUCKING HEADPHONES!”

Bucky’s face had turned crimson in the video call, and you couldn’t suppress the laugh that came bubbling from you as he abruptly stood up and removed himself into a darker, quieter area.

“Shit,” he exhaled as he got himself re-situated in the new, hopefully more private, space. He ran a hand down his face in embarrassment. “Didn’t mean for them to hear all that, doll.”

You laughed as you twisted a strand of hair around your finger in the way you knew he liked. “What happened to your earbuds, baby?” you teased. 

Bucky reached up and pulled an airpod from his ear, looking at the small device as though it had personally offended him. “I thought they were on!” he exclaimed. “If I’d known I’d been broadcasting you for the whole fucking team to hear, I woulda gone somewhere a lot more private to begin with.”

“The whole team?” you asked, cautiously. You didn’t want to say any names, but you needed to know if he was there, too. If he’d heard you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, catching your meaning and lowering his voice. “Rogers is here.”

You swallowed and nodded solemnly. You hadn’t spoken to Steve Rogers since he’d made his horrible confession to you in the hospital, of the ways he’d manipulated your life to keep you and Bucky apart. All culminating in Bucky’s betrayal, your temporary death, the loss of your unborn baby. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, thinking only of Bucky in the moment. It was easy for you to stay away from Steve, to ignore him– your anger toward him had far surpassed any level of fondness you’d once had for Captain America, but you knew how much harder it was for Bucky to break a bond of nearly a century. Not that you would have ever forbidden him from reconnecting with Steve, if that was what he had wanted. No, Bucky had decided on his own that some things couldn’t be forgiven. No matter how many decades of friendship might lie behind them.

“Yeah,” he sighed, though you could tell from the look in his eyes that it was harder for him than he was letting on. “It’s awkward, but if we keep it strictly to business, it’s manageable. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and you wished so badly that you could be there to smooth the lines from his distraught face. “It’s just… sometimes he makes it hard to remember what he did.”

You nodded, feeling guilty that you were the reason the two were no longer friends. That Steve had betrayed Bucky because of his desire for you. 

“Don’t go blaming yourself, sweets,” Bucky chastised you knowingly. It was like he could read your mind. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a look. “I know how that pretty head works, doll, and I know you’re blaming yourself. Stop it. He made his own bed, now he gets to lie in it.”

“I know,” you lamented. “I just hate that you have to pay the emotional cost of his bad decisions, that’s all.”

Bucky frowned at you. “Just like I hate how you had to pay the costs for mine, doll,” he said softly. “Our actions have consequences. We have to live with them, so we don’t make the same fuck ups again.”

You subconsciously let your hand drift to your abdomen, your fingers delicately tracing over the scar that was the only external reminder that you’d been shot. Had technically been killed. Had lost a lot more than your life. You were grateful Bucky could only see you from the chest up.

“Well, this conversation took a turn,” you said, trying to get off of subjects you’d rather not dwell on. “Can we go back to talking about how fucking horny I am for you?”

Bucky barked out a laugh and god, how it warmed your heart that you could still get that reaction out of him after everything you’d both gone through. His blue eyes seemed to darken as he adjusted himself in whatever seat he was in. “If it helps, I’m horny as hell for you, too, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth as he nodded his head. “Yeah, hearing that does help. Show me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened through the screen. “Show you?” he breathed, clearly not having anticipated where you were about to take the conversation. “What do you mean, ‘show you’, doll?”

“I mean,” you said, leaning back against the headboard to make yourself more comfortable, “show me that pretty cock of yours, Sergeant. Take it out. Stroke it for me. I wanna see what I’ve been missing.”

You watched as Bucky’s eyes went back and forth between the phone screen and the door that separated him from the rest of the team. You could tell from the way he was gnawing at his bottom lip that he was seriously debating it, but that he had some real reservations. “Doll,” he whispered, sounding scandalized, but excited, “they’re right outside. They’ll hear me.”

You smirked at the way he’d suddenly become shy. “I wanna hear you, Sarge,” you pleaded in a breathy whisper, and from the way he closed his eyes and moaned at your words, you knew he was so close to giving you what you wanted. “Come on, baby,” you cooed. “Can’t you show Pocket that pretty pink cock she’s been wanting so badly? Can’t I watch you choke it with your big hands while I imagine my mouth wrapped around it? Pozhaluysta, Soldat?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, and you knew you’d won when he hopped up from where he’d been sitting. Though you couldn’t see it from the way he was letting the phone dangle, you could hear him lock the door. “You know I can’t resist it when you speak Russian, doll,” he said as he sat back down, propping the phone and its camera up against something so that you could see his entire body stretched out before you. 

“YA rasschityval na eto, detka,” you said with a grin. I was counting on it, baby. You could see now that he was in a bedroom of what looked like a standard SHIELD safehouse. It was small– only one twin-sized bed, so you weren’t worried about anyone else barging in to need the space. 

“So, how do we do this?” he asked, and you could hear the nervousness mixed with excitement in his voice. It struck you that, throughout your relationship, and all the time you’d spent apart while one or the other was away on missions, the two of you had actually never done this before. Phone sex, yeah, but never on video, together. It was going to be new territory, and it thrilled you. 

“We?” you asked playfully, pretending you had no idea what he was talking about. 

Bucky looked at you sternly though the screen of your phone and you involuntarily shivered under his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I’m not going to see that sweet, dripping cunt of yours tonight, doll. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. Got just a taste of it the other day, and it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Fuck, you could feel yourself dampen and your nipples harden just from his words alone, not to mention the memory of the brief moment on your terrace, before the movers had arrived, when he’d had his deliciously thick fingers pressed inside of you.

“Baby,” you moaned, not even realizing you were trailing your fingertips over the pebbled flesh of your breasts under your shirt, imagining his rough, calloused hands on you. 

“Take off your clothes, Pocket,” Bucky growled. He didn’t ask; it wasn’t a request. It was a command, and you were ready to obey. 

“Sir, yes sir, Sergeant,” you said, and you were sure you looked anything but graceful as you sped to pull your top over your head and shimmy out of the pair of cheeky panties you wore. The cool breeze of the air conditioning danced along your flushed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, his eyes following the path your fingers traced along the contours of your body. You watched hungrily as he absentmindedly palmed himself through the Tac pants he still frustratingly donned. “God, you look even better‘n I remember, sweets,” he grunted. “Better than I’ve been imaginin’ all week. How the fuck’s that even possible?”

“Buck,” you warned, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his obviously false praise as you turned to hide your face from his gaze. “Stop. I know you don’t mean that.”

Frowning, Bucky leaned forward, picking up the phone so he could bring his face close to the camera, scrutinizing you. “Pocket,” he said, but you refused to look at him. “Pocket!” he tried again, his voice a little firmer, but still gentle. “Why the fuck would I not mean that, sweetheart? You’re gorgeous.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. It was kind of him to lie to spare your feelings, really, but you didn’t think you could take it. Not from him. Not after everything. Without thought, your hand moved to cover your bullet wound from his gaze. “Come on, Buck,” you said, your tone implying that you weren’t buying his bullshit, no matter how sweetly he was selling it, “we both know you weren’t imagining me with all these new scars.”

“Baby.” Bucky made a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and an incredulous groan. “You can’t seriously think I, of all fucking people, give a shit about a couple of tiny scars?” He put the phone down, and your view of him was obstructed for a moment while you heard the rustle of cloth. When he lifted it up again, you saw he had taken off his vest and Tac shirt. He pointed to the ruined skin of his left shoulder.

“Look at these and tell me you think I’m gonna be turned off by a coupla’ scars, Pocket,” he said, and you could detect the hard edge to his voice. 

“It’s different, Buck,” you told him, your voice cracking. “You already had those scars when we met; they were a part of the man I fell in love with. You…” you hastily wiped at the tear that was suddenly threatening to fall from your eye. “Mine… mine weren’t. You didn’t get a choice in them.”

You watched as the look on Bucky’s face morphed into one of pure confusion. Of course he didn’t fully understand– you weren’t just talking about scars, after all. He… just didn’t realize that yet.

“You didn’t have a choice in them, either, sweetheart,” he said softly, eying the way your hand protectively rested over your abdomen. “And if you’re talking about the scar from when you got shot… well, fuck, if that scar’s not my favorite thing.”

You looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “How could this… disgusting reminder…” you choked out, “of everything that happened last year… how could that be your favorite thing, Bucky?”

“That scar means you’re alive, doll,” he told her. “That you’re still breathing, still with me, in spite of all of it. So forgive me if I think that makes it the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled, his words momentarily taking away the sting of the inadequacy you’d felt ever since the doctors had told you about the extent of your condition. It wasn’t something you were purposefully keeping from Bucky… You had just been too terrified to say it out loud. You were going to tell him. Just not yet.

"Look at me Doll,” he said, getting your attention back onto his face, “I don't like that I have to tell you this at all, but I'm gonna do it, as many times as you need, as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You felt your face soften, the tension of insecurity drop from your shoulders as he looked at you through the phone screen, eyes blue pools of adoration. You wanted so badly to just get lost in him, to let him consume you until you were capable of thinking of nothing but him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s something more than just the scar, isn’t it, sweets? You’ve never been ashamed of showing me your body before.” You weren’t vain as a rule, and Bucky knew this about you. You had other scars, worse ones. Uglier ones, but none had ever bothered you the way this one had. None had ever carried the same degree of psychological and emotional baggage. 

You just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, you’d reveal what you’d been keeping from him, blurt it out before you could stop yourself, and it was not the kind of thing you wanted to do over video with thousands of miles of distance between you.

“You don’t have to tell me, doll,” he said, the understanding in his voice so pure that it made you ache. “I know so many of my actions have hurt you; I get that there’s still some trust–”

“Baby, no,” you interrupted. “I trust you, I do. I want to tell you. I’m just… not ready yet.”

“Tell me what I can do for you right now, then, sweetheart,” he offered. He’d brought the phone close to his face, his gaze on you intense and burning through the screen. “What do you need?”

You exhaled, the sight of him so focused and sincere making your knees feel weak. “Just you, Buck,” you whispered, the words coming out in a breathy sigh. “I just want you.”

“I’m right here, doll.” His voice turned low, darker. A soft purr that vibrated your insides. “And I’ll be home with you real soon, but you gotta tell me what I can do for you right. now.”

You sucked in a shuddering gasp of air, indulging in the way his words swept over your body like a languid kiss. Without even thinking, you felt your hand drift down your abdomen, your fingertips dancing along the top of your thigh.

“Buck,” you found yourself whining as you squirmed your ass across the mattress, searching for any inch of friction you could find. 

“Yeah, baby,” he grunted, readjusting the camera so it was once again propped up and you could see the length of him pressing against the material of his tac-pants. “Tell Sergeant Barnes what you want so he can give it to you.”

A beat of silence passed between you before you both started laughing, your hand coming to cover your face as you suppressed a snort. “Oh my god, Barnes!” you wheezed.

“Yeah, that was awful,” he laughed, palming his face in embarrassment. “Did I kill it?”

You wiped away a stray tear that had leaked from your eye in your laughter. “You’re lucky I find your bad jokes to be such a fucking turn on,” you told him with a grin. 

Bucky frowned. “Wasn’t supposed to be a joke, doll,” he grumbled, a pout forming on his beautiful pink lips. “‘S supposed to be sexy.”

“Oh, I found it very sexy,” you assured him. “You make me laugh, Barnes. That’s the hottest fucking thing I can imagine. Now take off your pants.”

The look in Bucky’s eyes turned from playfully annoyed to seductively heated in the space of a nanosecond. He reached for the zipper of his tac-pants and you licked your lips at the sound of it coming undone. “Get the camera all set up, doll,” he said as he shimmied the pants down his legs. “I want to see every inch of you.”

With a grin, you propped your camera up between your legs, giving Bucky a front row seat to your dripping core. “This work for you, Sarge?” you asked.

“Fuck, sweets,” he began, palming at himself through his boxer-briefs. “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Show me,” you commanded him, bringing your fingers down to lightly trace the outer edges of your lower lips. “Show me how well this view works for you, baby.”

Bucky scrambled to pull his boxer briefs down to his thick thighs, and you watched with bated breath as his cock sprung free, its beautiful, pink tip already glistening with precum. Your entire body erupted in tingles at the sight of him. He was so fucking gorgeous, and he was yours.

“Jesus,” you hissed, bringing a hand to your breast and gently squeezing the flesh. You could feel your mouth thicken with saliva at just the idea of having him down your throat.

“Just Bucky’s fine, baby,” he teased as he grabbed a hold of himself, and you rolled your eyes. “No need to bring God into it.” Slowly, he began stroking his length. You watched in awe as he seemed to grow harder with every downward pull, the veins in his thighs bulging as he thrust his hips up against his hand. If anyone was going to be compared to God during sex, it would and should be Bucky Barnes.

“Touch that pretty clit for me, doll,” he grunted. “Pretend it’s my fingers on you, getting you all warmed up to take my cock.”

“Fuck, Buck,” you whimpered, your fingers moving frantically over your bundle of nerves. You were already soaked; just the sight of him had sent another wave of arousal gushing through you. “Want your dick in my pussy so bad, baby. So fucking bad, it hurts.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he grunted, watching your fingers strum your clit with wild eyes. “I’ll be home soon, and I’ll fill you up so good, you won’t be able to walk normal for weeks.”

You arched your back and moaned, the memory of the way he stretched you as he entered you, opening you wider than any other man you’d ever had, flooded your mind. “Nothing fills me like you do, baby,” you panted. “Nothing hits me so deep.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, and you could hear the delicious slick, slick sound of his hand moving through the precum that soaked his shaft. “Not even those fancy toys you bought?”

Bucky chuckled when he noticed your eyes pop open and stare at him in surprise. “Oh, I know all about those, doll.” Slick, slick, slick. “Found ‘em when I was helping you pack for the move. All of them.”

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, and if you didn’t already have your hand on your pussy right in front of him, you might have been embarrassed. “All those toys, and none of them gets me off as good as you do, Buck,” you breathed. “None of them reach that spot the way you do.” It was true– it was the one thing you had desperately searched for during your time of Bad Decisions– someone to hit that place deep inside of you that set your every nerve ending on fire, that made you shiver and convulse with pleasure with each thrust. No one had ever brought on that full body climax that left you shaking and weak like Bucky had. 

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “No one touches your A-spot but me.”

“No,” you gasped. You loved how he knew your body so well, knew what he did to you, how you longed for his touch. “No one touches me like you, baby.” 

“Put your fingers in, sweets,” he commanded. “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on that pretty little hand while I pretend it’s my cock.”

You did as he asked, bringing two fingers to your weeping entrance and plunging them inside you. They would never feel as thick or go as deep as any part of Bucky, but for now, they were all you had, so you made the most of them, driving them in and out of your cunt with abandon. 

“Fuck…” you grunted as you felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten, sweat glistening off your brow. “Baby!”

“I know, pretty girl,” Bucky said between grunts of his own. “Tell me how good you feel.”

“So good, Buck,” you moaned. “So fucking good. Want you so bad, Bucky! So fucking bad!”

“I’m right there with you, doll,” he panted. “I’m so close. Gonna blow all over and imagine it’s inside that pretty pussy of yours. Gonna come home and bury myself in your cunt, sweets! Not gonna come out for days!”

“Oh shit, Bucky,” you cried, your release a hare's breath away. “Wanna cum with you, baby.” You curled your fingers inside of you, stroking your G-spot again, and again, trying to imagine it was his thick, calloused fingers inside of you. 

“Just a little longer, sweetheart.” Bucky was yanking at his member now, his pace quick and frantic. 

You felt yourself rising, clawing to the very edge of the precipice, but before you could hurl yourself over the edge, you accidentally hit your phone with your foot, sending it falling to the floor.

You scrambled for the phone. It had landed face-down in the dark, making it harder for you to find, but you followed the sounds of Bucky’s grunts and moans until you made contact. Turning the phone back over, you watched as Bucky, eyes screwed closed, reached his peak, ropes of cum erupting from the tip of his cock and landing across his stomach and hand. 

And, as surely as if someone had doused you with a bucket of water, the spell was broken. You were painfully reminded that he wasn’t there with you. He was half a world away, still out of your reach. 

You sniffled, and Bucky opened his eyes at the sound. “Sweetheart,” he began, his voice laced with concern, “what’s wrong? Did you cum?”

You hitched a breath, holding back a sob, and shook your head. “You’re not here, Buck,” you cried. “It’s not… I thought… I just want to be with you. I miss you so fucking much!” You knew you sounded petulant, like a child, but you were at your limit, truly. You wanted nothing more than to be back to normal with him. A better normal, even, now without the shadow of Carthage looming over you both.

“Oh, doll.” Bucky picked up his phone and brought it close to his face, his now flaccid cock out of frame. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna try again? We can focus just on you. Make sure you get off nice and good.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears of frustration and longing slide down your cheeks. “No,” you 

whimpered. “I think… I think I just wanna go to sleep.”

Bucky frowned at you, the look in his eyes sorrowful. “I fucking hate that I’m too far away to help you, Pocket,” he said. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing you’re hurting.”

“It’s just been so long, Buck,” you whispered to him as you buried yourself under the blankets of your bed. “I feel like every time we even try, something keeps getting in our way. What if it’s the universe, trying to tell us we shouldn’t be getting back together?”

Bucky sighed, thick and heavy. “I know you don’t believe that, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s just been some bad timing; we got out of our groove, is all. I promise, things will go back to the way they were. The way they’re supposed to be.”

Not long ago, you told him that his promises didn’t mean shit to you, but now… now, you wanted to believe him more than anything.

“It’s just a little longer,” he clarified.  You nodded, swallowing down any remaining tears that threatened to fall. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him, but the part of you that had been irrevocably broken when he’d hurt you couldn’t help but whisper that, maybe, in some way, he’d always leave you unsatisfied.

<- Part 1 / Part 3 ->

[xomakara]

Rhythm of Desire

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | You and Mingi get paired up for a special song collab that calls for sexy dancing and smooth seductive vocals and rapping. You can’t help but want each other. PAIRING | Mingi/Reader GENRE | smut with no (maybe a little) plot, uprotected sex (wrap it up everyone!), fingering, vaginal sex, praising, dirty talk RATING | Mature LENGTH | 6643 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | Why does this have so much dialogue? LOL

“So…” You stood in front of the mirrors in the dance studio, watching Mingi through the reflection. “Is this it? Are we just going to stare at each other like idiots for the rest of the night?”

He looked up from his phone, frowning at you. “I’m just trying to figure out this part of the dance. We’re supposed to be in sync with our bodies, but I can feel when you try to do something different. It throws me off.”

“Why? It’s not like it matters if we don’t look exactly alike, right?”

He shrugged. “We’re singing about sexual innuendo, so it needs to feel real.”

“Mingi,” you sighed, running a hand through your loose hair. “We’ve worked together on other projects before. You know my moves and I know your moves. Why is it suddenly such a big deal now?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He pulled himself closer, standing behind you. His breath was warm against your neck as he spoke into your ear. “I just think maybe… maybe it’ll be easier if we could move together more smoothly.”

“That sounds good,” you said slowly, not wanting to say anything that might cause another argument between you two. After all, one thing you knew for sure was that working with Mingi wasn’t easy.

You knew he took his craft seriously. Every movement had meaning, every word was calculated to fit the rhythm perfectly, and every bit of his body language was designed to bring out his natural charisma. While it wasn’t your style to work that way, you still appreciated what he did for a living, and you respected him for it. If you didn’t care about how he worked, then why should he care how you did things?

He pressed his hips against yours and smirked when you leaned back against him. Your skin tingled from the contact and you swallowed thickly, your heart racing as his hands slid down your arms to grasp your wrists.

“Let’s see if this helps us synchronize better,” he whispered.

The music started playing again, and you watched him take a deep breath, concentrating on your movements. Slowly, you mimicked his posture, feeling the beat sync with your breathing. The sway of your hips grew deeper as your breasts brushed his chest, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. He kept the same pace with you, only pressing in closer when the music called for it.

Every time he moved close to you, it felt like a taunt. As if he wanted to kiss you and show you what he really meant by the lines he sang. But you held yourself together as best you could, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

This wasn’t like the times before where you and him worked on projects side by side. No, these moments were… intimate, almost. For some reason, being this close to him made you forget everything else around you, focusing solely on the person you were touching.

A sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your gaze, looking down at your feet as they moved forward and back in time with Mingi’s. What would it be like if you actually kissed him? What would it be like if he actually touched you? The thoughts alone made you blush furiously, and you tried hard to push them away. This was your job after all, and your place was here, dancing with Mingi, not fantasizing about him.

When the song ended, Mingi let go of your wrists and stepped slightly back. “It feels more natural now,” he admitted quietly, nodding at himself in the mirror.

“Good,” you replied, knowing that no matter what, you couldn’t allow your mind to wander towards anything romantic. “Hopefully the singing part will be easier once we’ve done this.”

He smiled softly. “We have twenty minutes left. Let’s practice singing while moving our bodies in sync. I want you to mimic my movements exactly, and I’ll match yours. Got it?”

You nodded. “Got it.”

And so the next twenty minutes went by in silence. Each movement matched perfectly, and you lost yourself completely to the art of synchronized dance. By the end of it, your legs were shaking with fatigue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move away from him. His presence surrounded you, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to stop this new form of intimacy.

Finally, the song ended and he stepped away, stretching his arms over his head and yawning widely. “Oh man, I am exhausted. And hungry too. Wonder if the rest of the group ate.”

You nodded, rising to your feet. “Let’s go check.”

Minutes later, you found everyone sitting on the floor in one of the other practice rooms, plates full of food sitting in front of them. Everyone was talking amongst themselves and eating their meals without even glancing at you and Mingi. When you approached, Jiae, the leader and rapper of the girl group you were in, waved to you, getting up from the floor to meet you halfway.

“How’d it go?” she asked excitedly, leading you towards the rest of the other girls in your group. “Did you guys manage to make any progress?”

“I think so,” you answered, smiling faintly.

As soon as you sat down, Ari, one of the group’s vocalists, leaned towards you, eyes sparkling. “Something going on between you and Mingi? I caught a glimpse of your practice and it looked like y’all were flirting!”

You glanced at Mingi who merely shrugged, eating his food casually. “Nothing serious,” you said lightly.

“Nothing serious?” Hongjoong’s voice echoed from somewhere in the room. “I did not write that song thinking y’all would dance like that! Do I need to rewrite the lyrics to match?”

Everyone turned to look at him, laughter in their voices. Yunho’s eyes darted between yours and Mingi’s. “You should. There’s some pretty steamy stuff there.”

You flushed, leaning forward to hide your face with your plate. “It’s nothing. We’re just doing our job.”

San shook his head. “Not anymore,” he murmured, grinning smugly. “Look at you.”

You turned back to look at him, blinking as he pointed at you and Mingi. “What?”

“I’m not blind. You’re both looking at each other like you wanna jump each other’s bones.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, making you turn back to your meal.

Mingi coughed lightly. “There is nothing between us, okay?”

“Uh huh. Sure,” Seonghwa said, sounding skeptical. “We wouldn’t want to ruin this precious friendship of ours.”

“Mingi is my friend,” you protested, even though you knew you were fighting a losing battle.

“Well… I am glad that you are friends with someone like Mingi.” Hongjoong smirked. “I’m still changing those lyrics.”

You sighed, picking at your food. All around you, people were talking about the performance, wondering whether or not you guys would pull it off successfully. Eventually, Jiae cleared her throat loudly, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. “Should we take the day off tomorrow? We’ve all been working hard, and we should give ourselves a break.”

Everyone voiced their approval and began talking about their plans for tomorrow. You glanced over at Mingi, noticing that he seemed tired too. It made sense considering that you had practiced for hours and hours since the morning. Maybe it was time to call it quits and call it a day.

You stood, stretching your limbs carefully. The soreness in your thighs caused you to wince and you rubbed at them absently. “My body is aching.”

“After what you two were doing?” Wooyoung called out, the others snickering. “I think it’s a miracle you can stand straight.”

“Get a room,” Sera, the other dancer in your group, added playfully, nudging Aimee, the main vocalist. Both girls burst into giggles.

“Eonnie, you have to admit that your dancing was different than usual.” Aimee grinned slyly. “Very different. Admit it. You always wanted to do a sexy song, huh?”

You pouted at her. “Nope. Not admitting anything.”

Her grin widened. “Ah, Eonnie. Can I ask you something?”

“If you must,” you grumbled.

She gave you an innocent look before leaning in and whispering to you and the other girls. “Do you like Mingi?”

The other girls turned to look at you with wide eyes, most of them asking the same question. You fiddled with your hands nervously, frowning at Aimee. She had a strange gleam in her eye and you wondered if she was joking or not. “Like him as a friend? Yeah, of course. Why?”

Aimee huffed. “Not what I meant and you know that.”

“And if something happens, you’ll be the first to know.” You said, the girl beaming happily. “Okay?”

“Deal.”

You paused for a moment, watching as everyone got up to leave the studio, leaving you and Mingi behind. “So… we finished practicing today? Are you heading home now?”

“Not yet. There’s this part I want to try before I go home. Do you want to come?”

The offer came as a surprise, but you accepted nonetheless. Mingi wanted to continue practicing? So be it. He must have been feeling ambitious.

You told the girls that you and Mingi were going to continue training, receiving several questions from everyone, including how you felt about him, if you were attracted to him and if you would sleep with him. Finally, you convinced everyone to leave you two alone.

Mingi’s bandmates asked him the same questions when he told them about continuing to practice. But despite their initial shock, they didn’t protest much. In fact, Hongjoong laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Make sure you use protection if you end up fucking each other. I’m still changing those lyrics for y’all.”

Mingi only laughed, smiling gently as the others filed out of the room. The empty studio fell silent, except for the sound of your breathing and the humming coming from the speakers in the background. As much as you loved the music, you could feel Mingi staring at you, studying every inch of your body. Slowly, he reached out, placing a gentle hand on your hip. His touch sends shivers through your body, and you let out a soft gasp, nearly dropping your bag in shock.

“Don’t freak out,” he said softly, his fingers tightening slightly around your hip. “I won’t hurt you.”

You nodded slowly, but found it difficult to speak. What was happening? Why did his touch affect you so much? This never happened when you worked with him before. But here, right now, everything about him felt familiar. Like you had known him forever. Your heart started racing and your palms grew sweaty. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His touch remained firm, pulling you tight against his body. His chest pressed against your back, he held out his phone as you watched the demo choreography. “Okay for this part, it looks like this. But I think we should be closer. To give it that intimate feeling.”

You frowned, watching the dancers on the screen as they continued moving closer together. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that it might work. Granted the dancers didn't move that close to each other during the performance, but maybe, just maybe, having Mingi hold you like this will add an extra layer of sensuality to the performance.

You watched as the dancers were supposed to grind against each other and you couldn't help but wrap an arm around his neck, allowing your hand to brush against his cheek. "Close enough?"

"Yeah,” he breathed, his chest vibrating as he laughed quietly. “Perfect."

Your gaze lowered to his lips and you swallowed thickly. "Good."

Mingi chuckled. "Let's see how well you can follow directions then."

You whimpered softly, shifting your hips, arching your back as you tried to mimic what the dancers on the screen were doing. Mingi trailed his fingers along your skin, causing goosebumps to rise across your arms. "More. Less. More. That's better. A little lower. Okay, good. Good. Keep going."

He trailed his fingers along your sides, following the curves and valleys of your body. Your hips rolled in response, seeking out his touch. A low groan escaped his lips and you moaned, grinding your hips against his groin. With another chuckle, he captured your chin with his fingers, turning your face upwards to meet his gaze. "Much better."

Too close. He was way too close. And it wasn't helping your libido any. "Mingi…"

"Not yet," he said huskily. "I've got plans for you later. But for now, let me show you how it's done. Come here."

Your heart leapt into your throat and you shook your head, stuttering. "Y-you can't."

He laughed, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Of course I can. Don't you want to learn how to do this right?"

"No."

"Yes," he said, pressing himself firmly against you, forcing you to remain exactly where you were. His erection was hard and hot against your ass and you pushed back, causing him to laugh again.

"Come on, you're doing great," he encouraged, nuzzling your earlobe with his nose. "Just like that. I'll teach you. No one has to know."

In truth, you weren't sure why you hesitated. The idea of being intimate with him sounded enticing and after spending countless hours working on the song with him, you kind of wanted to know what it was like to have sex with him. At least you hoped it would feel similar to the way you imagined it would feel. You squirmed, wanting desperately to reach back and undo his pants. To release his throbbing cock. The thought of him pounding into you made your insides clench. "Oh God."

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against your ear, nibbling lightly at your lobe.

"You."

He chuckled. "What about me?"

You shook your head. "Not telling you. It's private."

His smile faltered. "You aren't attracted to me, are you?"

You blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. "Huh? No! Of course not!"

He paused, running a finger down your spine. "But you were thinking about it. About us having sex."

"I was not." You huffed. "Stop reading my mind."

"It doesn't mean I can't read your thoughts." He placed a gentle kiss against your temple. "You want this as badly as I do."

"You..." You looked at him. "You want this too?"

Mingi laughed. "Baby, haven't you realized the effects you have on me when you press yourself against me?"

You flushed, your cheeks growing warmer as he nipped at your jawline.

"We can stop if you don't want to do this anymore." He offered you a tentative smile.

"That's not fair." You said quietly, looking up at him with soft eyes. "You can't expect us to stop after you've gotten me all hot and bothered."

"True." He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. "Maybe we should take things slow tonight. Maybe you should let me fuck you, one day. If you ever want me to."

"What about after we successfully finish the project?" You breathed out, his lips awfully close to yours. "We can sneak off right after we finish performing and Yunho and his team goes on stage."

"Really?"

"Yeah..."

"Damn, you're tempting me, baby." He groaned, nipping playfully at your lower lip. "Can I kiss you until then? Please?"

It took you all of five seconds to nod, closing the distance between your lips. His mouth crushed against yours, hot and demanding. You parted your lips for him, letting him slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before you knew it, you were kissing him back eagerly, your entire body heating up with desire. He broke away for a second, cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking the side of your face gently. You sighed contently, letting him draw small circles on your cheekbone.

"Shouldn't we be practicing our dance moves instead?" You mumbled into his mouth.

"Later." He pulled back, breaking contact with your lips. "Kissing first, then dancing. Okay?"

You returned home to the dorms well after midnight when your members rushed towards the front door, yelling about you and Mingi. Well, there went any chance you had of getting some shut eye.

Aimee latched onto your arm and dragged you to the living room. "Eonnie, something happened right?"

"What did you and Mingi get up to after we all left?" Jiae asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Did you two kiss?" Ari leaned forward, curiously.

You bit your lip, looking away in response. The other members exchanged glances. Sera took in your appearance, noting your slightly disheveled hair.

"Oh, you lucky bitch. You and Mingi totally kissed." She grinned. "How was it? Was he good at it?"

You let out a small nod, your cheeks burning bright red. "He was amazing."

Jiae giggled. "Seriously?"

"Yes," you insisted. "He kissed really well."

The other members exchanged glances once again. "Was it...?" Aimee began, holding her hand up. "Were you guys… sexually active? Did he…?"

You shot her a glare. "Of course not!"

"Wow, Aimee." Jiae shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. "You always choose the most awkward ways to ask these questions."

"Even if I'm having sex, I'm not telling you guys." You stuck out your tongue at them. "I might not be leader but I am older than all of you and I have the eldest sister rights, remember?"

Sera let out a loud snort, rolling her eyes. "I knew someone was going to kiss someone this time around. We've been working with the guys throughout the years. I had a feeling it would be you and San though. But Mingi...wow."

Jiae nodded her agreement. "He is fucking gorgeous, isn't he? And so talented. I bet he's amazing in bed too."

"Hush." You waved your hand in front of her face. "Don't start."

"Aww, eonnie." Ari pouted, grabbing onto your hand. "I'm happy for you. Really. I am."

Jiae let out a sigh. "I guess I'll have to make peace with the fact that you guys are dating then."

"Hey, who said anything about dating?"

Jiae smirked. "Aren't you?"

"I'm actually not sure." You sighed. "We haven't exactly got to talking while we made out, you know."

Aimee nodded slowly. "Well, even if you aren't dating him, you still kissed him. That counts as you liking him."

"I'm going to head to bed." You muttered, standing from the couch.

"Oh no." Aimee grabbed onto your wrist. "Where are you going?"

"To sleep. Like everyone else."

"But we have the day off tomorrow!" Ari exclaimed.

"I know, I know." You nodded. "But I've been dancing all day and I'm exhausted. I'll treat you all to food, okay? Eldest sister rights and all that."

Jiae gave you a sly grin. "Okay. But don't blame us if we buy the most expensive food, tomorrow."

"I won't." You smiled brightly. "Sleep tight, guys."

You waved goodbye before leaving the living room. Once you reached your bedroom, you stripped off your clothes quickly and crawled under the covers, reaching for the phone you kept next to your bedside table. You checked your messages just to be safe, surprised to find one waiting for you.

Mingi - Sleeping? Call me.

You brought up his contact and decided to facetime him instead. He picked up in a matter of seconds. He was in his bed and you noticed that he was shirtless, lying flat on his back. "Finally."

"Sorry. My members were grilling me with questions. Not a minute passed without someone asking something."

"If it makes you feel better, the guys all asked me the same thing." He laughed as he sat up in bed. "Asking all sorts of questions."

"Ha ha, I bet they did." You smiled, leaning back on your pillows. "So what did they ask?"

"Mostly about us, our relationship and stuff." He shrugged. "And yes, the sleeping thing was probably the worst question."

"We'll get to that one later." You glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. 1am. "Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Seonghwa-hyung left some food out for me. Did you eat?"

"I ate. Not much though. Couldn't really eat when the girls were being so nosy."

"Tell me about it." He agreed, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Since we're off tomorrow...would you be interested in doing something together? Just you and me?"

"Song Mingi. Are you asking me out? On a date?"

"Sort of." He replied. "We don't need to go on an actual date to spend time together. Just us hanging out would be fine."

"You know I'd spend time with you anywhere, anytime." You assured him. "I wouldn't turn down an opportunity to see you."

"Ahh...what is your pretty little brain thinking about? Do tell."

"Nothing." You laughed softly. "My brain is busy processing your request."

"So cute." He laughed. "Are you alone right now?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I have my own room. Oldest sister rights."

"Good." He sighed. "Tell me...what are you wearing to bed right now?"

"Mingi, seriously?"

"What?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at you. "Is it inappropriate? Come on, babe. Indulge me. Don't hold back."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I'm wearing a t-shirt and shorts."

He let out a long breath. "Wow."

"Okay, that wasn't what I expected." You teased.

"I thought you would wear some skimpy nightie or something." He said honestly. "Something lacy."

"Maybe when I move out from the dorms." You grinned. "Can't risk the girls barging in here if we were to have phone sex or whatever else we were planning to do."

"Look at you planning ahead. So mature."

"Shut up."

"Anyways…" He paused. "You're not wearing underwear under your sleeping clothes, right?"

"I swear Mingi. You're such a perv. What are YOU wearing to bed?"

"Pajamas pants." He said as he adjusted the sheets around his waist to show you the waistband of his pajama pants. "See?"

"Those are-" You cleared your throat. "They look great."

"Thanks." He said with a shy smile. "Anyway, you still have to answer my question."

"You still want to know if I'm wearing underwear or not?"

"Yep."

"Fine but I'll show you instead." You lifted your t-shirt up to show him. "I'm not wearing anything underneath."

He sucked in a breath, staring intently at your bare breasts through the camera. "Oh, fuck."

"Glad you like them." You rolled your eyes. "I'll put my top back down if you promise not to touch yourself."

He raised his eyebrows. "Not a guarantee that I won't. You got great tits."

"Mmm... Well if you do decide to touch yourself, send me a picture."

He groaned loudly. "Are you done teasing me yet?"

"No." You shook your head, grinning. "Why?"

"Because it's going to be hard to not fuck you until after our performance. I've already been thinking about it ever since we kissed earlier."

"You can think about it now. I'll show you how hot I am in person." You promised.

He let out a soft chuckle. "That will be fun. In the meantime, how about you put your top back down and talk to me?"

"Deal."

It was finally time for the performance to begin and you stood backstage, waiting anxiously to take the stage. Sera, San, Wooyoung and Yeosang were currently on stage, performing their latest hit. They seemed confident, full of energy and having a blast on stage. Seeing that only helped to relieve some of your stress. You couldn't help but notice Jiae, Hongjoong and Seonghwa sitting together as they discussed strategy. Ari and Yunho sat next to each other, whispering quietly to each other as they waited for their cue. Aimee and Jongho watched the crowd closely, making sure everything was running smoothly.

Mingi was standing next to you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. His voice was soft as he spoke. "You ready?"

"Yeah." You nodded, giving him a quick smile. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Then I hope we don't disappoint." He chuckled lightly.

Your nerves suddenly disappeared as soon as you took the stage. Everyone in the audience cheered loudly and welcomed you with open arms. All eyes were on you as you walked onto the dance floor. The rest of the backup dancers took their positions behind you as the music started playing. You heard the soft, sensual beat fill the room as you moved gracefully to the rhythm.

Your body moved naturally to the music, your hips swaying with every step. Your vocals were flawless and sensual as they flowed into the lyrics. You closed your eyes, letting the music flow through you. And when Mingi finally joined you, touched you, sang and rapped to you, the butterflies in your stomach started fluttering again. You felt electrified by the passion that pulsed between the two of you, as your hands caressed each other, bodies pressed tightly against one another. The heat from his skin warmed yours and it only served to drive you wilder. You were overcome with desire and you needed more than just the physical release. You needed the intense connection, the heart stopping emotions and mind blowing ecstasy that you both had the ability to give each other.

You had barely finished singing the last note before you pulled away, almost breathless. Your cheeks flushed red as the crowd applauded wildly. As soon as the music stopped, you turned to look at Mingi. He was panting heavily as he stared at you, his lips parted slightly. He smiled, causing your heart to skip a beat. The moment was magical and completely perfect. It was like nothing you had experienced before and you hoped it never ended.

You both left the stage as the host called for an interim break before the rest of the group were to perform.

"Damn..." You heard Wooyoung mutter from behind you. "Y/N and Mingi look good together. Really fucking good."

The guys glanced over at the two of you. "They really are amazing." Yeosang admitted, giving you a small wink.

"You guys are dating, right?" Jongho asked. "Because with that performance, there's no way you guys aren't. Anyone can tell."

"Are we?" You looked at Mingi, expectantly.

"Are we?" He mimicked your words, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Well…do we have to say 'yes' to this kind of questioning?"

"Please do." San groaned. "This shit has gone on long enough."

"Whatever. Look at them." Seonghwa scoffed, pointing at the two of you. "Just admit that you're boyfriend and girlfriend already. We'll accept that."

"We are." Mingi said simply, looking directly at you.

Your face lit up as your heart melted at those simple words. There were no doubts anymore. The answer was clear. He wanted you, you wanted him and you knew there was no going back. Everything was perfectly right.

"I'm so happy for you eonnie!" Ari exclaimed. "You guys look amazing together! No wonder you guys make such a great couple."

"Thank you." You smiled, blushing brightly. "It's not like we didn't try to deny it for so long but sometimes things just work out."

"True." She nodded. "I'm glad everything worked out."

"Same here." Sera agreed. "But honestly, I always saw you two together."

"Yeah right." You laughed. "Few weeks ago, you thought me and San would look good together. And that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Hey, you guys started this mess." Mingi argued. "We just finished it."

Sera rolled her eyes. "God, I wish I could pull you two apart."

You snickered as you turned to look at the others. "Someone needs to. Mingi looks like he's plotting something."

"Who knows what he's thinking?" Yunho mused. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think he wants to fuck Y/N up against a wall somewhere."

"You are disgusting." You laughed.

Mingi grabbed your hand. "I mean..."

Hongjoong looked at your entwined hands and let out a laugh. "Oh god. You two are hopelessly in love. Go on and get your freak on. You guys aren't needed no more."

Mingi whispered into your ear. "Yours or mine?"

"Wherever as long as I have you." You whispered back.

"Works for me." He replied, pulling you closer.

"Bye bye!" Aimee waved at the two of you as she passed you in the hallway.

"Later guys." You called out.

"Bye." Everyone else echoed.

Once the hallway was empty, you leaned in close to Mingi's ear. "So..." You began. "About tonight..."

"Let's get to my place first and then we can discuss the details, babe." He smirked.

"Details?"

"Like what position we're going to fuck in, how many times we're going to fuck and whether we're doing anal." He explained.

"God, you're such a perv." You rolled your eyes. "And we're definitely NOT doing anal."

"You say that now..." He trailed off.

"We'll see." You teased. "Now take me home, Song Mingi."

He laughed. "Always the bossy one, huh? But since you ask so nicely..."

He led you outside and to his car where he held the door open for you. Once inside, he slipped his hand inside the small of your back and gave you a gentle kiss on the lips. "Enjoy the ride."

"I will." You grinned.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders as he drove you to his apartment. The city lights illuminated the windows, bathing the interior in a soft light. Before you knew it, you arrived at the front door and he opened it for you.

"Wow." You breathed, stepping inside.

"What is it?"

"Everything." You sighed, taking it all in. "I'm surprised that you and the guys have such a clean apartment."

"Thank you." He hummed, sliding his hand under your tight dress and cupping your ass cheek. "As much as I love seeing you wearing this outfit, I very much want you out of it. How about I take care of that little problem right now?"

You squealed when he lifted you in his arms and carried you into his bedroom. "Mingi, what if Seonghwa and San come home?"

"No one will be home until tomorrow morning." He growled, setting you on your feet. "Besides, who could possibly walk in on us right now?"

"You sound so sure about that." You eyed him suspiciously.

"Trust me, baby." He assured you. "No one can stop us."

He stepped towards you, pressing your back against the wall. He slowly unzipped your dress, slipping it over your head as he lowered his mouth to yours. You moaned softly as his lips met yours. His tongue delved deep into your mouth, stroking and teasing as he explored your entire mouth.

He reached up and massaged your breasts through your lacy black bra. He squeezed and kneaded your flesh as his hands wandered downwards, squeezing your ass cheeks. "Mmm...so round and firm." He purred against your neck. "How do you feel in these panties?"

"Why do you ask?" You breathed out.

"Because I want to rip them off of you." He told you. "I want to taste you. Do you want that too?"

"Yes..." You whimpered, your body begging for more.

He released your nipples, leaving them tingling as he moved his hands back up to cup your face. His thumb grazed over your bottom lip as he stared down at you. "You know, I've been dreaming about having sex with you for months now."

"Really?" You gasped. "Since when?"

"Ever since the last time we collaborated on a project. Every single day, all night, I kept imagining myself fucking you against this wall." He paused, staring at you. "Or maybe even fucking you in this bed."

"Hmm...it seems like we both got what we wanted." You mused.

"That we did." He nodded. "Come here, babe. Let me show you how thankful I am for all the nights that I imagined fucking you."

Your breathing hitched as he stood before you, slowly taking off his clothes. You watched him with hooded eyes, taking in every inch of his hard muscled form. You ached to be underneath him and explore every inch of his toned body with your hands and your mouth. You wanted to run your fingers through his thick hair and hear his voice begging you to touch him. With his long, beautiful legs and his strong arms and his… Oh god, you couldn't think straight anymore. All you wanted was him and you wouldn't think twice about giving yourself completely to him. You were dying to taste him and to feel his dick deep inside you.

He was breathtaking and you wished that you could freeze frame the moment, making sure that it stayed frozen forever. He placed a hand behind your head, guiding you forward as he kissed you again. Your hands rested on his chest as he pressed himself harder against you.

He broke the kiss as he pushed your underwear to the side, freeing your pussy from its confines. He pushed a finger inside you, making you gasp. "Fuck..." He breathed. "So wet."

He thrust his finger deeper inside of you as he pressed your back against the wall. You bit your lip as you tried to fight the pleasure building within you. He groaned as he added another finger, stretching you out. You arched your back, trying to get more of him inside you.

He pulled his fingers out and trailed his finger over your swollen clit. "Suck it, babe." He commanded. You felt yourself lean forwards, eager to give him what he desired. When you felt his finger slip into your mouth, you sucked hungrily, tasting yourself on his digit.

"Fuck, you're so hot." He groaned when you released his finger from your mouth with a pop. You moved his fingers back to your pussy, pushing them inside you.

“Ah fuck.” Mingi grunted as he shoved his fingers deep inside of you. “You’re soaking wet, baby. Fuck.”

He started moving his fingers in and out of you, gently circling your clit with his thumb. "You're driving me crazy, Y/N." He groaned. "I need to feel your sweet cunt wrapped around my dick."

"Me too, MIngi." You sighed. "Let's hurry this up so I can finally have you."

"Oh god, baby." He moaned as he kissed your shoulder. "You're so damn hot."

He pushed a third finger inside of you and you whimpered, feeling stretched out by the invasion. "You're so fucking tight." He groaned. "Damn, baby."

He slid a fourth finger inside of you, his thumb circling your clit. His other hand gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to lift your ass up slightly. As he pushed his fingers further inside of you, you moaned loudly, loving the way he filled you up.

He fucked you with his fingers in a steady rhythm. He kissed your shoulder and trailed his lips along your collarbone. "Tell me how you feel." He demanded.

"God..." You breathed. "Mingi, I can't..."

"You can, babe." He reassured you. "Tell me."

"It feels amazing." You panted. "Please, don't stop."

"Okay." He nodded, continuing to finger-fuck you. "Tell me more, baby."

"Oh god...Mingi...please..." You begged. "I can't take much more of this."

"Are you close?" He asked, trailing kisses across your jawline.

"God, yes." You cried out. "Please, don't stop, Mingi! Please! Ah! Fuck!"

"Oh shit, babe." He groaned, thrusting his fingers faster and deeper inside of you. "Come all over my fingers. Come for me, baby."

With his free hand, he cupped your breast and pinched your nipple lightly. He heard you cry out in pleasure and bit your neck, eliciting a yelp from you. He increased the pressure on your clit, plunging his fingers in and out of you as fast as possible. You screamed out his name as your orgasm ripped through your body. It seemed like an eternity before the pleasure subsided. You sagged limply against him, panting heavily. Mingi pressed a kiss to your shoulder, kissing his way upwards to your ear.

"How was that, baby?" He whispered.

"Amazing." You smiled, reaching for his hand and leading him to his bed. "And now I need you to fuck me. Be inside me."

He chuckled as he laid you down on the bed. He moved between your legs, parting them and spreading them wide. He gazed down at you, his eyes roving over your body. "Beautiful." He murmured.

"Mingi..." You whispered.

"Get on all fours, baby." He instructed. "Hands and knees."

You obeyed, bending over slightly so that your ass stuck up in the air. He grasped your hips firmly, holding you still as he rubbed his cockhead up and down your slit. "Baby, I'm gonna fuck you good tonight." He groaned. "Real good."

"Yesss." You moaned, digging your nails into the mattress. "Please, fuck me."

"Is this what you want?" He teased, gliding his cock along your slick folds. "Do you want me to fuck you good?"

"Oh god..." You gasped, closing your eyes and opening your legs wider. "I want you so bad. I want to feel you inside me. Give it to me, Mingi."

He groaned, burying his dick in your dripping wet pussy. You cried out in pleasure, feeling the warm friction of his shaft rubbing against your walls. He began to pump his hips, slowly pulling out of you only to push his dick deep inside again. "Oh, you feel so good." He groaned. "Perfect."

"Mingi, you feel so good. So big and warm." You moaned as he moved his hips back and forth, fucking you steadily. He leaned forward to grab your breasts, his lips trailing soft kisses down your neck. "Oh, fuck...I love how you feel inside me."

"Fuck, babe." He groaned. "Look at you. That's it, just like that. You feel so good."

"Fuck, your cock feels so good in me." You moaned. "God, please, keep doing that. Keep hitting that spot. Fuck me with your cock."

"Oh, yeah, babe." He groaned. "You really like that, don't you? I can tell. So fucking hot. You like getting fucked hard, don't you, baby?"

"Fuck, I love it." You gasped. "Please Mingi."

"What do you want, baby?" He asked.

"More." You moaned. "Please fuck me harder."

He slammed his dick into you, increasing the pace and depth of his strokes. You whimpered as he continued to move, pounding his dick inside of you relentlessly. He growled as he stared down at you, watching as your body arched and bucked beneath him. Your tits jiggled wildly as he continued to fuck you with abandon.

"Oh god..." You moaned, gripping onto the sheets. "Oh god, Mingi...oh god...oh god...Mingi, fuck me, fuck me!"

"Shit." He grunted, slamming into you harder than ever before. "Fuck, that's right. Yeah. Oh shit, babe. You’re taking me in so well."

He reached around to stroke your clit as he continued to pound into you. You threw your head back and let out a loud moan, your whole body quivering as you came. The orgasm caused him to jerk forward, pushing his dick all the way inside of you and leaving you breathless. "Fuck." He groaned, pumping his cum inside of you.

"Mingi..." You gasped, catching your breath. "That was...wow."

He pulled out of you and rolled you over so that you were on your back now. He kissed your neck softly, running his tongue along your skin. "Did you like it?" He asked.

"Yes." You answered, closing your eyes and smiling happily.

"Good." He grinned. "I knew you would."

"Mingi..." You breathed, shifting under him.

"I know what you want, babe." He said softly.

"Yeah? What is it?" You asked.

"Round two." He slid into you again, slowly and easily. "And then maybe we'll go get some food. Or sleep. Whichever comes first."

[juyeonszn]

CLUMSY

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 6.03k

GENRES smut ﹒fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader and juhak are bio lab partners, juhak is lowkey a bit of a loser BUT DW HE REDEEMS HIMSELF, mentions of alcohol, a game of rage cage…, he’s down insanely bad, the flirting goes kinda crazy, someone calls the cops, they run from said cops, reader is Nawt wasting any time, pet names (juhak calls reader princess), tbh they’re both switches in some ways, kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, edging, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie lol

SUMMARY when haknyeon ran into you at a tbz party for the first time, he didn’t think he would fall for you so quickly. or literally. or both simultaneously. but there’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

MORE andddddd here we go 🫡 second fic of the black out or back out collab 🙏 i forgot to link the masterlist in the last one so im gonna link it in this one in case u wanna read any of the others!! ANYWAY i had such a fun time writing this one, any excuse i get to write for juhak, i will take trust <3 if u enjoyed, don’t forget to reblog! and pls check out the other fics so far!!

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel

TAGLIST @millksea

SERIES MASTERLIST

Okay. So maybe trying to secure a girlfriend at a party wasn’t exactly Haknyeon’s best idea.

But, hey. You had to give him some credit. At least he was making an attempt. Most of his other frat brothers weren’t even making an effort. They seemed perfectly satisfied with charming their ways into random girls’ pants every weekend. Unfortunately, or fortunately considering he was a gentleman, Haknyeon wasn’t into that sort of thing.

It was just a little embarrassing that Kim Sunwoo’s love life had more progress than his own. Sunwoo was literally the resident loser bitch boy of the TBZ house. How was he closer to getting a girlfriend than he was? It made absolutely no sense.

Ju Haknyeon thought of himself as a catch. He was pretty neat, his room was cleaner than most guys’ his age. He knew how to cook basic meals, again, more than the average college sophomore. His car wasn’t on its last leg. (Cough cough… Kim Sunwoo, I’m looking at you.) He was a decent dude. He supported women’s rights and wrongs!

Apparently that was not enough these days.

“…And I need you to make sure the fridge is stocked completely. I’m not trying to drink my coffee without cream tomorrow morning because some idiot drank it while they were drunk.” Sangyeon commands, typing something furiously on his phone as some of the other guys move around the furniture.

“Bruh, I was in charge of buying everything last time. Why can’t someone else do it?” Kevin groans. Something else that wasn’t Haknyeon’s best idea? Walking into the kitchen during this very conversation. “What about JuHak? He looks like he has nothing better to do.”

“Yeah, whatever. That’s fine. Hak, I’m airdropping you the list.” Sangyeon waves his hand in dismissal, returning to his extensive presidential duties.

The sophomore deadpans, but doesn’t have the energy to argue back. You know, the usual fraternity was just a bunch of rich guys with more money than the tuition of each TBZ brother combined. However, the Tau Beta Zeta house was not your usual fraternity. It really was just a bunch of normal dudes thrown together. Though, Lee Sangyeon ran it like it was the fucking Navy.

Haknyeon accepts his defeat and grabs his things, heading out to the supermarket to shop for tonight’s party. Alcohol duty sucked more than door duty, in his opinion. You were sent out all alone, tasked with bringing back enough liquor and beer to last until early hours of the morning. It was a near impossible mission, unless you were Kevin Moon and good at practically everything in the world.

He pushes around the shopping cart mindlessly, though he knows he’ll have to make another trip. A long sigh leaves his lips as he enters the alcohol aisle. He fills the bottom of the cart with different cases of beer until he thinks he may drop one, and then starts to place things in the basket. He feels like a dumbass hauling it over to the registers, like everyone can see right through him.

He has to remind himself that this is for a good cause, that it’ll be worth it when everyone is enjoying themselves at the party. His actions won’t be in vain. Even after the second trip with another cart full of beer and various liquor bottles, Haknyeon keeps repeating affirmations in his head. This has to be the party.

In fact, he thinks his thoughts have manifested into reality when he sees you walking into the grocery store at the same time he’s leaving. You’re his pretty Bio lab partner. He’s always too nervous to hold a substantial conversation with you, so he settles for the bare minimum, which is unfulfilling small talk during your labs. It’s never what he needs though. Aside from your name, Haknyeon knows nothing about you.

“Y/N?” What he wants right now, however, is to shoot himself in the foot for sounding so unsure.

You glance up from your phone, a smile lighting up your face when you recognize him. “Haknyeon! Hey! What’s up?”

“Last minute preparations for the TBZ party tonight,” he gestures at his shopping cart with pursed lips. “You?”

“That’s so funny that you say that! My friends and I are going—“ You eye his cart with confusion. “Wait, I didn’t know you were in Tau Beta Zeta.”

“Yeah…” Haknyeon laughs awkwardly. “Surprise!”

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the frat boy type. Then again, TBZ isn’t your average frat so, I guess that kinda adds up.”

Haknyeon’s not sure if he should take that as a compliment or not, but since it’s coming from you, he decides that he will. The realization that you mentioned you’d be attending the party finally sets in at that same moment. “So, I’ll see you later, then?”

You nod, smile widening. “Yeah, I’m just grabbing a bottle for us to bring with. But I’ll be there. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”

God, he hopes so. This is the perfect opportunity for him to swoop in and learn everything he’s been dying to know about you. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know… I’m a busy man. It might be a little hard.”

That cute little laugh of yours makes another appearance. “I’ll be on the lookout, don’t worry. See you tonight, Haknyeon.”

Ju Haknyeon thinks that he must’ve done something monumental in a past life, like saving a dog from a burning building or stopping a world war. How else would the universe reward him this kindly? All he can do is wave as you maneuver around an elderly couple passing by into the store.

Maybe Kevin Moon wasn’t that bad. And maybe Lee Sangyeon wasn’t as big of a tyrant as he made him out to be. He could actually kiss the ground they walked on for forcing him into alcohol duty. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have ran into you and he wouldn’t have known you were attending the party. Now he has something to look forward to that isn't getting shitfaced.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Haknyeon looks away from his mirror, Hyunjae standing in the doorway. He has a cringe on his face at the sight of his outfit. It wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever worn, but it was… a bit too much. A black button up and black slacks was admittedly not the best frat party fit. The only good thing he had going for him was his hair that was styled for once, parted so his bangs framed his face nicely.

“This girl I’m kinda into is coming tonight. I need to look irresistible.” The younger explains, arms flailing at his sides.

“Okay, well you won’t accomplish that in this,” Hyunjae snorts, digging through his closet. “If she’s into you too, she won’t care what you’re wearing. Just throw on something you’d normally wear. Like… this! This is nice.”

Hyunjae holds up a black t-shirt and a black-washed denim jacket. Haknyeon hums. It was simple, but also once he put it on he wouldn’t feel like a douchebag, which was the whole goal here. Paired with some khaki cargo pants, he’s found a winner. He begrudgingly thanks his senior for the assistance, shooing him out of his bedroom so he can mentally prepare for the night ahead of him.

He doesn’t even know what to bring up now that he really tosses the idea around in his head. Yeah, he wants to learn more about you and what you’re like outside of your Bio lab, but specifically what he couldn’t say. Haknyeon was starting to feel like a lost cause. He had to clutch up tonight. He had to woo you so much that you had no choice but to fall for his cute face and endearing personality. But how was he meant to do that if he couldn’t even come up with topics to talk with you about?

Maybe he was just thinking too far into things. Perhaps he should just let it all go with the flow. Moving at an au natural pace was probably his best bet in comparison to Sunwoo’s soccer ball plan. (He’s still confused how that worked in his favor.)

Before he knows it, the party is swinging into full effect. This is the first time Haknyeon’s ever been so socially aware of his surroundings. He had a habit of blurring his atmosphere at these things, more interested in getting drunk with his buddies than paying attention to the attendees. As he stands in a corner of the living room, listening to Chanhee complain about treasurer stuff, he watches each and every person who enters the house.

When you finally do walk in, he has to physically stop himself from choking on the beer in his cup, biting the rim of the plastic in a weak attempt to sedate himself. If he thought you were gorgeous before in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, he doesn’t know what to call you now. You’re laughing at something one of your friends said, dolled up in a black mini skirt and a black cropped halter top while hugging a bottle of Pink Whitney to your chest. He could probably pass out right here right now.

He almost does, but then Chanhee is slapping his back aggressively. “Wipe the drool off of your chin. God, am I the only one who still has a brain?”

“Shut the fuck up, Chanhee, go cry about your life somewhere else.” Haknyeon dismisses his senior, downing the rest of his drink for some liquid courage. Though he is, he doesn’t want to seem too desperate, so he’s not going up to you this quickly. Instead, he heads into the kitchen to get another drink, rolling his neck like he’s preparing for the biggest win of the century.

It’s as he’s pouring some jungle juice into a fresh cup that you see him. A smile similar to the one from the store graces your features. There was only one person with a back like that, and it was your cute lab partner. You keep an arm wrapped around your bottle, tapping his shoulder lightly. He spins around confusedly, but the expression morphs into pleasant surprise immediately after.

“Pink Whitney? Easy choice,” he points at the bottle in your grasp. “Are you a lightweight, Y/N?”

Your cheeks warm up at the teasing remark. Upon first meeting, Haknyeon’s been an awkward mess around you. You can only assume the confidence stems from the fact that he’s within his element. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were implying that you want me to get you drunk.” He tucks a hand into one of his jacket pockets, the other bringing his cup to his mouth. He’s unconscious of the source of this sudden bravery, but he prays it doesn’t fade off anytime soon.

“Maybe I do…” You bite your lip, undoing the seal of the Pink Whitney bottle to take a sip. It burns your throat slightly. “I’ve never hung out with a frat boy before. I kinda wanna see what the hype is all about.”

Haknyeon thinks he might pass out again, because if he wasn’t so acutely aware of your entire interaction, he would think you’re flirting with him. Friendliness was a double edged sword in this day and age. But who knows, maybe you are flirting. You showed up with your friends but they were nowhere to be found now. He needed to take advantage of the opening.

It’s around this time that Younghoon and Juyeon are bringing out the fated beer pong table, a crowd already beginning to form nearby. He feels sorry for the poor suckers who have to play Changmin and his girlfriend.

“We should play beer pong!” You suggest, watching the pair of taller guys setting up the cups over his shoulder. Haknyeon can sense the color draining from his face. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve shut the idea down insanely fast, but because it was you, he was genuinely contemplating. Those who went up against the infamous TBZ party beer pong champions were in for a rude awakening, but if you wanted to...

“Uh—“ He starts but then he’s interrupted.

“Yo! Who’s down to play Rage Cage?!”

Juyeon’s voice is somehow louder than the music, carrying into the kitchen where the two of you stand. Haknyeon wasn’t the greatest Rage Cage player, but he enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than beer pong. Especially when he stood beside people who didn’t understand the concept of the game.

You chug some more Pink Whitney, batting your eyelashes up at Haknyeon. “I’ve never played Rage Cage. Is it fun?”

“If you’re next to the right people it can be, but if you aren’t, then it’s a whole lot of drinking. We haven’t played Rage Cage at a TBZ party in a while, but the last time we did Eric Sohn almost had to get his stomach pumped.” He laughs a little at the memory of his friend spending the rest of his night cuddling with a toilet seat. The mental picture overshadows how enticing you look right now.

“Do you think you can teach me?” You ask sweetly, hoping that he takes the hint. He seemed like the type of guy who wouldn’t make the first move unless you forced him to, so it appeared that you had your work cut out for you.

“You wanna play?” He turns to you with wide eyes, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to show interest in the game. You give him a small nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. The truth of the matter was that you were a fucking liar. You’ve played Rage Cage plenty of times in the past. You were actually pretty decent at it, too. You just needed an excuse to spend the night around him.

“We better head over there now. It looks like the table is filling up.” You jab your pinkie in that general direction. Haknyeon blows a raspberry and leads you that way, his hand resting on the small of your back so he won’t lose you in the pack of people surrounding the table.

“Forewarning, my rap sheet doesn’t really read World Class Rage Cage Champ,” he laughs nervously, the anxiety beginning to eat at him all over again. “But I promise, I won’t let you get stacked.”

When Haknyeon said he wasn’t the worst, but wasn’t good at Rage Cage, you took his word. Except he severely overplayed his own skill. Maybe he was just extremely on edge and it threw off his game, but the amount of times he was stacked on was a little comical. At the very least, he kept his promise. You hadn’t got stacked once, but that was also only because Haknyeon would drink for you every time you almost did.

The room is sort of spinning by the time the first game has finished. Playing a drinking game while he’s trying to get to know you better was probably at the higher portion of his ‘BAD IDEAS!!!’ list. If he wasn’t so eager to please and followed along to each of your suggestions, perhaps he’d be having a different conversation. That was not the case, though.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty for the turn out. All you’d wanted was to flirt with your lab partner, possibly end the night with some making out. As it was looking, that’s not the path you were heading down, but rather towards the kitchen for some water to sober him up some. Your bottle of Pink Whitney is long lost, replaced with a bottle of H2O. You hold his chin, tilting it back slightly to pour some into his mouth.

If he hadn’t already had the fattest crush on you, he definitely did now. Pretty and nice? You were the total package. Here you were, nursing him back to sobriety when you could’ve been out and about enjoying yourself with your friends. Up this close, he gets a detailed look at you. It’s so weird for him to think about how much he’s pined after you since the start of the semester, how much he’s admired the face that’s looking at him with this unfamiliar tenderness. He never thought he stood a chance. You know, that whole ‘nice guys finish last’ pick me boy vibe.

“Y/N—” He’s cut short, Juyeon’s voluminous voice resonating throughout the house again, sans the music.

“Everybody who isn’t Tau Beta Zeta, get the fuck out! Someone called the cops!”

Of course. Nobody ever calls the cops on a TBZ party but of fucking course the one time Haknyeon gets shoot his shot with you, someone narcs. He actually thinks he might die. He might keel over and die in the middle of this party while the cops are raiding the place. Lee Sangyeon is gonna be thrown in the back of a police cruiser for letting people drink underage and then send them his way because he bought all of the alcohol. This was just his luck.

Without a word, you grab his hand and drag him out through the back door. You follow the flock of other party goers escaping the wrath of the police. It’s difficult to run in a mini skirt and strappy heels, but you don’t really have room to whine about it. Haknyeon doesn’t know if there’s ever a right time to tell you that you could’ve just gone up to his room, but figures it’s too late when you're hopping the short fence that goes out to the main street of Greek Row.

One would think that he’d sobered up at this point since he was, you know, on the run from the law. Yet for some reason Ju Haknyeon himself doesn’t even know, he’s still feeling the effects of the alcohol, tripping over that stupid fucking fence and falling flat on his face. Thankfully, he lands on the grassy part just before the sidewalk, but it doesn’t make the situation any less embarrassing.

You don’t give him recovery time, pulling him to his feet. He holds a hand to the side of his face that received the harshest of the impact, expecting to wake up to a nasty bruise tomorrow. He’s also unsure where exactly you’re taking him, but is afraid of asking out of fear that you’ll send his ass back to the frat house and have him arrested or something. (He had a bad habit of over complicating situations and coming up with the worst possible scenarios.)

Once the commotion has died out and there’s no one else around, you slow your pace. You turn to face him with a grin, holding both of his hands in yours as you walk backwards. “Are you cool with staying the night at my place?”

Truly, Haknyeon needs to know what act of nobility he committed in his previous life. He needs to go back in time and thank himself for whatever it was. Even with fumble after fumble, he was somehow bouncing back and receiving major compensation for sticking it out. He swallows thickly, nodding dumbly when he realizes he hasn’t given you a proper response.

“Um… Yeah— I mean— yes. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.” He word-vomits, stumbling over his tongue rather than his feet. Being down bad was one of his strongest personality traits. And being clumsy was second strongest, so you don't even have to imagine how terrible a combination of both would be.

The walk to your apartment knocks any lingering inebriation out of his system. He’s entirely too hyper aware of what’s happening as you guide him in that direction. It’s cooler out, the temperature dropping in the nighttime as the end of the semester approaches. If there was another reason to be grateful for this party, it was because he no longer had to worry about not making a move before your last lab together. As much as he despised Biology, he’d take it every day if it meant getting to see you.

He actually feels like he may throw up as you reach your place, his hands sticking into the pockets of his jacket to hide the clamminess of his palms. His nerves are creeping up on him once more, a dark cloud looming over him. He shouldn’t be this jumpy at this point of the night. He should be composed, prepared to sweep you off your feet after spending so much time with you. Why the hell is he sweating bullets right now?

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you curtsy. “Would you like something to drink? Water, maybe?”

“Th-That would be great,” Haknyeon forces out, waddling behind you into the kitchen like a baby duckling following its mother. “You have a nice apartment.”

“Really? Thank you!” You can’t help but giggle at his jitters and the way he keeps rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. A sense of déjà vu rushes over you when you pass him a cup. “Living alone has its perks, I guess. I like that I don’t have to argue with anyone about how to decorate and things like that.”

“It sounds a lot more enjoyable than living with a bunch of men in their early twenties,” he smiles weakly as he accepts the glass of water from you. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how thin the walls are in that house.”

“Do they have sex often?” You ask him bluntly, head cocking to the side almost innocently. He chokes on the water he just sipped, nearly spilling it onto the floor.

“W-What?” He sputters.

“I’m assuming that’s what you’re talking about,” you shrug, facing away from him so you can grab yourself something to drink, also. “We should get back at them.”

You don’t know how many more bones you can throw for him to understand what you're insinuating. Even the frat boy comment you made earlier was intentional. Haknyeon’s mouth goes dry and his eyes widen like a cartoon character’s. What the fuck?

“I’ve never brought a girl back to the house before, because I don’t want them to make fun of me or something— not that I’m saying I would take you back to the house! I mean I just would feel bad if you also got made fun of— not that I’m referring to having sex with you or anything!” The glass in his hands is on the verge of slipping from his grip. “Not that I don’t want to have sex with you— oh my god— um wow, that’s a very lovely fruit bowl you have there I—“

“Hak,” you interject his rambling, wearing a mischievous smile.

The nickname drives him fucking insane. Scratch him possibly dying. If he isn’t dead by the end of the night, he’ll be shocked. Perplexed. Perturbed. Puzzled. Any shock-adjacent synonym you can think of. That will be him. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you shut up and kiss me already?”

Honestly, you don’t have to ask him twice. His lips are on yours in seconds, fingers fisting the material of your skirt at your hips to steel himself. You moan in response to the sheer frenzy behind his actions. It’s so easy to lose yourself in the haste of it; the way you tug at his hair, the blunt edges of his nails digging into your sides, the near clashing of your teeth. He nibbles at your bottom lip, sighing when you allow his tongue to permeate your mouth. He’s content to do nothing but this, kissing you is enough to satiate the desire he’s harbored for you for months. However, with the franticness of your kiss, he knows you want more.

He inches you both backwards until your lower back hits the counter, and then he’s cupping beneath your thighs to hoist you up. His strength sends tidal waves pulsing throughout your whole being, hurriedly pushing the material of his denim jacket off of his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a care. Your hands travel south as his lips trail along your jaw and neck, sucking and biting your supple skin wherever he feels fit. He hisses into the dip where your collarbone meets your shoulder when you palm him through his pants.

“Fuck, babe, you want me bad, don’t you?” He mutters into the column of your throat, teeth sinking into the flesh after.

“Mhmm,” you whine, craning your neck to give him more access to the surface. It’s like a switch has flipped in him and it turns you on unbearably. This is what you’ve been trying to coax out of him all night.

Haknyeon pries apart your legs, slotting himself between them so he can sneak his fingers beneath your skirt. His thumb rubs tight circles into your clothed clit, the lace of your underwear damp with your arousal. He connects your lips again, groaning into your kiss when he moves the fabric aside and slides his knuckle through your folds. You buck up your hips, whimpering when he holds them down with his forearm.

“Want more,” you gasp when he applies a bit of pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“‘More’ what? Use your words, princess,” he instructs, tracing your entrance with his ring finger.

You shake your head because you’re not even sure what it is that you want. You just know that this isn’t enough to quell the hunger burning at your chest. It’s not nearly sufficient to fan the flames in the depths of your heart or the ache in the pit of your abdomen. You need him everywhere. It’s beyond him being your cute Bio lab partner now.

He urges you onto your elbows, pecking the plane of your stomach. He pushes up your skirt and discards your panties, baring you to the cool air of your apartment. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your clit gently. Your head is light and airy and it’s like you’re on cloud nine. Haknyeon hums against you, pulling off to scold you.

“Eyes open, baby,” he nudges his nose on your pelvic bone. “Want you to watch me eat you out.”

The moan you release is strained, like it had been confined in the back of your throat for ages until this moment. He flattens his tongue and licks a line from your hole to your clit, suckling the engorged skin and repeating. Your eyelids are heavy, keeping your intense gaze on him as he all but makes out with your pussy. He focuses his mouth on your clit and slips his middle finger into you. He pumps it in and out languidly, setting a rhythm that matches each swirl of his tongue around your clit.

The whole scene still feels unreal to both of you, like you might wake up from a wet dream or something. How was it possible that Ju Haknyeon was finger fucking you on your kitchen counter? Just a couple days ago, you were sitting side by side in your Biology lab, too nervous to initiate a substantial conversation. You’d think it would be harder to slob on someone’s knob than it would be to talk to them while wearing a fuckass lab coat and goggles.

Haknyeon works his forearm up, pinning down your thighs so your cunt is fully accessible. He adds a second finger to the mix, thrusting them at a higher speed and increasing the unrelenting sucking of your bundle of nerves. He can tell you’re creeping closer towards your climax with the way your walls clench around him and your hips continue to jerk up. And considering the kind of person he was, you figured he would aid you rather than hinder you. But you figured wrong.

He slows his assault, removing his mouth from your clit and leaving the stimulation at just his two fingers. You whine, lip quivering when he looks up into your eyes.

“W-Why are you— what are you doing?” You plead, hating the tone of your voice. The tables have turned, with you sitting beside desperation. This is so unlike you— so unlike the usual domineering aura you exude during sex— your body reacting differently to the power falling through the cracks within your grasp.

“Don’t you wanna savor the moment, princess?” He sounds so cocky, a far cry from the wavering confidence you’d always seen out of him. He kisses the skin of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the area you need him most, all the while he continues curling and uncurling his fingers.

The precipice of your orgasm is right there, you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. But Haknyeon holds it just out of reach, dangling it in your face like teasing a dog with a chew toy. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a false sense of hedonism building and building, then slowly ebbing away each time he retracts. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out.

Just when you’ve given up hope, he adds a third finger and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. The sudden and unexpected intrusion snaps that familiar cord in half, blinding you with white hot pleasure. The groan that escapes from the base of your chest is guttural, echoing throughout the kitchen. You don’t have it in you to worry about waking your neighbors, especially not when you feel the curve of a smile against your cunt, such an uncharacteristic response from Haknyeon.

Your legs spasm as the height of your orgasm calms. You pull him down for a wanton kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. He laughs at the role swap, hands flat on the counter to hold him over you. “Feel good?”

“So good, Hak,” you murmur into his lips. “Think you can fuck me like that next?”

“So impatient,” he snickers, pecking along your jaw once more. “But since you’ve been so good for me, I think it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

You clumsily undo the button and zipper of his cargoes, pushing them down with your foot. He steps out of them and kicks them away while simultaneously removing his t-shirt. You take your top off and shimmy out of your skirt, raising an eyebrow at the narrowed look in his eyes. “What?”

“Do you have a condom?”

“No,” you poke your cheek with your tongue. “But, I don’t care if you wear one. I’d rather feel you raw, anyway.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “God, you’re killing me. Okay.”

He shoves down his briefs and you have to stop yourself from gawking at his size. While he wasn’t the biggest, he was definitely bigger than anyone else you’ve ever been with. He pumps himself a couple times, guiding his length to your entrance and throwing his head back when the tip presses into you. This was really happening, holy shit. Ju Haknyeon was actually having sex with you.

Your toes curl and you stab your nails into your palms to distract from the stinging stretch. He eases into you with the occasional grunt, minding your expressions for any signs of discomfort. When all he sees is your features contorted to display pleasure, he resumes. By the time he’s bottomed out completely, both of you are moaning messes. You feel so full, stuffed to the brim with the weight of his cock.

“I’ve wanted to be inside of you for so fucking long,” he admits, speaking the words into your sticky skin as he drags himself out only to piston back in. The action throttles you a bit, your eyes tempted to roll to the back of your head from how fucking good it feels. You can’t conjure coherent thoughts to properly convey how many endorphins are coursing through your veins.

Haknyeon sets a pace that combines the perfect amount of speed and depth, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep in your cunt. Your brain is hazy and your vision blurs, hardly able to see anything in front of you. His mouth attaches to the pulse point on your neck, ensuring he bruises the area.

“Y-You’re— fuck— you’re s-so deep, Hak. I can feel you all over,” you wail, bringing one of his hands to tamp your lower stomach. The pressure contributes to the growing tension of your second orgasm, something you know will collide into you with even more exertion than the first.

“Yeah? You’re taking me s-so well, baby. No one else has ever fucked you this good, right?” Sweat beads on his hairline, dripping down his temples with every thrust of his hips and every drive of his cock into your sweet pussy. Even if he really did somehow manage to die tonight, he could do it with integrity. He could go out with the honor of a fallen soldier knowing that he got to experience this at least once in his life.

He hikes one of your knees up to your chest, burying his dick deeper if humanly possible. You arch your back, pushing into his chest to minimize the space between you, antsy at the promise of another release as mind blowing as the last. He brings you to the edge of the counter so you’re now hip to hip. Haknyeon snakes a hand in the middle of your bodies, using his thumb to rub circles into your clit. That stimulation coupled with the depth of his cock encourages the fluttering of your walls, in turn drawing out the state of bliss you’ve been chasing.

Your vision goes blank, stars painting the behinds of your eyelids. A second orgasm crests upon you and evokes a moan so pornographic, it sounds far away from you. It’s a dreamlike euphoria, an almost out of body experience that puts every other orgasm to shame. The surface of your skin is hot to the touch.

“Where do you want me, princess?” Haknyeon asks breathily. In the calamity of your own release, you nearly forgot about his until you register the twitching inside of you. It pauses the static in your ears, returning the volume of the world to its normality.

“Cum inside of me,” you whine, the overstimulation becoming too much to handle. He doesn’t need to be told another time, grip tightening on your thigh as he spills into your cunt.

The two of you stay still for a moment, allowing clarity to flow into your brains. You wince when he finally has half the mind to pull out, his nose scrunching up at the sensitivity. He slides his underwear back on, extremely conscious of how naked he is right now. He has an inkling that you were anticipating that this would happen, because why else would you ask him to stay over tonight? But, he is the Ju Haknyeon that you’ve sat next to this entire semester in your Biology lab. So he couldn’t just march forward without a little overthinking and self deprecation.

“Do you still want me to stay?” His voice has reverted back to that small, unsure tone. You sit up quickly, alarmed by the twinge of disappointment underneath it.

“Of course, I do,” you pout, kissing his cheek and lacing your fingers together. “I’ve had a crush on you since the beginning of the year, Hak. Sure, maybe I skipped a couple steps in between, but I have wanted this so badly— I have wanted you so badly— for you don’t even know how long.”

He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear. He leaves a sweet kiss on your lips, softer and gentler than the ones from earlier that night. He’s intentional with the way he glides them in harmony, like he was following the melody of the most beautiful song. “Oh trust me, I think I have an idea.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[dbacklot99]

2024 fic roundup game

Can I just create an ask game? said @cheeseplants

Yes!! Thanks to @cheeseplants and anyone else you tagged me.

What fandoms do you write in? Good Omens! Only Good Omens, Forever Good Omens.

How many words have you published in 2024? Ok, including some chapters for an upcoming [redcated] collab, I'm estimating 150k that I actually wrote. Which....isn't much in this incredibly talented fandom BUT was a lot for me.

What is your greatest achievement this year? Getting out there and collaborating!! I talked to artists (y'all are magical and terrifying), I joined the [redacted] project and wrote amazing angst with @gaiaseyes451, @sixbynine-da, @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon, @groovynightstrawberry, and MxThirteen, PLUS more artists, @apocalyptic-scenes & babyrubysoho.

And then kept on writing with a lot of those folks to create some amazing crack - and Lucicrow?

My point is, once you start collaborating, you have no idea where it will take you!

What are your top three fics you’ve written this year? Mirrors (E, WIP but almost finished): Angsty reverse omens AU, but there's a happy ending I PROMISE. With amazing art from @daneecastle and @c0smicdisaster.

Cracked Pepper (E): Utterly absurd birthday crack for @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon. I'm still tickled that I somehow wrote this.

Have We Been Here Before? (E): A one-shot love letter to the fandom (also podfic from the amazing @nosferatini )

What was your biggest pit of despair moment? Hmmm, I got kind of lost in my subplots in the middle of After Heaven. But it worked out and I actually love the ending.

I regularly despair that I will never have enough time to write - or to write as well as I want.

What have you learned? I've gotten some sense of the things I'm ok at. And learning to work on adding descriptions and feelings, not just plot.

Still need to improve my gif game!

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground? I have three historical scenes hopping around, but not fully formed yet...

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out? Yes!! I can't name all of them - and some aren't published yet (looking at you, @on1occasionfork). But some to throw love at:

Saint of Lost Things (E) by @gaiaseyes451. This would have gone on my year's best list, but I'm sneaking it in here. Post S2 angst and redemption is absolute marvel of story telling!

What Have I Lost (M) Another post2S fic, from MarieCuriosity that I can't wait to see how it comes together!

The Show Must Go On (M) A great 1941 follow-up by @vieux-yeux

Lady of Rheged (E): A West Essex historical AU by @mageofthepeople

Seasons of Nightingales (M): A massive, sweet post2S fic from @nosferatini that is almost done!!!

but i still want more (E): An intense but heartachingly lovely postS2 fic from @cordsycords

Confeitor (M): pure poetry from @adverbian

What three fics have you read this year that you love? Lol, 3!!!

Tethered (E): WIP by MarieCuriosity based on a Gleafer prompt

Someone is Calling Him Shorewards (E): by @harlotofupdog. Gah, if you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for?

Trial & Error (M) by @fellshish. I love everything postS2 and this one was so original!

Anything ginger_cat wrote

Angel-Centered Therapy (G) I thought this was the perfect counterpoint to its big brother (sister?), Demonology.

Rosae series (E) by UKCalico. Sure, it's incredibly hot, but then hits you with these deep insights into the characters and their lives.

If I loved you less, We Could have Coffee (M): The Chapell Roan fic you didn't know you needed; excited to see what happens next! By @spectrallydistracted

Teach me, both the art from @gahellhimself-blog and the fics from Jeans. A really amazing collaboration!

What ideas are percolating for next year? Going to start off with a couple sequels, and then we'll see where the plot bunnies take us.

Who do you want to thank? @goodomensafterdark for endless support and entertainment. Wibly for maps!! @ireallyneedmoretea & @moderndayklutz for being beta rockstars on [redacted]!

Are you somewhere in this post? Should you be? Go on and play the game!

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

How do the m6 react to MC drawing them? Whether theyve stumbled over their open sketchbook with a bunch of random everyday sketches or MC actually shows them a finished piece they're proud of.

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a doodling MC

~ for every confident artist out there, there is probably another person like me who loves putting pencil to paper and hates what results each time lol. Here are your headcanons anon, with a little bonus of the M6's attempts to respond in kind - brainrot ~

Julian

He's not the most private person himself, so when he sees your sketchbook on the table he doesn't think twice before flipping through it

Regardless of your skill level, he will be very impressed. It's canon that his drawing skills are even worse than his handwriting, which is abonimable

Completely absorbed, takes a seat so he can flip through and study every page

If you catch him while he's looking at it he'll get the most adoring grin on his face

"Why haven't I seen this before MC? I'm dazzled!"

It will not occur to him that you might not want him looking at it unless you react negatively, in which case he will be extremely apologetic. He never meant to cross your boundaries

Will be the most obliging model if you ask him to. Desperate to please, just let him relish the way he can feel all your attention on him

He'll try once or twice to leave you a little drawing in return, but you're never able to decipher them so he sticks to complimenting your work instead

Asra

They tend to respect your privacy to a fault. The first glimpse they get of your work is when you sit down next to them and openly invite them to look at it

So deeply honored and generally in love with everything you do that he will genuinely adore every piece you've made

Which will definitely make you a little insecure at first. Considering they were talented enough to sell their masks and trinkets by the time they were a young teen, you might think your work is a little shabby next to theirs

His approach to art is, "if it came from your soul, it's as it should be" and if you tend to be overcritical towards your own art he will drill that into your head

If you ask them to model they absolutely will, but they'll get shy about you showing those pieces to anyone else

Will give you "come hither" looks the whole time though. No matter how you pose him he'll find a way to make it seductive

They like leaving doodles for you around the shop now, on little notes (or in the margins of your inventory ledger)

Will happily collab with you on a piece

Nadia

She notices the ink and pencil stains on your fingers long before she sees you sketching for the first time

Understands the importance of privacy but isn't the type to hesitate when she wants something

She'll approach you the second or third time she sees you sketching and ask if she can see what you're working on

Considering her background, you're ready for her to be unimpressed. She's a highly accomplished and educated lady after all

That's what ends up fascinating her. The only art she's seen has been hung up in galleries, or her sister's attempts which she never paid much attention to

Seeing something as raw and open ended as an unfinished sketch fascinates her

She has so many questions. Do you observe something or does it come out of your head? What are all the extra little lines for?

Will happily model for you if you request it. Even better, she can hire a professional model and provide some of her own input. With your permission, of course

She can't draw very well, but she can embroider. You are going to have very pretty handkerchiefs from now on

Muriel

One of the things that first drew him to you was your doodling. At the end of a long, hard day, you'd put down your bow and pick up a pencil instead

It was the first thing he felt connected to you by. But he's way too shy to ask to see, so if it's lying open he'll gaze at it with his hands respectfully clasped behind his back

You were a little shy with him too at first - you've seen the carvings he can make, he's quite the artist himself

But then he'll point out the little details and quirks of your style, and comment on how he likes them, and somehow he talks you into putting some on display in the hut

If you ask him to model, he'll be reluctant but he'll do it. Especially if there's nobody else available

No matter how you pose him he'll end up with his face partially obscured. He's just not used to sitting and letting someone study him like that

Buckets of sweat. By the time you're done he'll be bright red and dashing for the bath

Will take some of your studies of the animals and try carving them

Portia

Like her brother, boundaries aren't naturally assumed, they are only present in her mind if someone communicates them to her

So unless you've explicitly told her that your sketch book is private, she'll be flipping through it like a curious cat at the earliest opportunity

She's never been the type to sit still for very long unless there's something exciting to do (like read a really good novel) so she doesn't do much art beyond her exceptional hair styling skills

If she sees anything you've drawn of a part of town or object she recognizes, she'll point it out with so much excitement

Frames every sketch you've done of Pepi. You have to talk her into giving back the unfinished ones

Will happily model for you, but struggles with sitting still with nothing to do

The best piece you ever drew of her will be a candid portrait of her reading by candlelight, one hand on Pepi in her lap, the other holding her novel

When she sees how beautiful she is through your eyes she'll be too flustered and giggly to make eye contact for a bit

Starts adding small doodles of facial expressions to each note she leaves you

Lucio

He doesn't hesitate. The very first time he sees you sketching he's sitting halfway in your lap in his eagerness to see what you're working on

Goes through your sketchbook constantly, commenting on anything new

"Ooh, you added a plant to that one. This one is new! When did you do this one?"

If you really hate it he'll stop, but unless you put your foot down, what's yours is his and what's his is yours and that includes your art

There's no doubt in his mind that you're the best at what you do. If you don't measure up to the art he's used to seeing, he'll chalk it up to you using a different style and leave it at that

Will suggest posing for you before you can request it

It's a bit of a struggle. He'll hold a pose for five minutes and then think of a better one and switch to that immediately

Will start to pout if you tell him you don't like his poses, but when he keeps one long enough to feel the attention you give when you're drawing him he gets addicted

Will sometimes sit across from you with his own pen and paper and try to sketch you

[mikimakiboo]

Master post because why not

I wanna keep track of my own stuff lmao

Link to the art masterpost !

Latest update: 01/01

| My OCs

• Toxicity

Introduction post to my OC Toxicity !

@/sleepy-batz made an amazing fanart of him I'm in love + trick by @/mcnotok

Also put him in a pumpkin for Halloween + turned him into a cookie + Christmas package + new year fireworks

• Miranda

My Toriel OC, Miranda !

| Time Travelers AU

This one belongs to me ! Also called TT AU for short

A bad sans poly AU where they all come from different time periods and travel through time

Long ass reblog chain with all the lore so far

Backstories: Nightmare • Dust • Killer • Cross • Horror

Some silly thoughts :D ••• Dust listening to Tally Hall • The music they like • them getting drunk • what every friend group does • crossover with G&M AU • Nightmare writing books

First part ( the following parts will be linked in the posts :3 )

Checkpoints:

Part 5

| Incorrect quotes

I'm not not gonna link all of them lol, but you can find them under the "original post" tag or simply the "incorrect quotes" tag with the multiple ones I reblogged

| My fanfictions

Wheels of misfortune (disabled AU, Nightmare angst)

Muffins (Real Age AU)

Surprise Adoption (Real Age AU)

Just like them (no AU, Nightmare angst)

Tiny Menace - Tiny Steps Forward (Bitty Nightmare AU, related parts)

Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving (Ghost & Medium AU, Horror encounter)

You will be fine, now (16+) (Bitty Nightmare AU, angst)

Two for the price of one (Double Noot / Noot² AU)

Unexpected Visitors (Time Travelers AU, bsp, follow ups linked in the chapters)

Happier Somewhere Else (no AU, Nightmare angst)

Learning To Trust, With Love (Sansnautica AU, bsp)

Birthday Cake (short-story, Nightmare's birthday)

| Disabled AU

The idea for the disabled au comes from @/unknownchoatic

Paraplegic Nightmare: first and second post that started everything, + wheels of misfortune

Aphasic Horror

ASD/Blind Killer

Schizophrenic Dust

Schizophrenic Error

| Gifts and Collabs

Every gifts and collabs I did for/with @/ancha-aus ! (the AUs all belong to her)

• Real Age AU

An AU in which Nightmare reverts back to his passive form (who is still six years old) and where the gang now takes care of him like their own child

We have two fanfics:

Muffins

Surprise adoption

And two fanarts here and here !

• Ghost and Medium AU

I simply wrote some interpretations of everyone's backstories :) so it's not canon ! (Unless she says so)

Biiiiiig post explaining everything (containing additional links)

+ fic Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving

In this AU you will find: medium Dust, ghost Killer, priest Cross, ghost Horror, demon Nightmare, and god Error

• Double Noot / Noot² AU

An AU in which Corrupt (aka Corrupted Nightmare) gets separated from Nightmare (aka passive Nightmare) who is still a child, turned out Corrupt was holding him without knowing it to give him time to heal

Reblog chain that kinda started it all

Fanfiction: Two for the price of one

• Sansnautica AU

A BSP including Sans, crossover AU with Subnautica (that i don't know anything about lol)

Fanfiction: Learning To Trust, With Love

| some headcanons

Not all 'cause I did so many lol and there's so much already omg

Holding hands (Nightmare)

Biting (Dream&Nightmare)

General Nightmare headcanons

Nonbinary Nightmare

Dream and Nightmare NSFW headcanon (not explicit but please be 18+)

Puns (Nightmare)

Nightmare's sexuality

Some Dream headcanon

Nightmare's bad eating habits

Fresh's soul

Kisses (bad sans poly/Nightmare)

Looking up to the grown ups

Horror feeding everyone

General headcanons about the mtt as a poly

Dreamtale twins' emotions affected by their aura

Nightmare and animals

Nightmare has automatonophobia + calling the gang dolls

Nightmare's blind spot

Killer the yo-yo master

Nightmare overestimating Dream

Eldritch horror Nightmare shitpost

| Concepts

A weird crossover au idea inspired by HTTYD, featuring the Dreamtale twins as dragons for one and everyone as dragon-riders for the other

A story concept about the Bad Sanses being kidnapped by the Star Sanses

The Dreamtale twins being compared to the Viking Gods (Idunn, Baldr and Loki) + the twins' design

Nightmare trying very hard to cause negativity but it backfires and he creates positivity instead

Video game concept

| song analysis

Lifeline by Thousand Foot Krutch and Passive Nightmare getting corrupted

Take it out on me by Thousand Foot Krutch and the bad sanses

[seelestia]

A Blessed Imperfection [1/3]

(submitted by: @/hermosacolibri. all credits go to them, this work isn't mine!)

SYNOPSIS: Many consider your disability as a burden, but he finds a way to make it a blessing in disguise. What makes us flawed is what makes us unique, and that is what he considers the most beautiful thing about you—an imperfection he dearly adores. Nevertheless, he knows of your lingering sorrows and thus seeks a way to support you in the best way he could.

WARNING(S): symptoms of chronic/terminal illness, implications of mental instability, mentions of past trauma resulting to severe injury, possible triggers, panic attacks, sleep paralysis, hallucinations, etc…

CHARACTER(S):

Aether (as Traveler & Abyss Prince), Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, Dainsleif

NOTE: I copy-pasted this from my Quotev so if the format turns bad, that’s why lmao. Part 2 will have the Zhongli and Ayato version I submitted with some other characters from the same nations. Part 3 will be Sumeru boys and Harbingers. I will submit them at a later date lol. Anyway, I would like to leave a shameless promo here for those interested in my writing. HERE is my Quotev. For those who wish to read about my collab story here on Tumblr, it is posted by my co-writer: @intothegenshinworld

•

•

•

AETHER is like a star in the abyssal sky, constantly in sight yet far out of mortal reach. He carries the wishes of others, granting them in acts of what shall be seen as miracles or blessings. When time arrives for departure, he shoots across the cosmos with a trail of light that leaves witnesses mesmerized. Alas, he whom was born half of a whole, the name of this Traveler is forever bound to that of another—his dear sister, Lumine. Due to these same ties, he undergoes a quest across Teyvat to find her. The promise of a reunion always uttered by his lips, hopeful and eager yet never taking for granted the steps he took.

The lonely young man is at odds with the world. He could barely trust anyone after some god caused him to separate from his younger sibling. However, this humble Viator continues to treat others amiably in hopes to be treated the same way. From nation to nation, the blond adolescent sought answers from this peculiar world that felt so nostalgic yet still so foreign to him. There are trying moments of grief and frustration, but also blissful days of celebration.

Throughout this path, it was entirely unexpected for him to develop an intimate attachment.

Aether was not a stranger to bittersweet partings, as someone whom has always hopped from one world to another. For this same reason, he and Lumine try not to get too invested in any realm they visit. It was better for them as well as for everyone else that welcome them so affectionately. There must always be a particular distance to maintain, since there can be no guarantee of their stay or return. A deeper tragedy is the knowledge they can easily outlive the dwellers of any world. Witnessing the birth and death of many stars since their youth, the twins have grown rather desensitized to friendships that would not last as long as their lifespan.

That is why this separation hits them where it hurts enough to leave a scar.

Then, there was you.

As a mere mortal in a world governed by gods, you are content to live your life the best way you know. It is a lifestyle that can change at your will. One day, you can be exploring as an adventurer. The next, you are a seamstress earning your keep for the week you plan to stay with the spinsters. Every other month, you do a variety of odd jobs that you have learned throughout your lifetime. As a human, you are most hyperaware that everything can be ephemeral…

…and someday, even your soul shall be relinquished to the judgment of Celestia.

Until then, it is yours to do as you see fit.

For this reason, you felt torn by the Pyro Vision that had been bestowed upon you. While most of your peers seek the blessing of the divine gaze, you have subconsciously sought to avoid it. Many saw it as a gift but you were raised under the notion that most presents come with strings. Earning the “eye of god” meant that you are under Celestia’s watchful gaze, thus binding you to the Heavenly Principles. Their elemental blessings taunt mortals to dare reaching for the stars, and gain a place amongst the divine if they are deemed worthy of it.

Well, you personally believe that only thineself can determine one’s worth—no other, not even the gods.

Nevertheless, you move forward. Keep going on a quest without a destination, as you always do, until this fleeting life comes to its inevitable end.

Needless to say, there is one thing you genuinely did not see coming—

“I am so sorry, Miss!”

—and that was meeting your soulmate.

“It’s fine.” You replied.

Aether scrambles to collect your things while you do the same at a more relaxed pace. Your satchel had become so worn that it took a small bump to finally snap the strap. Now, all your possessions have been scattered across the ground. Fortunately, the blond stranger is a very kind and considerate young man.

Once you got everything, said stranger wasted no time apologizing profusely again.

“I should have been looking where I was walking! It was my fault.”

You tilt your head, “You could just make it up to me and we can call it even.”

His aureate eyes beamed as he nodded with an eager smile. At that moment, you wonder if he is the personification of the sun.

You smiled serenely, “I’m [Name].”

He pauses, a flicker of doubt passing through his gaze. Quick as it came, it disappeared as he smiled back—a tad softer.

“Just call me Aether.”

That day, he bought you a new satchel.

When you were younger, your parents always said that one moment is the same as a thousand—you only need one. It was a proverb that both confused and unnerved you. After they died together due to sickness, the words were haunting as you buried them before leaving your village. Every moment was cherished by you, each one unique in the best and worst of ways. However, as both you and Aether keep crossing each other’s paths after one meeting, a part of you finally thrums to life in understanding.

At one point, Aether even sought you out for a joint commission together.

“Don’t you have a travelling partner?” You asked.

He laughs sheepishly, “He’s a bit busy doing other things. Also…”

A light blush colored his cheeks, looking away as he scratched his nape lightly.

“…I wanted to spend some time with you.”

You found him cute so you agreed.

On that particular day, Aether learned something new about you. It was the little things he had been noting every time you met. The way you sometimes slur even though not a drop of alcohol can be traced from your scent, how you try so hard to keep your emotions under a certain level of control, how your eyes randomly droop even when you always look so adequately well-rested, and the pills he saw you sneak into your meals/drinks—you were ill. Perhaps, it was not the traditional ailment that left you weak and bedridden. The scariest symptom has been the occasional hallucinations that distract you, since the more vivid ones tend to set off your Vision. Anything within a meter radius is either set aflame, or rises up in temperature. It is why you always remind him to keep a certain distance whenever you tend to space out. He never prodded because you gave him the same respect of privacy by never prying into his life, even if he saw the incessant curiosity he adored about you. Still, he looks after you because he had to admit he truly grew fond of you.

Then, on your way home, you just abruptly collapsed as if your entire body went boneless.

“[Name]—!!!”

Aether caught you just in time before your head hit the ground. He checks your temperature for a fever, and then searches for some wounds you might have missed. You have a high pain tolerance, which can sometimes be a disadvantage whenever an injury goes unnoticed. There was a time a scratch almost got infected, or even when you nearly bled out because a poison prevented coagulation.

When he saw no signs, the outlander lifts you up in his arms and calls for the nearest doctor.

Thankfully, nothing was amiss and you just needed to rest while adjusting your diet.

Aether witnessed the true horror of your condition when you abruptly woke up half past midnight. He was already passed out on your bedside, sat on the ground and his head resting on his forearms. The chaise lounge would have been practical, but the blond felt the urge to be near you. At some point, he just dozed off.

On the other hand, you jolted awake with a choked gasp and widened eyes of terror. It was not due to any frightening nightmare. This is just how it always goes every time you wake up: frozen stiff, terrified, and barely breathing. Your pupils dilate as your iris moved wildly to make sense of your surroundings, pointedly ignoring the shadows manifesting into something monstrous. The candle on the nightstand was unfortunately almost fully spent, flickering to its last embers of light. With every dance, the shadows seem to get closer and slithering to get their clawed hands on you.

Alas, the candlelight spares you one last hope of salvation amidst this merciless night.

Sunshine golden hair glowed, emitting a silver halo as moonlight peeked from the half-open blinds. As much as you are able, you desperately crane your neck to see your companion. Tears blur your sight but the silhouette is unmistakable to you. His warm breath blew against your fingers, centimeters away from his lips as he breathed. Chilling goosebumps ran across your skin yet you welcomed it, hoping to regain mobility from this nightmarish paralysis. Your hand twitched, wishing to get ahold of this precious little sun—uncaring if it burns.

If you are to be like Icarus, then you would prefer an end embraced by warmth and light…

…instead of ice and darkness.

Perhaps, pyro suited you for this reason.

Your lips purse, crying in anguish to speak.

“A…Ae…A-Aether…”

To your relief, that seems to be enough to awaken the young man. However, respite is all to brief as your chest seizes up. The mere act of breathing gets difficult, and your heartbeat grew alarmingly slow as it echoed alongside the tinnitus in your ears.

Aether blinks awake, expecting the grace of morning light. Instead, he was met with your agonized gaze in a darkening room. In an instant, he snaps into full attention as he cups your face. You cannot hear him but you can guess that he must be firing questions out of concern.

“[Name], what’s wrong?! Are you in pain? What can I do? How can I help?” He exclaimed.

You gasped and hoarsely coughed.

“C-Can’t…breathe…I…”

The blond quickly thinks back to whenever Lumine experienced minor panic attacks. He assumes this is relatively similar, so he hopes his next actions will help rather than harm. Gently and carefully, he takes you into his arms. Back against the headboard, the new position situates you comfortably on his lap as one arm is secured around your waist. He takes both of your trembling hands with his free one, directing them to rest against his sternum.

“[Name],” he says softly yet firmly, “I need you to focus on me, okay? Focus for me. Hey—”

He catches your frantic gaze around the room and mindfully tilts your head back to meet his stare. They are brimming with steadfast reassurance, not at all deterred by the dark beasts. Your head rests against his shoulder, as you do as he told—closing your eyes to only relish his warmth, consume his scent, and listen to his voice.

“Breathe with me. Inhale, exhale…”

His chest rises and falls, to which you mimic the rhythm in return.

“Feel my pulse, and use it as your center.”

One hand keeps hold of his and the other seeks his heart, obeying the instructions.

The hand connected to the arm securing your back drift to your hair. At that moment, you realize that Aether’s hands are ungloved. Wandering fingers comb through your strands, calming you down with a soothing pet. Little by little, you regain movement in your limbs yet you rest limply—content.

“That’s it.” Aether whispered, “You’re doing great. Just keep repeating the exercise with me.”

“Aether…”

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You wept and sobbed, “Aether…”

“I know.” He murmurs as he cries with you, “You’ve been so strong, [Name]. Everything’s fine. You’re not alone anymore.”

You look up, “Promise?”

He looks back, “I promise.”

The hand on his chest reaches for his white scarf as you pull him down. He obliges as his grip on you tightened, holding you close while your free hands adjust to interlace with each other.

That was the first kiss of many.

Day or night, Aether stood by you. Every battle was fought together. Every quest was finished together, sometimes with his elusive partner named Dainsleif whom was later introduced to you. On the journey to search for his sister, he even renewed his vows.

“When we find her, you can come with us.”

You smile teasingly, “I don’t have world-hopping powers.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unyieldingly headstrong and determined.

“I’ll find a way to bring you with us anyway.”

He raises your hand to his lips with a sly grin.

“You’re not getting rid of me~!”

Aether cradled you in adoration as if you were an endless summer amidst the cold loneliness of his sister’s absence. You beheld him as if he was the sun bringing life to the paradise of your evanescent mortality. The pair of you were thriving happily, hand in hand, even after discovering the truth of this world—and dictating the journey’s end.

Then, your Vision broke mysteriously, and you were condemned to an enchanted sleep.

Aether cursed the divine and all of Teyvat for it. He figured this was his price for learning the truth, but taking you will be their gravest mistake. He severes his ties with Dainsleif, whom tried to console him into taking the righteous path. He viewed you as his friend as well, and he knew you would not want this for your lover.

Now, the Abyss Prince sits by your bed—waiting in forlorn hope. His ungloved knuckles caress your cheek lovingly. You were dressed in a nightgown with abyss colors, outlined by satin ribbons of silver and gold. A crown of inteyvat rested on your head, petals scattered across your spread locks draped over silk pillows. They have grown after the past centuries but he dutifully trims them to an acceptable length.

“Your Highness,” the Abyss Herald called, “it is time.”

Aether paused. His honey gaze hardens and his aura turns cold. He breathes deeply, eyes closed to lean down and leave a chaste kiss on your brow.

“I will return shortly, my love.”

He puts on his gloves, taking leave resolutely.

Even if the sun turns black, you will both find your way back to each other. Even as the moon is painted red, goodbye shall never be an option. Every star in the sky—false or otherwise—shall bear witness to a union that even the Heavenly Principles would dare not destroy. Should this world be torn asunder, the reckoning cannot spell departure for either you or Aether. This is the eclipse that will pave the way to a new world, as the Abyss Order entails.

For if fate can only be accepted, thy vows shath be sworn by royal decree—

“You are my predestined person, the one I will always choose.”

ALBEDO discovered that there is beauty in what the heart perceives which the eyes cannot see. As an artist, he can grasp onto the concept yet is unable to truly understand it since he heavily relies upon his sight. As an alchemist, whatever eludes him may come into being by his own hands and thus enable him to attain it. The pursuit of truth is a mere matter of time and place, preordained even if hidden. As the most prized creation of Rhinedottir, he was given the task of uncovering the truth of this world for himself as a purpose in life. Even if to exist is a sin in the eyes of Celestia, he must endure and keep moving forward to reach his answers.

Amidst such dedicated research, there was little time and effort to be spared for attachments. The Chief Alchemist of Ordo Favonius finds it much too difficult to maintain. Of course, exceptions has been made throughout the years. Aside from his master, he had bonded with Alice and Klee as family. He had also made friendships with his colleagues amongst the Knights of Favonius and his subordinates, whom he taught the art of alchemy. Alas, as an artificial human created by a sinner, he feels as if he can never belong anywhere. Regardless of these bonds, the Kreideprinz feels as if a part of his heart remains hollow. 

It came to him that this place was reserved for you, the apple of his eye.

Ever since Albedo met you, a new muse began to live within his heart. People consider it as seeing the world through rosy lenses; but for him, it felt as if everything appeared clearer than facts…

…and it was beautiful.

The sun shines brighter. The wind blows cooler. The grass looks greener. Therefore, life is that much greater and sweeter. He is still in pursuit of truth, yet he felt as if the magnum opus was already in his hands—molded in the shape of you.

His only lament was that you could not see it alongside him.

You were not born blind. It happened from an act of jealousy and unkindness. Before you came to the City of Freedom, you were a noblewoman dwelling in Fontaine and worked as an artist. Much like him, you love to paint and draw but Albedo always argues that you were better at it. He had seen your works long ago, and every single piece has never failed to inspire him. It was as if each painting can bequeath aspirations, letting it blossom from the hearts of the people that view it.

Then, news spread that your entire atelier was set on fire while you were still in it…

…and then, you lost your eyes.

The Hydro Vision in your hand may have been the sole reason you even survived. Many speculated that you can never make art the same way again.

You came to Mondstadt, wishing to break free from the suffocating experience. You struggled to regain your passion, overcome your sorrows.

Then, you met Albedo; and one thing led to another.

It started when you were taking a stroll in Springvale with your guide dog, Vincent. He is a very spirited Golden Retriever, protective and responsible. You both stumble upon a young girl named Klee, whom was busy fighting a bunch of hilichurls. You opted to stand aside and calm your snarling canine friend, petting his head. When your keen hearing detected irregular breathing and racing heartbeat, you realize that the little girl was getting overwhelmed. She must have fought other hoards before your arrival, and now you hear slimes joining the fray. Thus, you order Vincent to keep his distance and engaged.

Sword unsheathed from your walking cane, you attack the ones behind Klee. Her bombs startled you when they exploded too close, but your hydro shield easily deflected any friendly fire. Vapor damage is then redirected to the monsters, tempering the girl’s mines and lasers so your skin will not be singed by the building heat. Vincent was barking wildly like a supportive cheerleader, growling whenever you get nicked or whenever the other girl yelped.

Soon, the fight was over.

The pitter-patters of tiny feet went towards you, and stopped at an arm’s length. You look down, smiling kindly yet not sheathing your blade.

“Thank you for helping Klee!” She chirped.

You chuckle, “You’re welcome.”

Vincent came running towards you, shamelessly  nuzzling your legs. He then licks Klee’s hand in his own way of befriending her, causing the girl to giggle from the ticklish sensation. She hugs him around the neck, and you can only tilt your head in amusement.

“What’s your name, Miss?”

“You may call me [Name].”

The hairs at your nape rose. Although you can see nothing else but darkness, your eyes also snapped open with a dark glower. By instinct, you swung your sword to strike whomever snuck behind you.

A resounding clang echoed in your ears, as metal struck against metal. Another sword has parried yours skillfully yet makes no move to counter.

“Brother Albedo…!” Klee exclaims.

Upon realization that this is no stranger, you swiftly disengaged with a soft apology. The gesture was returned as the man apologized for startling you. To your amazement, Vincent did not seem to be wary of this newcomer. The dog merely barked gruffly, a bit admonishing, instead of growling defensively like he always did.

“You dropped this.” Albedo said.

You hesitantly presented your hand to receive whatever he was giving. A familiar cloth is placed on your palm. You belatedly realized that it was your blindfold. It is a durable silk fabric that kept your burn scars from showing. Your disfigured face has been exposed all this time for Klee to see.

It must have been a horrifying sight—

“Your eyes are very pretty, Miss [Name]!”

Your breath hitched at the unexpected compliment, turning away shyly. As you wore the blindfold again, Klee notices Albedo smiling in awe at you. She put up her hands to cover her mouth and muffle her mischievous giggles.

“I agree.” He murmured.

You nodded, “Many thanks.”

Albedo never told you, but for him, it was love at first sight the moment his eyes met yours. There have been solitary days spent in Dragonspine where he wondered tirelessly:

Would it have been a mutual feeling if you could have seen him back then too?

From then onwards, the mysterious alchemist had turned into a close friend. He acted as a personal pillar of support in unexpected ways. The little ball of sunshine that is Klee turned into a source of lighthearted joy for you as well. They tend to visit your home in the city together, offering gifts and knick-knacks. The habitual meetings resulted into some new friends who helped you settle down in Mondstadt, especially Eula. Her own aristocratic lineage helped you two bond about a lot of things, even when she vehemently rejects hers—which is frankly for understandable reasons. You both share the sentiment that genuine nobility upholds the belief of noblesse oblige above all.

Albedo, most of all, enabled you to regain the love you thought had been lost forever with your sight.

Although life still hit hard with how you struggle to create art, your appreciation for it was reborn and you are experiencing everything all over again as something new. Regardless of the burns and scars that made you insecure, the Kreideprinz made you feel nothing less than desirable and deserving of love. Though the blankness of your gaze saddens him, and sometimes even angers him due to the injustice you were dealt—he saw beauty in all that is you, and everything that blossoms from your hands.

Just for a moment, he wanted to show you what he sees the only way he knew: to create.

Vincent guided you into Albedo’s personal art studio in Mondstadt. The canine looked more excited than you. He nipped at the alchemist's white coat, tail wagging as he sat by your feet but paid attention to your lover. Charming eyes swept between you two as if awaiting praise and treats for a job well done.

For a moment, Albedo was reminded of Klee and it made him smile. He kneels down before the dog, patting his head. After a few minutes of petting, he relinquishes the promised treat.

Vincent then ran to his corner, satisfied. Usually, he is very protective and ends up hovering next to you; but with Albedo, he knows you are safe.

You giggled amusedly.

“Sometimes,” your lover sighed, “I think he only likes me to get treats and headpats. He also only comes to me by whining to play.”

You smirked teasingly, “Sounds familiar.”

Albedo paused before giving you a scolding look, yet the twitching smile betrayed him. He was then taken aback when you presented him a small gift bag and a bouquet of cecilia flowers.

“Happy Anniversary~!” You said.

He smiles, accepting your gifts to greet you back.

“Happy Anniversary, [Name].”

Per usual greeting, Albedo takes your hands in his to let them settle. Then, you let go to just feel as they glide across his skin. He closes his eyes to relish your caresses, nuzzling when you reach his face and touched his cheeks. From there, you felt his smile and it spurned yours.

However, as the alchemist opened his eyes, he had witnessed the spark of sadness in yours.

On your first anniversary together, Albedo crafted a special gift. A wooden easel held a blank canvas, or so it seems. If not for the colorful palette and wet brushes, nobody would spare it any glance or even thought. He guides you in front of him, encasing you in his arms and pressing his chest to your back. His lips whispered instructions almost seductively, soft and sensual as he lifted your hands to move them forward.

“Go ahead.” He implored your touch.

Fingertips make contact with what seems to be a canvas, but with bumps on it that definitely felt like braille. Your brows furrowed in confusion, unable to interpret it as anything. You can decipher some sort of pattern, but nothing in the braille alphabet comes to mind that makes sense.

“Don’t think in words, love.” Albedo advised, “Imagine it as you would paint a landscape.”

He is familiar with your art technique. After all, he has always been a fan since he first purchased your work at an auction. His keen observation noticed that the colors bloom from the center. Then, multiple layers come to refine the structure and control the shades. Once the painting is complete, the basic foundations are harder to notice but details never escape Albedo. To him, it felt like he was seeing two images in a single painting: one perceived by sight, and another perceived by heart—dual masterpieces for the price of one.

You follow his words and thus you begin to deduce a work of something.

The braille patterns made you think of Mondstadt’s flower meadows, petals of cecilia and seedheads of dandelions fluttering in the breeze. An orb that seems to be the sun is raised eastward with what appeared to be outlines of birds, aflight in the cloudy horizon. There are faint marks connoting mountains in the distance, and flowing swirls that felt like wave patterns along the coast. To further understand his message, you sought the center much like how you used to paint.

Albedo detects your newfound focus, aware that an image has been imprinted upon your mind.

“[Name],” he murmured tenderly, “I need you to keep your hands on the canvas. I will guide you in this next step. Do you trust me?”

You smiled meaningfully, “Always.”

A loving caress upon your skin is accompanied by a chaste kiss on your crown.

“I cannot give you the world—”

Then, the brailles moved.

“—but I can leave a piece of it in your hands.”

You quickly realize that the brailles were not made of ordinary material. Days and nights of listening to your lover’s random alchemy ramblings allowed you to learn a thing or two. This braille painting has been constructed with special elemental crystals. From the feel of it, they respond strongly to elemental energy—particularly yours and Albedo’s combined, both currently being channeled. Depending on the crystal, it can resonate with other elements.

Beneath your hands, the patterns moved in looping motion to signify that it was animated. Furthermore, the energy that resonated from every shard is almost alive. Anemo can be felt from the swaying of the dandelions, and dendro amplified the scent of the scattered cecilia across the grassland. Even the painted sun emits a comforting warmth due to hints of pyro, as if bathing the scenery with its light. The waves along the shoreline felt moist due to hydro, which resonated strongly with you—and for a short second, you actually miss Fontaine. The mountains are the familiar cold of cryo, which then registered for you that it was likely a reference of Dragonspine.

Just from this, your mind’s eyes can almost envision the outline of a city—one founded by Barbatos.

In Albedo’s eyes, the special formula for the paint which Sucrose helped him concoct had finally revealed itself. To outsiders, the canvas is nothing more but a lumpy surface. In truth, the blind will see its true form; and when given life via elemental energy, the rest will be unveiled. To you whom once knew the colors of the world, the simple animations of the image form a kaleidoscope that provides you melancholic nostalgia. By your fingertips, it certainly felt as if Albedo had given you a piece of the world that only you can see.

For this one moment, he and you can perceive the same world.

Tears gathered in your eyes yet a heartfelt smile radiantly shone upon your face. A sob of genuine happiness wracked your throat. As your knees begin to weaken, you leaned on the man that helped you see again—

—even if only a few seconds.

Albedo also smiled in relief, fully embracing you around the shoulders in support. He let you take in the moment while he basked under the blessing of your presence.

“If there is anything else you wish to see again,” he solemnly swore, “I will be your eyes and shall piously present its sights to you.”

At his oath, you abruptly let go of the painting and turned. Cupping his face in your hands, your lips eagerly meet his. Albedo returns your passionate amor with fervor, ever delighted to please you. He wishes to someday discover the truth of this world, as his master bade him to do. His one desire is that you would be there beside him when he does.

Even if destruction came by his hand, he already knows one truth by heart—

“The beauty of this world forever pales in comparison to you.”

DILUC RAGNVINDR is an uncrowned king raised as a noble gentleman of chivalry and gallantry. From the fiery red of his hair to his stern crimson glare, he upholds his aristocratic lineage with dignity. The cumbersome title of lord dictates the gravity of his obligations to Mondstadt. Whether as a nocturnal vigilante or as master of Dawn Winery, those who dare to threaten his home will face the wrath of his flames. Sinners who refuse penance shall have their blood paint the mighty blade of his claymore, as a furious firebird sends the wicked to retribution.

As a man coveted by many, he keeps his circle small and tightly knit. An outsider’s only chance to ever earn his favor is to either make themselves useful to Mondstadt, or by earning the approval of his more compassionate wife.

That woman is none other than you.

Diluc met you as a playmate in his childhood. His father, Master Crepus, was both a close friend and trusted business partner of your parents. Like the Ragnvindrs, your family specializes in the wine industry—specifically the medicinal values that are incorporated in liquor. Although your own father is from Mondstadt, he settled down in Liyue upon marrying your mother. Secretly, you and Diluc were arranged to be married. Everything worked out well since you both actually liked each other a lot. He was a very protective yet supportive friend, while you were a tactful and encouraging listener. When Kaeya had joined the family, the three of you became quite the inseparable trio.

Then, Crepus Ragnvindr died.

Everything happened so fast. Before you knew it, your fiancé chose to disappear and left only a single note for you as goodbye. It was not even a proper farewell, at least not the kind he made sure to give you every time. Even if there was little to no sincere romance in your engagement, you both respected each other as equals. However, his final note had completely staggered you.

“Don’t wait for me.” It said.

Such a heavy message in merely four words…

You understand what he means by it. He has made a decision wherein he would prefer to not involve you, and thus opting to let you go. The contract regarding the engagement was never too binding. Crepus had assured that either of you can break it off if you both reach such a consensus. However, the former head of the Ragnvindr Clan did not just choose any girl to be paired with his son. He specifically took interest in you because he always knew—if any woman can ever match his son and heir in terms of headstrong stubbornness, it can only be you.

With the patience of a saint, you graciously accepted Diluc’s decision. However, it did not mean you would back down so easily.

Honestly, you see it as poor manners to just leave things with a note. You have to just wait in the Dawn Winery so you can give him a proper scolding upon his inevitable return. Until then, you were more than willing to manage everything else on his behalf. The servants are ecstatic to find out you meant to stay despite their young master’s wishes. Your parents are also very considerate, only ever wishing for your happiness since then and now.

Under your supervision, Dawn Winery flourished and maintained dignity after the loss of its masters. You hold the cunning and integrity of any businessman worth their salt. Adelinde, Elzer, and the entire staff can attest that you are more strict than even the late Lady Ragnvindr—wife of Master Crepus.

Kaeya never confided to you whatever caused the fallout between him and his brother. However, he seemed so relieved and touched when you did not treat him differently. If anything, you seem to dote on him even more now—like a real older sister. He thus returns your kind and loving care equally, a bout of protectiveness that rivals your absent fiancé.

Years later, tragedy struck once again.

You were mistaken as the official Lady Ragnvindr by whichever enemies Diluc had made. They aimed to lure him out by means of threatening his supposed wife, taking you hostage. Despite being Visionless, you were far from a pushover. You did not go down without a fight and worked to plan your escape.

In the end, your captors thought you to be more trouble than your worth…

…and so, they aimed to kill you.

It is only due to Kaeya’s timely arrival this instance that you did not follow Crepus.

However, you did not get out of the incident perfectly unscathed. The brutality you suffered had caused a critical and permanent injury on your spine. It is with heavy hearts that the doctors informed you of the grim situation: you can never walk again.

Diluc promptly returned to Mondstadt when Kaeya relayed the news to him via letter. He had been so devastated to realize that you almost died because of him. He wanted to protect you by letting you go, but he underestimated your resolve. In his mind, he knew the only way to truly get you far away from him is to make you hate him. Upon finding courage to visit you, he doubled down on his determination when he left you years ago. You deserve better, and the life he could give you as Lady Ragnvindr will only be a disappointment. You deserve so much better than waking up to a cold, empty bed and waiting on late nights.

He opened the door to your room in his manor, ready to break your heart so you can leave him.

However, his hardened goal fell short.

You sat by the window, as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Even confined to a wheelchair, you remain smiling so warmly. Your enchanting gaze meets his crimson pair, and he melted at the sheer adoration you bestowed upon him. Your cheeks took a rosy glow, and your smile widened—lips moving to utter words of welcoming him back home, yet he cannot hear a thing. His only thoughts revolved on how badly he wanted to kiss you right now.

Diluc missed you so much, and hence he realized that he really is a fool.

How can he ever survive if he truly broke your heart, the most precious thing you entrusted to him?

“Marry me.” He said.

Much to his surprise, you only laughed and accepted—as if you always believed he would return to you.

It was truly laughable how easily you can weaken his resolve with a mere smile.

“It took you long enough, Master Diluc~!”

You winked at him as you laughed. Despite your lighthearted cheer, the redhead can see that the years apart took a toll on you. He crossed the room in graceful strides and he saw you more vividly. The bags under your eyes did little to dull their sparkle; the hollowness of your cheeks worried him but the rosy hue amplified their glamor; and your pallor was a little too pale for his liking, yet the freckles across your nose reassured him that you get enough sun on a daily basis.

Then, he bends down to hold you close and buries his face at the crook of your neck.

Your heart skipped lightly.

Then, you hugged him back—more tightly.

Diluc said nothing as he felt his shoulder get wet, and you did not make a sound as yours trembled.

“Welcome home.” You whispered.

He grits his teeth to fight against the tears.

“I’m home.” He murmurs.

The marriage started a little awkwardly. Three years had been a long time, and you both had changed in ways that put a strain on your dynamic. However, as you both learned to trust each other the way you did as kids, everything else flowed smoothly. You relied on him as he relied on you. Thanks to your endless patience, you managed to help your dear husband in anything that troubled his heart. At times, it is only by your gentle interventions that his overprotective tendencies can be quelled. It had become norm for the people of Mondstadt to see you at a cozy corner of Angel’s Share—beside the bar, whenever your husband took a shift. Any shenanigans are put to a stop by a warning glare that seemed more scathing than any other nights. None of the patrons—drunk or otherwise—dare to start any ruckus as long as you were present in the tavern.

There is nothing that Diluc kept from you anymore, as he claimed no more secrets. Although, he was curious when you steered clear if the topic is Kaeya.

“It’s not just your secret to share.” You reasoned.

The redhead felt his love and respect for you deepen at the claim.

Now, you sat in your husband’s office. While he was busy doing paperwork, you did embroidery on a silk pillow that got torn. However, there was a stifling air in the room that bothered him.

“What is it?” Diluc asked.

You raise a brow, “What do you mean?”

He stared back knowingly, “You have been redoing the same stitch for the past half hour. That only happens when you’re distracted; and you’re only ever distracted when something is troubling you.”

The redhead leans back on his chair, dropping his quill to cross his arms.

“So,” he continued, “what is it?”

You blushed at the fact you were caught so easily, but also flattered by how he is so attentive to you.

Diluc is then worried by your prolonged hesitance, gradually standing up from his chair. He walks up to you leisurely, kneeling by your side. His gloved hands take yours, mindful of your needlework as he placed it on the table. His vibrant eyes implore you to share your burdens, waiting and encouraging.

“I lied to you.”

He frowns at your blunt confession but said nothing, tilting his head to let you continue.

“On our wedding,” you reminisced, “you asked me what I wanted most so you could provide it. I replied that there was nothing more I could ever want since you asked me to marry you for real.”

Your right hand carefully broke free from his, rising to tuck his fringe away. Your palm rests on his cheek and your husband savored it with fondness. He then recalls being ready to arrange a grandiose wedding that day, remembering how much you rambled about being like a princess in your shared childhood. As a young boy, it used to grate on his nerves; but as your fiancé, Diluc found it necessary to pay attention.

Back then, he did not question it when you asked for a simpler celebration. After all, a lot has changed between him and you—for better and for worse.

“However,” you murmured, “there was one thing I had truly wished to experience with you.”

Your eyes stray away from his, drifting towards the unfinished embroidery pillow. His own eyes follow, and he immediately understands. The picture’s basic design depicts a pair of lovers dancing under the moonlit night. A gazebo frames their silhouettes while lampgrass grew around its base structure.

A wedding dance.

Diluc looks back up to you, smiling in exasperated affection. He then leans forward, taking you into his arms as he stood up. A mild squeak escapes your lips as your own arms clung to his neck, caught off guard by his sudden movement. Your husband steps out of the room while carrying you, yet offers no explanation whatsoever. Although you felt confused, it did not stop you from relaxing in his embrace and just leaning against him.

The redhead took you to the main foyer, and headed straight towards a small library corner. He dismisses the maid stationed to clean it, leaving you both in privacy. First, you were placed on the recliner near the fireplace. Then, he walked towards the old yet pristine gramophone. It belonged to his mother, he vaguely remembers. His father told him that she always loved to collect vinyls, a bittersweet sheen of unconditional love shining in his eyes.

The young lord wonders if the two of you would also remain as in love when you get older together.

“Diluc, what is this all about—”

You trailed off as waltz music began to play.

“When my wife wishes to dance,” he says, “what kind of husband am I to refuse?”

A suave smirk on his handsome face leaves you so utterly breathless. Your heart races, bursting with an unspeakable joy to call this man yours. Captivated by the sight of him, you can only watch as he strides back to you—charming as a prince straight out of a fairy tale book. His gloved hand is presented with a chivalrous bow, his rare theatric side being shown only for you—always only for you.

“May I have this dance, Milady?” He asks.

You gape speechlessly for a minute. A part of you was reluctant. How can you possibly dance in this circumstance? Nonetheless, you trust Diluc more than anything so you accepted.

“You may.”

Diluc gives a dazzling smile at your faith in him, and gently pulls you up. He expertly places your feet on his shoes, carrying your weight as you swayed. One of your hands is on his shoulder while one of his arms is wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close. Your respective free hands are entwined, inseparable and perfectly at ease.

The marital couple moved fluidly and gracefully. You entrusted your body completely, to be moved in this dance he led confidently. Your patience and trust are returned by his warmth and protection, cradling you in a chrysalis that hopes to let you flourish. He even dares to help you twirl, making the skirt of your dress flutter like the petals of a wild rose in bloom.

The dreamlike sequence ends as he dips you into an intimate position. Heartbeats skip in sync, never of fear but of exhilaration.

Your hands leave his, believing he would never let you fall even if you let go. His grip transferred to your back and your nape, eager to be your support. You caress his face and pull him down for a searingly passionate kiss. He indulges you wholly, taking all that you have willingly given him. Your fingers shook as they entangle with his red mane. With the ease of a man who wields a claymore, he lifts you up. Your arms held tight around his neck, tilting into a new angle to not break the kiss. The fervor is returned a hundred fold, as if Diluc wishes nothing more than to fuse his soul with yours.

You are the one who empowers his flames, igniting his heart as your chosen Ifrit.

He made a vow at the altar, and not even death can do you part anymore—

“The privilege to call you mine is an honor I cannot surrender to fate.”

KAEYA ALBERICH is someone painfully aware of the power in words, and uses it to his advantage. He is as mysterious as he is efficient at being the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius. The charisma he exudes can be as menacing as the frigid coldness of his Cryo Vision. The swiftness of his blade can be more merciful than the secrets he ruthlessly exploits. As much as he is admired by his peers, everyone can unanimously agree that his enigmatic ways leave them a little wary to trust him entirely. Nevertheless, the cunning of a flightless bird is just as deadly as the venom of a pit viper. A reluctance to comply is merely a sign to delve deeper.

In the carefree city of Mondstadt, only one has squared up to his level and defeated him—

—in every sense of the word.

You are the dainty little assistant of Lisa Minci, the resident librarian of Mondstadt. She slyly evades all attempts of divulging how and from where she met you. It is rumored she just found you sewing some of her worn books one day, and then decided that she has to have you as her assistant. The only other thing known about your relationship with her is that she can be extremely protective to the point of territorial. Similarly, nobody can fully understand the eccentricities demonstrated by the Witch of Purple Rose as much as you do. Since your employment, a peaceful synergy can be observed in the workings of the library and even the Knights of Favonius HQ.

The most notable thing about you is how you never limit your goodwill to work. Anyone you can reach is always on the receiving end of compassion. As such examples, Lisa has proudly introduced you to many of her prestigious friends. Since then, it had become a norm for them to see you.

Jean always ends up a little more relaxed with the cups of coffee you brew for her. You serve her tea as a silent insistence when it was time to rest. Albedo and Sucrose now have a habit of asking your referral in finding the best locations for any ingredients they would need. At random times, you appear around the corner to help Noelle in the most menial tasks and labors. Whenever Amber returns from her daily outriding, she would find you welcoming her by the gates with some food and water. Lastly, even Eula has begun picking you up to join her for lunch on weekends. You are the only civilian that never treats her differently, and actually seems to like her very much as a friend.

In a bout of poetic irony, the only one that seems to rarely receive your kindness was Kaeya.

Of course, you were far from unkind or cruel. You still greet him amicably every time you cross paths in the hallways or city streets. However, his shrewd gaze can detect your hesitance to interact with him for prolonged periods of time. Politely asking you about it did him no good as well. You only stared at him skeptically before shrugging, as if he should know the answer. A part of him questioned why it even bothered him so much, but perhaps it was a matter of ego. He knows himself well enough to be aware that it could be the reason he kept persisting on gaining your favor.

When Kaeya decided to tell Lisa about his situation, she had the gall to laugh at him.

“It’s because she sees right through you.”

Kaeya raises a brow, “I beg your pardon?”

Lisa smiles sharply, “My darling [Name] is an astute judge of character. It’s one of the reasons I adore her so much. Like you, she also knows her way with words. The more you talk while she listens, the more she compares the character she sees in your eyes and the persona that speaks with your lips. If they don’t match up, she will consider you to be too dangerous.”

For a moment, the Cavalry Captain felt his eyes darken defensively. A second later, they return to being detachedly bemused.

The Witch of Purple Rose catches the slip but does not comment about it. In fact, she willingly closes her eyes to let the man have his moment. However, she did continue to speak her piece.

“You’re not a bad guy,” she states, “and she knows that well. However, [Name] is the type who does not like to converse with people that refuse to respect the weight of the words they speak.”

A beaming smile is given by the librarian as she pats her colleague on his shoulder.

“Try speaking a little more honestly! It might earn you some brownie points.” She said.

Kaeya wanted to claim he is not going to bother and that he will just leave it at that. Alas, it seems he had found his match and could not resist your allure. In the end, he nodded before taking his leave.

To Lisa’s credit, her advice worked.

Obviously, Kaeya did not lay everything out in the open; but he became more sincere in his efforts to befriend you. To his pleasant surprise, you may be taciturn and reserved but it did not make you shy at all. If anything, you were quite bold for a pretty little damsel. He playfully flirted with you a few times and you were barely fazed. You even flirted back with teasing glances and fleeting touches that—he was impressed to admit—flustered him in shock. Your dollface can be deceiving as well. He had seen you pettily tattle to Lisa about patrons that give you a hard time. In turn, the mage trusts you to be the one to remind her of anyone who is late on their book returns. Thus, he watched you just peacefully sip tea while your employer terrorized the poor souls that earned her wrath with an innocent smile.

You rewarded the Cavalry Captain’s honest efforts by opening up to him a little.

It is here that Kaeya learned you were mute.

The cause was a very unfortunate birth defect when you were born prematurely. Your vocal chords did not grow correctly and almost suffocated you. The doctors were forced to remove it entirely via surgery so you can survive. Growing up, you became quite the bookworm because of this disability. You found solace in the immersion of reading the words you can never speak. It gradually turned you into a very talented scholar worthy of Lisa’s attention. Your nurturing ways with books and your preservation of comfort amidst the silence certainly gained merits.

Of course, your reserved nature did not mean you are to be underestimated.

The Witch of Purple Rose chose you as her personal assistant and sole substitute for a reason. It can be argued that you are potentially more frightening. You are the calm before the storm; and when you strike, no one ever sees it coming. Whenever hooligans think they can just steal books from the restricted section, every single one will be found hogtied and gagged on the Knights of Favonius’ doorsteps. A damsel you may appear but the only distress that can be felt is by the drunkards, who think they can harrass you without direct consequences. In fact, you made it your personal vendetta to discipline every member of Barbara’s fanclub and their stalker tendencies. A failure to comply forces them into public humiliation by wearing nun attires, and then prostrating themselves in front of Barbatos to beg for forgiveness.

Venti had an interesting view when he woke up from his nap on the statue’s hands.

The job of Cavalry Captain became that much more entertaining, and easier too.

Public ordinance is now easy to handle for all the patrolling knights, whom often need to tread lightly just to appease the common folks. Although the Acting Grandmaster would never say it outloud due to her soft nature, she was thankful for this subtle measures you have been making—especially in regards to her sister’s privacy and safety. Even the stoic Master Diluc seems to respect you since he actually makes effort to greet you more than he does any other stranger in the streets. Your drinks in Angel’s Share are discounted too, which is always a plus after a long day of work. Lisa took advantage of this perk just to tease.

As he got to know you, Kaeya finally arrived to a profoundly frightening conclusion.

He was falling in love with you.

No, he may have already fallen the moment you had turned into his newest fixation. The icy captain can recall Lisa’s words—how you judge people based on the character in their eyes, if it matches the persona that speaks. You actually looked at him and saw him with just a single glance; and when his words blurred the truth, his facade was already unraveling before your piercing gaze. You rejected him because he was denying the lost boy you see, and you embraced him when the charismatic captain found felicity in your companionship. You accepted both sides even if you knew nothing about either of them.

However, for all his clever ways in manipulating the feelings of others, Kaeya is powerless at the face of his own emotions.

Hence, the reasonable thing in his perspective is to simply run away from you.

It hurt you but it was something you also understood quite well. As mentioned, you were aware of Kaeya’s true character from the get-go. It was fine if this is really what he wants. You both lived your lives just fine when keeping your respective secrets. That should not change just because romantic feelings are now involved.

Lisa and your friends firmly believed otherwise.

Your doting older sister figure tells you one day that the elusive captain left a message. He says to meet him in Windrise, where Jean had put him on patrol for suspicious activity of the Abyss Order. In a twist of fate nobody expected, they even managed to get Diluc involved to make the information appear to be legitimate. The redhead claims he was getting sick of Kaeya's face brooding over you in Angel’s Share.

All else, as they say, was history when you were both given a chance to confront the truth together.

Now, Kaeya watches over your sleeping form on his bed—tuckered out from today’s work.

You are curled up to his chest, nuzzling his clavicle like a kitten. A delightful shiver ran through his spine every time your warm breaths hit his skin. Your left arm is draped over his waist while your right hand rested over his chest. His own arm cushions your head, bent by the elbow to poise himself up while he ran his fingers through your hair. The other one holds you close by the waist, legs intertwined so no space remains. The moonlight peeks through the curtains, basking you in afterglow that left him mesmerized every night. Leaning down, his lips tenderly kissed your brow as his embrace tightened possessively.

He grins as he felt your fingers move drowsily on his back, crumpling the blouse.

“Why are you watching me sleep?”

You drew special patterns to speak, blinking your eyes open to stare blankly at your lover.

He chuckles, bending down to give you an eskimo kiss while tracing words on your back as well.

“You look too beautiful to be true.”

You hummed in the form of a soft exhale, observing your beloved closely. Your hand leaves his back and reached up to his face, tucking his fringe behind his ear to see both of his eyes. It no longer concerns him to let you see his normally hidden eye, which flickered for a fraction of a second. He disclosed everything long ago. He has nothing else to hide, not from you at least—never again from you.

In fact, the language you were both using to silently communicate is from Khaenri'ah.

Kaeya invented the sign language of it and taught it to you. In public, people think it is just a cute secret between couples; but you knew better. There is a power in words, and Kaeya had entrusted you this in particular—a piece of his true self that only you can keep. Not even Diluc knew this much about him, as their bond of brotherhood shattered before he could make an attempt. Henceforth, you use this sign to talk with him privately and send messages only for your dear captain to decipher.

As you caressed his cheek, Kaeya sighed in perfect bliss. He leans towards your touch, turning his head to press a loving kiss on your palm. His own hand reached up to keep it in place. Delicately, his index finger traces another message on your knuckles.

“You’re not just a sweet dream, are you?”

Your eyes softened in understanding, smiling in hopes to alleviate his insecurities. Your hand directs his to your heart, much like how your other one stays above his own. Two hearts beat as one, delivering a mutual confession beknownst only to you and him.

Your lips moved and his unique eyes read them as if they held the meaning of life.

“I’m real, and I’m yours.”

Unable to help himself, Kaeya changes positions to loom over you. He pins your hands by the wrist on either sides of your head. You let him, locking eyes to wait until he regains his anchor to reality. As he straddles you, he leans down and his scarred eye glows with an unknown power. For a moment, the star in his misty blue orb sharpened into a slit. Then, his grip eventually loosens. Your arms soon take the chance to slither around his neck. You pull him down to your level, sensually slow to leave him in intense anticipation. Once he is a mere breath away, you lean up and forward.

Kaeya never fails to find sanctuary in your embrace, and salvation in your kiss. The taste of ambrosia is as addictive as the first time. He wanted more—needed more, even if it meant unequivocal demise.

One of his hands seeks one of yours, pressing against the mattress to interweave. A final message is traced as you both succumb to the passion that has waged wars since the dawn of creation.

“I love you.”

If the day of reckoning ever comes for him, the last hope of Khaenri'ah knows he does not stand alone.

Kaeya will always remember to seek out your light, and savor the hour of respite in your shadow. He holds faith in no god nor archon; but before you, he shall bend the knee in devoted worship.

This lost prince of sinners may be predestined for damnation, but he prays in your name—

“You are my northern star, the light that guides me back home.”

VENTI is a bard whose secrets are guarded by the lullabies of yesteryore and evermorrow. He holds the face of jubilant youth, yet his eyes tell a tale as old as time. While his voice mellifluously sings of tunes so spirited and free, his heart weighs heavy with the burden of an untold sacrilege. A couple thousand years can be a long time, yet the agony remains as fresh as the memories of a lucid dream. As he dons a smile that hopes to brighten the days and luminate the nights of Mondstadt, his soul belies the image of a nameless friend long gone. At times when the winds blew too coldly, he relies on the burning heat that drips down his throat—a taste so fine yet so bitter, like the freedom he idolizes.

Memories remind people what matters most, a life’s purpose to never forsake. However, more often than not, they come with the cruel regrets of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Henceforth, in tiresome days, the expense of living gets a little too much; and in sleepless nights, the weight of existing gets a little heavier.

Alas, when stars align just right, the wind will lead a pair of soulmates to find one another.

In Venti’s case, you found him.

It is actually very difficult to get him drunk, even if he acts otherwise. To be precise, he recovers quicker by getting sober minutes after he felt tipsy—and then, he would be downing another bottle. It is annoying for someone who just wants to forget his problems, but that is partially why he became accustomed to binge drinking. His rate of alcohol consumption would kill an average human, via alcohol poisoning, by the time he actually blacks out.

Amidst this cold and lonely night, the windborn bard was spared an ounce of warmth by a kind muse.

Venti woke up in a peculiar cottage that smelled of pollen and varnished wood. He heard the chirping of bluebirds, rousing him further away from his drowsy haze. A ray of sunshine peeks through the hanging cheap fabric used as curtains. He sits up, braids all messy with a very entangled bedhead.

As he stumbled out of the bedroom, the familiar sounds of Der Frühling beckoned him to the front porch. His veteran ears can attest that the notes are undoubtedly produced by a musician's hands, but a mere novice in the ways of the lyre. There was a harmonious flow in melody, yet the tone and pitch held little to no finesse in-between transitions. A sense of sheepish uncertainty distorts the song, but there was a certain charm in its dissonance.

He turns a corner, and there he saw you—

—a young dame sat upon a rickety swing, taming the bluebirds that sang for her strings.

The amused bard leaned against the doorway to watch the free show. His gleaming teal eyes stared blatantly, mesmerized by his supposed hostess. You wore an outfit that resembled his, but more modest and somewhat mismatched in color palette—an odd choice for a fellow bard. The only flashy thing about you is the Anemo Vision pinned onto your hair as it tied up your headband braid. It functioned as a hair ornament surrounded with cecilia and windwheel aster petals. A teal silk ribbon was mixed into your braid as its curled tail fluttered under your Vision ornament.

You seem to be inexperienced with the lyre, as Venti had confirmed upon seeing your performance; but you are still quite precise in your play. In theory, you hold enough knowledge to figure out which note works for a particular measure. Before he realized it, his own voice begins humming alongside the chirps of the gathered songbirds.

Alas, joining your small choir of avian creatures had startled them into flying away.

You also stiffened with a surprised jolt, practically snapping your head to look back at him. He does note that it was the birds’ exit that had shocked you, and not his soundly abrupt entrance.

“Ehe~!” Venti giggled nervously, “Sorry about that.”

You fumbled for a moment yet held the lyre firmly, careful to keep it steady. Standing up, you then walk over to him even though you shook in anxiety. Ever so tenderly, you returned his dearest Der Frühling as if handing over a precious baby.

Venti finds this heartwarming and endearing, having not met a fellow bard as considerate as you. He thus receives his lyre with gratitude, tracing its frame and plucking the strings. He marvels at the fact you even polished the instrument and retuned the strings.

“Many thanks, fellow bard~!” He chirped, “My name is Venti. May I know yours?”

You stared blankly at him for a moment, as if taking a few minutes to decipher his words. He spoke a little too quickly on purpose, patiently observing if you would prove his suspicions. As soon as you finally understood, you replied with some stutters in-between your syllables. It seemed more like a sound of uncertainty rather than a speech impediment.

“I-I am…[Name].”

A deaf virtuoso—the windborn bard believes you will make an interesting friend.

Ever since that day, Venti developed a habit of either visiting your abode or seeking you to hang out in the city. His consistent presence helped you be more comfortable in conversations. There was little to no stutters in-between your sentences now. As a bard whom prided himself in knowing all music of the past and future, the art of sign language is a helpful skill he utilized to pleasantly astound you.

The bard had never seen any mortal beam so bright when you smiled at him that day.

While you have gotten comfortable with him, Venti has also grown comfortable with you. There have been many incidents wherein his smiling mask just naturally came down around you. By your side, he felt more freedom than he has ever experienced in the past centuries. He knew it was dangerous to let this continue. The god in disguise has always been meticulously aware of his own feelings; and he was more than aware that he is falling for a mortal he will someday outlive.

However, he found you hard to resist.

Neither Venti nor Barbatos can hope to deny your profoundly unconditional love. What kind of god could reject such a heartfelt offering?

Despite your penchant for playing any available instrument, you preferred not to take center stage. In fact, your hidden knack for taming avian creatures is how you earn a daily living. Every songbird in the City of Freedom knows your tunes and can chirp them on command. This is due to your Anemo Vision, which has a unique ability that enables you to interact with the birds by means of frequency. Depending on how you control the vibrations in the breeze, they will follow like a choir does with a maestro.

You once dedicated a performance to Barbatos and the Four Winds. On that day, Venti heard his wisp brethren amongst the thousand winds croon at you in delight. He witnessed the silhouette of Vennessa’s falcon form hovering above you appraisingly, and a resounding roar can also be heard from Dvalin in his proclaimed lair. There were even the echoing howls of Andrius and his pack in Wolvendom.

This leads him to discover that your true talent lies in writing music. He had seen and read your musical compositions, grinning at every single one. With your permission, he even played a few in your home as payment for your gracious hospitality.

“You can negotiate with bards for this, you know.” He proposed, “I’m no businessman; but even I know letting other musicians play this will earn you a hefty sum of mora.”

You smiled sadly, “N-Nobody…w-would acknowledge music…composed by a deaf girl.” You confessed.

Venti turned solemn as he gazed at you. Although intimidating in its rarity, you are not perturbed by this abrupt change of mood. Your darling bard wears a mask on a daily basis that blurs truth and deceit.

You have become acquainted with them all.

He hummed playfully, “Now that just won’t do.”

You tilt your head confusedly, blinking in surprise when he suddenly takes hold of your hands.

“Ehe~!” He giggled, “Let me play…all of your music, [Name]. In fact, I’ll write…a lyrical ballad…for each of them. We’ll be the best duo…in Mondstadt!”

He had to slow down his speech a bit since he could not use his hands to help you keep up.

Thus, a new routine began for you two.

Venti kept his word. For the next few months, he only sang of the tunes you composed. A few of his regular listeners heard the slightest change in his playstyle. A part of him wished to smile bitterly as other bards and occasional playwrights praised his talent. He pettily made sure to charge thrice from them when he was requested for encores. These fools had rejected you just because of your disability yet they literally sing praises when he played your creations. Any artist worth their salt should have been able to see your potential at a glance.

Nevertheless, he ensured to always come home to you with bags full of mora whenever he plays your music in particular. You deserve nothing less than that, and he refuses to settle for anything else.

Regardless of this success, Venti recognized the melancholy in your eyes. You used to smile radiantly every time you watched him play. Your ears cannot hear the notes but you can feel the vibrations in the air. Your beguiling eyes relished the perfection of just watching Venti play to his heart’s content.

However, he was not blind to your inner turmoil and thus sought to relieve it.

“What’s wrong, Windblume?” He asked.

You hesitate, looking down at your feet. Gently, he props a finger under your chin to raise your head. A tender smile of encouragement implored you to speak your thoughts freely.

“I’m…frustrated.” You replied.

He says nothing but his smile does falter to a glaze of concern, waiting patiently to let you finish.

“I feel…so happy and grateful…when you play my songs.” You confided, “It’s finally being heard…and not just through the songbirds. People are now listening…to how it is supposed to be heard, and how I envisioned it to be played.”

Tears gather in your lovely eyes, overflowing with emotions too much for your heart. Your darling bard does not waver. He raises a hand to cup your cheek in his palm while his fingertips swept your sorrows.

“I want to…” you sobbed, “I want to hear you too!”

Venti held you protectively close, wishing more than anything else to shield you from this wild tempest of emotions. Alas, he was more than aware of the truth that the loveliest of rainbows can only come after the harshest storm. These are the feelings that must have festered for so long within you. People who can hear cruelly turn deaf to the ones whose worlds have been rendered silent. It was as if they do not deserve a voice if they knew not how it sounds. The thought infuriates the bard, reminding him of your beautiful songs discarded as nothing more than the passing chirps of songbirds.

He used his talents to let your ballads be heard.

Perhaps, he can use a different set of talents to let you hear his own?

You gripped onto Venti as if he was your lifeline, a part of you crumbling in sheer relief. He has always encouraged you to never be ashamed of what and how you feel. Whether it be deemed good or bad, all of it belonged to you. They make you human, the reason why he adores you above all. His gentle hand carded through your hair, skillful as when he plucks and strums the strings of Der Frühling. Pulling away slightly, his lips rested upon your temple and then your forehead. They stray towards your cheeks, a taste of salt from your tears.

Lastly, they hover above your own lips—centimeters apart, just a breath before they touch.

Teal eyes glow a shimmering green, both of you becoming enraptured by each other.

Venti needed you to say no more.

He takes you in his arms and spreads his wings. He delivers you to Windrise and its special tree, trusting him so wholly that you did not question him. Instead, you melted in his arms and enjoyed the warm breeze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Once he sits you down beneath the tree, Venti sits in front of you to place one of your hands right above his heart. It beats steadily yet faintly, present yet not quite—like the wind he controls. He summons Der Frühling and smiles lovingly at you. The crystalflies illuminate his youthful features, providing a mystical glow that enthralls his dearest muse.

“Eyes on me, meine liebe.” He mouths.

Closing his eyes, he begins his private performance.

You frown, wondering what he means to prove with this. Still, you obliged his wishes and kept your eyes solely on him. Your hand remained where he placed it, right over the constant beating of his heart.

Then, you finally noticed the gathering streams of energy around yourself and your lover.

Your Anemo Vision began to glow alongside Venti’s iconic braids. The winds hummed together with him, united under his influence. It is an enchanting image, dazzling you into stunned admiration.

Then, you finally hear him—vocalizing the precious melody you dedicated to him alone. He sang of his past, his present, and his future which are now all intertwined by the whispers of you.

/Gales of song, please stay by my side/

He opens his eyes and releases his lyre. It plays as it floats, and you are mesmerized by how you can hear it all. By power of anemo, he merges your heart with his while enabling your psalm to be immortalized amongst the winds. He reaches up a hand to keep yours on his chest while its pair entangles with the other. His forehead leans on yours, gaze softening as you wept in bliss.

White feathers rained down on the landscape of green and blue. Floating lights illuminated the dark, be they stars or crystalflies. The Statue of the Seven sung in accompaniment to the intimate confessions of Barbatos—to you and for you.

/Winds of love, breathe into my life/

You can hear him so clearly—his regrets, his woes, his dreams, and his love. You hear it all through the song you composed at the thought of him, which he plays at the memory of you.

A fated parting shall occur someday, but he will love no other the way he loves you.

Therefore, with a passionate kiss, he makes you a promise—

“Come what may, you are the melody my heart will always sing.”

DAINSLEIF perseveres as a maverick shaped by his resolutions and driven by conviction. After enduring five centuries, he has earned a fair few titles as his new names. However, these remnants can never piece together his whole existence. As the Twilight Sword, there is no longer a Khaenri'ah to consider as his homeland to protect. As the Bough Keeper, there is no true grace to his purpose while burdened by a curse that shall someday rob him of his own mind and soul. In the eyes of Celestia, he is no more than a sinner doomed to a fate which can be argued as worse than death. As for the rest of the world, he is no more than a listless wanderer whom holds an obsession with stopping a disgrace known as the Abyss Order.

To honor those he had failed in his homeland, he can only move forward in the best way he knew—even if it is against those he had formerly served. Souls of the condemned hold no genuine hope of ascending to Celestia, for they amount to nothing more than heretics that do not worship any god. Therefore, for those who dare to remember, erosion will befall upon them as a final kiss of damnation. Before that day comes for him, this foolish score must be settled so he can meet his demise without regrets.

There is no genuine reward at the end of this tedious and lonesome quest. He is aware.

Nonetheless, the accursed immortal human refuses to falter under the taunt of judgment. If damnation is what shall meet him at the end of this quest, then he shall do it on his own terms. For if he must also end without his resolve, then there will truly be nothing left of him and Khaenri'ah.

There had been instances aplenty wherein the divine is likened to the flowers blossoming across Teyvat; and as a lonesome wanderer, he has grown accustomed to these tragic folklores.

The God of Dust named Guizhong left behind a quiet legacy amongst the glaze lilies. Songs which keep them abloom become tributes to her name.

The Goddess of Flowers known as Nabu Malikata had left her remnants within the padisarahs. Even if not as they were anymore, they serve as a memoir.

Godless they may have been, the glorious nation of Khaenri'ah also held pride over a particular flower—the Inteyvat. Alas, nobody but the former Twilight Sword retains the awareness to recall whom they represent the most.

“My memory has all but faded completely,” a voice murmurs piously, “but I will always remember how much she too loved these flowers.”

Dainsleif spoke not of Lumine here, although she does remind him of the one he reminisces. He dares say travelling with her had been the closest to home, a feeling of warm comfort. However, it never was the same exact happiness he sought in another—a mere ghost in his past. The lost historical relics in Sumeru speak of her as the last Eclipse Princess, whom was hailed as the Heretic Saintess. However, to him, she was the woman he dearly cherishes to this day…

…and the one he laments most for failing to protect in the bout of cataclysmic calamity.

Indeed, the Bough Keeper realizes; this accursed immortality is a fitting punishment for what Celestia deems a sinner. For he can forsake everything, but anything he has left of her will vividly linger. The doomsday of his own reckoning shall be when that too is ripped away from him.

Until then, he will dream of her. Until then, he will foolishly hope for the day they meet again.

Then, like a prayer to a nonexistent god, answers came in the ethereal form of you.

You met Dainsleif on a stormy night. In fact, he just found your cabin in the woods to seek a temporary shelter—injured and knocked unconscious. He was already half-delirious from a high fever, and it did not take a genius to know the man had a rough week. It is not out of kindness that you nursed him back to health, but due to a selfish motive to figure him out.

“Who are you?” You mumbled.

It seems he was not entirely out of it since he still managed to respond clearly.

“Dain…sleif…”

As soon as he muttered back, he eventually fell limp in your arms. For those brief seconds, there was a swelling ache upon your chest—nostalgia. A chilling tingle ran through your spine, like the touch of an invasive ghost on your skin—melancholy. Then, it spreads as smoldering heat to your veins as if to ignite your bloodstream—passion.

“Dainsleif, huh?”

The name felt like velvet on your tongue. His clothes and features were all too familiar to you—a fellow kinsman from Khaenri'ah. However, your eidetic memory never once brought you to a conclusion about this man’s identity. Regardless, your body reacts as if begging for your mind to catch up in recognition.

Even as you tended to him, nothing clicked.

“Your Highness…”

His voice weakly called, raspy and strained as if to choke it out. Your star-shaped pupils dilate as they meet his own hazy glare. His hand was reaching out to you, looking yet not truly seeing.

Alas, you made no move to truly stop him and remained awkwardly staring back.

“You’re dreaming, Sir Dainsleif.”

As if hearing his name from you brought comfort, he settles down again. His eyes start to close but now his hand found yours resting by his bedside. You recoiled yet his grip was oddly firm for a deeply ill patient. Perhaps, you can allow this until he gets some real rest.

When he recovered, Dainsleif vanished as abruptly as he barged into your life.

The next time you met again, it was your turn to be the one in need.

Dainsleif finds you in a clearing of soot and frost, holding a young man desperately. It was as if a clash of fire and ice had occurred under the rain. You look up to him, stars in your eyes shimmering with panic and sorrow. Without a word, he aids you by carrying the unconscious male and leading you back to the cabin. You made no reaction other than grasping onto his cloak tightly, like a lost child.

Despite not wishing to overstay his welcome, the Bough Keeper chose to stay for the night. You were unresponsive to him, as if your mind had shut down completely. A vague memory of a person so similar to you made Dainsleif familiar to the situation. Thus, the task of healing your patient fell to him until you could regain your composure.

“Please be well, Kaeya.” You murmured.

Dainsleif did not pry about your business, giving you the same respect you had done for his privacy. It did, however, astonish him when you took hold of his wrist and dragged him outside with you the next day.

The man named Kaeya stirred awake.

Befuddled, the former Twilight Sword kept silent as he watched from afar with you. Kaeya ate the warm meal you prepared on the table, and mixed emotions flickered in his eyes as he did. His head turned to observe everything in the cabin, searching almost as desperately as you appeared last night. Numerous dreamcatchers and embroideries decorate the walls in a contradictingly systematic manner. The more he analyzed, the more he remembered his childhood—as if your crafts gave him pieces of long forgotten memories. Then, he slowly stood up and made his way to a periwinkle dreamcatcher designed with a pavo ocellus constellation.

A single silver-blue eye gazed out the window, nearly catching your own gaze—

—but you ducked down behind the huge boulders and pulled Dainsleif with you to hide.

Kaeya got his things back and left a small note of gratitude for your care. Wordlessly, he left the cabin with the dreamcatcher now hanging on his belt—right beside his Cryo Vision. He looked back over his shoulder only once to give a bittersweet smile.

“Farewell, sis.” He whispered.

A humming zephyr delivered his message, and then he went back to Mondstadt.

Dainsleif sat down beside you for an entire hour, a mix of pity and empathy. When clarity returned to your eyes, he rose to take his leave. Once again, he was halted on his tracks by your hand grabbing onto his own gloved one.

“Hey,” you said, “do you mind if I go with you?”

Against his better judgment, the cursed immortal agreed after a minute of contemplation.

This newfound journey together has a very tedious beginning, mostly attributed to you. Everything was strange and nothing felt safe, which was expected because you both never stayed in one place. You, whom sought solace in consistency, were always forced to adapt to something new. Sleeping became a chore because you felt every small pebble and thin blade of grass pressing against you. It is by the mere thoughtfulness of your companion that you got a semblance of rest. Dainsleif always covered you in his cape and was willing to hold you soothingly, as if he knows just how to calm you down. There has been moments wherein you had tantrums, and some meltdowns that delayed some plans. Other days, you shut down completely and only wake back up to reality after a day or two.

Dainsleif was shockingly very patient with you, never berating and ready to soothe whenever you are in distress. He never once pushed you to go back. Only once, he offered to take you somewhere to settle after a very bad episode.

“No, I can’t!” You exclaimed, “I have to keep moving. I have to…keep going. Make sure…nobody finds me.”

It was unspoken that you were specifically running away from the City of Freedom, all for avoiding your your younger brother. There is a destiny that kept you both apart even when you mutually wish to be reunited. As children of Khaenri'ah, the former knight can take a guess what that sort of fate presents.

Since then, your travel companion did not question your decision anymore.

Without prompting, Dainsleif seemed used to your symptoms. It was almost eerie how he knew exactly what to say and do in every situation that involved your condition. He makes effort to prepare the same meals that you wish to have every day, and only light fruit snacks at night because you get very restless otherwise. At times he wanted to keep going, he stops himself to make camp for you first on the same evening hour before scouting ahead. He only allows himself to be gone for exactly 45 minutes, which was your limit to being alone whenever you both decide to camp out rather than checking into an inn or hotel. Whenever a wave of unease hits, he keeps a bag of materials that either lets you weave dreamcatchers or tinker an antique you scavenged in the ruins you passed. Every time your mind begins to close off, he sits down with you and holds your hands to meditate. When you need space, he keeps his distance; and when you need companionship, he keeps you close.

“How?” You ask.

Dainsleif raises a brow as he looks down at you. It was in the middle of Lantern Rite as you both watch the festivities from a nearby hill. After indulging in a few stalls, you calmed by playing with his fingers as your head rested on his lap. He knows the meaning to your one-worded inquiry, and he wonders how to answer you truthfully.

“I knew someone similar to you.” He said.

You sat up before blankly staring into his eyes, stars meeting stars. Tilting your head, a flash of curiosity brought light to your emotionless gaze.

“The princess…?” You asked.

The Bough Keeper blinked in surprise.

“You dreamed of her a lot when we first met.”

Your statement made him look away bashfully, a bit embarrassed to be reminded.

“Was she important to you?” You asked.

At this, he looks at you in the eyes. His star-shaped pupils practically gleam with an emotion you could not read—or perhaps, could not comprehend.

“She is my dearest one.” He declared.

Normal people probably would have felt jealous at that confession. He even used a present tense to show that his feelings have not wavered.

You and Dainsleif never gave a label to this peculiar relationship, but you hold a mutual understanding that it had grown to more than just friends. It was a development nurtured by meaningful exchanges and secretive affections. The sentiments are far from platonic or familial, that much is sure.

That night, when you released a lantern, you made a fleeting wish—

—not to the gods, but to the princess.

“Please look after Dainsleif.”

Meanwhile, the Twilight Sword fondly gazes upon your form. The image of your past self overlaps with the present. He recalls the ever sleepless nights of guarding you in the tower. Starlight showered upon your figure leaning by the windowframe. Delicate hands reach out to set free artificial crystalflies that glow as wisps of moonlight. A breath of laughter is echoed in the lonely room, and then he is blessed by a smile more divine than Celestia.

The memory flickers as the silver starlights are replaced by golden lanterns, and your humble self stood in place of the estranged saintess—

—but that smile remains.

Morning welcomed Dainsleif with the strange sight of you looming over him. With practiced ease, he resumes calm as he let you do as you please like it was nothing unusual. He knows of your quirks just as you are aware of his boundaries. There is mutual trust of consent that tells which actions would be acceptable anytime. He did gulp a little nervously as his drowsy eyes analyzed you. His hands twitched but he willed them to stay in place despite his inner yearning.

Disheveled, you were straddling him while still in your nightgown. Your hair was messily draped over your shoulders, creating a curtain around the blond man beneath you. A glazed veil engulfs your eyes like a dreamy countenance of a faraway reverie.

“Dain…”

“What is it, [Name]?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“A dream, you say?”

You nod, leaning down almost conspirationally yet the expression on your face remains unreadable. A gasp hitched in his throat as your lips strayed to his ear, whispering shakily—

“I remember, Dain.”

Realization struck him.

Dainsleif switches positions with you yet he receives no protest. His ungloved hands cup your face in order to meet your eyes with his own beseeching pair. You see his visage, unmasked and vulnerable, that longingly wish for your approval.

You nodded.

Dainsleif claims your lips in ardent greed, and you responded in eager devotion.

Intertwined, redamancy is bliss for the reunited knight and his only princess—

“Your heart is the only other half that can ever complete mine.”

[lowkeychenle]

In Your Dreams [ZCL] (M)

Description: What started as innocent phone sex hotline stuff (if that can ever really be innocent?), you get an offer you just can't refuse...you just have to be a little sleep deprived ;) | Part of @jenoslutie's 1-800-SLASHERS collab project!!

Genre: smut

Content Warnings: what isn't in here no but really, explicit unprotected sex, mentions of phone sex, this sex literally takes place in a dream i mean he's freddy c'mon, KNIFE PLAY!!!, blood play?? I mean not really PLAY but a bitch gets cut and we like it, use of names pretty, slut, (not sure if there's anything else lol), somnophilia this is just as much of a mind fuck as it is a physical fuck

Word Count: 1,625 (I got a little carried away...okay?)

Pairing: Zhong Chenle (pretending to be Freddy Kruger LOL) x Reader

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

(A/N: I'm sooo sorry this is just not my best :'( but long live the Chenle stans and happy (late) Halloween)

Everything started out the way it was meant to. What else happens when your friend introduces you to an (admittedly odd) phone sex service with your favorite slashers? Of course, you follow through with it. Only…you might have followed through with it a little too much.

Obsession took over, and before you knew it, you’ve been calling Freddy every Saturday night for the past two months. His requirements are quite simple: show up to the call after staying up for at least twenty-four hours straight, and be ready for your mind to be just as fucked out as your body.

There’s…something about pleasure when you’re tired that heightens it to a whole new level.

This weekend, you’re doing things a bit differently. As one of his most ‘loyal’ customers (his words, not yours), he offered you an opportunity that isn’t typically part of the list of options.

The most you’ve been able to do prior to this is a video call, which always leaves you craving more. You have no idea who the man behind the metaphorical mask and voice modulator is, but you sure as hell wish you could find out.

So, today, you’re going to some sort of facility. He told you to show up after 48 hours of no sleep, and the employees would hook you up to a machine that would give him access to your dreams, even though he’s far away. Nothing that happens in the dream is supposed to happen in real life, so you saw no harm in it.

One of the guys keeps a keen eye on you, the deep brown of his gaze drinking you in. Something about him feels familiar, but you ignore it. His jaw is strong and firm, and his hair is parted down the middle to expose his forehead.

Exhausted, you find it easy to fall into slumber as soon as you’re hooked up to the machines. When you wake in darkness, you think someone’s just turned the lights off. But the more you move around, you realize how vastly empty the room you’re in is. You’ve successfully been brought into a dream—one that Freddy controls.

Creepy music starts flooding around you, almost engulfing you completely in invisible waves.

One, two, Freddy's coming for you.

You hear footsteps, but you don’t feel afraid. The idea of him doing whatever he wants to you in a dream is as close to you getting it in real life, and you’re dying for him to show you what he’s really made of.

The lyrics continue, and eventually he comes into your view. His face is obscured by shadows, so all you can see is the sharp outline of his face, the prominence of his features, but no real details.

“You’re not scared.” His voice is warbled, but you’re unsure if that’s from a modulator or from the lack of sleep making you dizzy.

“Too tired,” you mutter, stumbling on your feet as you move a few steps back.

When he lifts his hands, you see the blades on them and your throat goes dry. You’ve seen them on video before. He’s given explicit detail on what he’d do to you if he had access. And here you are, dumb enough to give him just that.

When he moves toward you, he’s a blur, and soon enough, his hand cradles the back of your neck. The cold metal rests against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. He could shred you to pieces with the slightest movement.

“You should’ve run while you still could.” He clicks his tongue, humming quietly. “You’re mine now. You won’t be waking up, pretty.” Heat spreads between your legs without any real reason. Anyone in their right minds would be terrified of a stranger in front of them, but your exhaustion has you compliant.

While you feel him everywhere, the sensation is numbed by the dreamscape. It’s not enough and you want to be closer.

“Whatever I want to happen here does, you know that, right?” he whispers, dragging the tip of his blade across your pulse.

“Freddy.” It comes out as a sigh, and you roll your hips forward.

The sharp edge presses just a bit harder, enough to create the tiniest nick in your flesh. “Here, you call me Chenle.”

“What are you waiting for, Chenle?” Your eyes are barely able to stay open, but the world around you begins to morph as soon as the words leave your mouth.

When the interior of your house forms around you, your jaw drops. Fear finally begins to set in, and as much as you hate it, it makes your cunt throb with need, too. How does he know all of this about you?

You gasp in surprise when one swift slide of his hand has your clothes falling from your body in shambles. He cuts through them like butter, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless to the man in front of you.

You begin to shake, but his lips are on yours within seconds. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you take it with a quiet moan. Cold air swarms you, and next thing you know, your back is slammed against the kitchen island.

Something cold stings across your hips as he lifts you up onto the faux granite like his own personal ragdoll. The brain fog of being so exhausted has you comprehending things happening to you almost minutes later, but one thing that’s been clear to you from the start is the way you crave him. Your previous phone calls have left you obsessed, pining after a man whose face you still can’t see.

You press your thighs together to try and get friction, but he wrenches them apart. You hiss at the pain of the knives skimming your skin, and when you look down, crimson swells beneath his touch.

“Listen to me, pretty girl, or I’ll do more than cut up your legs.”

He takes a step back and, through your daze, you watch him rid himself of his clothes. Your eyes threaten to flutter shut, but you don’t want to look away from him. Everything sways in your dream, the edges of the world around you blurring as he finds his way back to you.

Without warning, he pushes his hard cock inside you, and with a loud moan, you crumble into his chest. You have little control over the way you move, but God, does this feel real. Everything else in your dream feels muted, but you notice the way he fills you.

He stretches you out more than you’ve ever been, and if you hadn’t been dripping for him, you know it would’ve hurt. When he bottoms out, his breathing shudders, and his hand slides down your body. One of his blades taps against your clit, making you jolt at the cold sensation.

“Look at you,” he says in a condescending tone. “You shouldn’t have fallen asleep, slut. I have the advantage here.”

He throbs buried deep, the rub against your walls sending you even further into delirium. Whatever the hell this is, you’d do it over and over again. You truly are helpless. You’re at his disposal, but you don’t care about any of that as long as he’s reaching all the spots you never even imagined could be found.

Pleasure engulfs you, and between exhaustion and his lips pressed to your neck, you’re floating on a cloud. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him closer to you.

His lips move like he’s talking to you, but lightheadedness takes over. You can’t hear him. All you can do is feel. The subtle dig of the sharp metal on your thigh, his teeth bruising all over your neck and hips smacking into yours.

You don’t want to wake up.

Finally, his voice breaks through your trance. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” His free hand slips between you two, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

A weak, broken moan leaves your mouth, filling the area and echoing around the dreamscape. Your body is seven steps ahead of you, meaning you barely recognize how hard your orgasm wracks you until your vision sways further. Knots tighten in your stomach, stretching like a rubber band until the tension snaps.

The blades score up your thigh, as his hips buck until his tip kisses your cervix. Euphoria mixes with pain, and you swear you’re locked in your high for minutes as you convulse below him.

His jaw falls open as he fills you in spurts. The shadows covering his face fail only briefly, showing you the perfection of the man behind the darkness.

It’s the man you saw earlier.

Maybe you imagined it, because before you can reach out and touch him, you’re slammed back into your waking world.

Panting, you sit up and clutch a hand over your chest. You look around hesitantly, as if you’re expecting him to be in the room with you.

Your heart races in your chest. Somehow, you’re wide awake now, as if you’ve made up for all 48 hours you’ve missed in sleep.

Until you look down at your lap.

Your jeans are soaked with red.

You slide out of the seat you're rested in, and cry out in surprise when you realize how shaky your legs are.

What the fuck?

Everything was supposed to be fake. You feel a distant throbbing between your legs, and discomfort follows as you make your way to the bathroom. As soon as you close and lock the door behind you, you unbutton your jeans and pull them down to your knees.

The scratches from the blades on his fingers are fresh on your skin.

[daechwitatamic]

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price {coming soon!}

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

//

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

Teaser:

The Queen is seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best. 

“I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is. 

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands. 

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat? 

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years. 

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“Min Yoongi. The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

Posting this Friday, January 12th - please look forward to it and the rest of the collab pieces!!