#they should move these to spring/fall or simply not leave the house | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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Merlin goes home for a little while, determined to enjoy a well-earned vacation;

Camelot immediately falls apart, with the sole exceptions of Guinevere and Gaius.

Merlin knows Arthur really well.

Which just means he knows exactly how to get him to let his servant go home for two weeks to visit his mother and relax a little:

“You just don’t want me to go because you know you can’t cope without me! Look, if you want to come with me, that’s fine, but you’ll struggle just as much there as you would here because I refuse to act as your servant in my own home.”

Arthur turns red, looking outraged as he loses the ability to speak. Merlin turns around before The King can see his satisfied smirk, tidying around the prat’s chambers with exaggerated annoyance as he just waits for the inevitable-

“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of the Kingdom will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot.”

Merlin grins to himself before schooling his face back into annoyance and turning around with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly:

“Fine!”

The servant decides that he’d better leave, what with the way he was struggling to keep the victorious grin from his face, so without waiting for a response, he “storms” from the room, slamming the door behind him as dramatically as he’s able when he hears Arthur yell:

“FINE!”

Merlin sets off at the beginning of the next week. Gaius had raised a disapproving eyebrow when his ward had told him how he’d gotten Arthur to agree to such a long vacation, but didn’t say anything. They both knew that the elderly physician thought it was funny.

Gwen and Morgana make sure to see him out of the castle gates with big hugs, and whilst all of the knights were meant to be training, it came as no surprise to anyone when Gwaine slacks off for half a candle-mark to say goodbye as well. Mordred shoots him a quick goodbye across their mental link as the servant walks away from the city, after promising Merlin that he would warn him if anyone was in any serious danger (”Serious danger only, Mordred, I mean it. If I get called home because Arthur is throwing some sort of tantrum, then I’ll act out your destiny for you.”).

Merlin’s journey goes smoothly. The world was hovering in the junction between Spring and Summer, but with a little magical manipulation, the Warlock had no trouble staying warm and keeping his feet beneath him on the uneven path. Unsurprisingly, the young man is a lot less clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his magic locked away so tightly.

Two days after his departure from Camelot, his mother is greeting him outside her little house with a long hug and a wide grin, stroking a hand through his hair as she welcomes him home.

Coincidentally, that’s also about the time things started going to shit for everyone else.

It was just after noon when Elyan had to be carried to Gaius’ chambers, his whole body juddering as he struggles to draw breath, the lack of oxygen from his throat closing up mixed with the panic making his brain go fuzzy.

Percival holds him up from one side and Leon holds him from the other, the two of them bursting through the physician’s door just as Elyan’s eyes roll back in his head. Gaius looks up suddenly, obviously startled by the abrupt intrusion, but he swiftly focuses, eyes wide and assessing as he quickly points them to a patient pallet:

“What happened?”

The two knights lay him down as carefully as they can before standing out of the way as Leon forces out an answer, trying to catch his breath between words:

“I don’t know, servants brought lunch out whilst we were training so we stopped to eat and he just started... wheezing. We thought he was choking at first but he said he couldn’t breathe. Has... has he been poisoned? We stopped everyone from eating.”

Gaius had gathered a handful of odd looking dried leaves the moment Leon mentioned the food, recognising the symptoms of an allergic reaction and putting two and two together immediately. He crushes them in his hands quickly, knowing he didn’t have time for a proper mortar and pestle as he shoves the crumbs into Elyan’s mouth, following through with a vile of something green and gross-smelling

He massages the odd concoction down Elyan’s throat as best he can around the swelling, and lets out a relieved smile when the knight’s eyes blow wide open and he chokes slightly before swallowing it all, grimacing at the taste but breathing deeply as his airways open again.

Leon and Percival let out similar breathes of relief when Elyan begins breathing again, chuckling breathlessly at his disgusted groan. The door bursts open again before anyone can say anything, and Arthur strides in, his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes implying he had sprinted across the castle in his panic.

He spots Elyan on the pallet, his deep breaths interspersed with the odd cough, and his eyes widen even further as he looks to Gaius for an explanation:

“A servant told me something was wrong, what happened?!”

The King loses a little of the tension in his shoulders when Elyan waves a thumbs-up in his vague direction, but still looks frantically between the two knights and the physician as he waits for an answer. Percival wordlessly moves to Elyan’s side, running a hand up and down the man’s arm as Leon looks to Gaius expectantly:

“He had an allergic reaction, likely to nuts in the food. He should be fine, but he needs a day or two of rest, and to come back to me immediately if his throat swells again.”

Arthur sags in relief, nodding his approval of Elyan’s needed bedrest, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he lets out a knowing noise:

“Of course! I forgot about his allergy, it hasn’t been an issue since we were kids.”

Gaius nods knowingly and begins reorganising the jars he had knocked over when the knights had startled him:

“Hmm. I imagine he watched what he ate carefully when he was travelling, but Merlin keeps an eye on all of your food now.”

Leon frowns slightly as he tilts his head in confusion, but Arthur beats him to the punch, asking incredulously:

“What do you mean, Merlin keeps an eye on our food?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, holding in his smirk as he slowly replies:

“Well, Merlin is usually the one to bring food out to you when you train, is he not? And on days he can’t he always speaks with the kitchen staff to double check what food is going where. Sir Elyan is not the only one with an allergy, My Lord. Merlin always makes sure any food the seven of you are given is safe. He has a tendency to check the Lady Morgana’s meals as well, whenever he’s able.”

Arthur is too taken aback to reply, his mouth hanging open, but that is when Percival looks up from his place at Elyan’s side, a confused frown on his face:

“Why?”

Gaius doesn’t manage to hold his smile in at that, looking between the three knights, and Elyan, who has just about managed to regain his breath:

“To avoid situations like this, I imagine, and to check for poison. It’s not uncommon for assassins to try and lace the royal’s food with something or other.”

Arthur finally shuts his mouth, only to open it again, speaking slowly:

“So... Merlin checks all of our food?”

Gaius nods:

“Religiously, Sire.”

Leon and Percival just shrug, adding it to their list of Weird Things About Merlin That They Should Be Grateful For, and Elyan smiles goofily from his place on the bed (whether it was the lack of oxygen or something funky in the vial, the knight didn’t know, but he was definitely still feeling a little... odd), but Arthur just frowns deeper, muttering a distracted “Take it easy.” to Elyan before walking stiffly from the room.

The King makes quick work of the journey back to the council meeting, desperately trying to persuade himself that this was nothing to do with him not being able to cope without Merlin. Elyan was the one not coping, clearly. Merlin was still wrong and stupid and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he was gone until Gaius brought him up (a lie, he missed him terribly, but shhh).

Leon and Percival look to Gaius in confusion when Arthur had almost stormed from the room, and the Physician simply smiles again, the amusement shining clearly in his eyes:

“Merlin persuaded Arthur to let him take a holiday by heavily implying that he couldn’t cope with Merlin’s absence.”

Percival snorts with laughter and Leon raises an eyebrow as he grins:

“Arthur took that as a challenge then, I suppose? Two days in and we’ve already got The King sprinting from meetings because a knight has collapsed from an allergic reaction... because Merlin wasn’t here...”

Gaius just nods, and Percival mutters an amused:

“This will be entertaining.”

Arthur steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that the next mini disaster, a few days later, was also down to Merlin’s absence.

Ok, so maybe it was because Merlin wasn’t here, but ultimately, it was Gwaine that messed up, not Arthur. So it didn’t count.

The knight came back from a night patrol that he’d taken with The King with an infected gash on his arm. Arthur grins teasingly as he describes to Gaius how the knight had tripped on a loose cobblestone and scratched his arm on the sharp edge of a stray cart at the beginning of the patrol, and Gaius hums disapprovingly as he unwraps the scrap of fabric Gwaine had used as a bandage:

“Did you not have any medical supplies in your pack? Or did you think it best to let it get infected so I had to wake an hour before dawn to deal with it?”

Gwaine swings his dangling legs back and forth from where he sits on Gaius’ table, pouting sheepishly as he admits:

“I looked, but there wasn’t anything helpful in there, usually the armoury-hands have them stocked up for the patrols, I guess they missed mine.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s seeming ineptitude, but his scolding is interrupted before it even begins when Gaius shakes his head in disagreement:

“Hmm. The servants that work in the armoury only tend to check the packs every few weeks, and even then they only check if they need any repairs. Merlin is the one with easier access to patrol rotas, so he’s the one who stocks them up on a day to day basis.”

Gwaine just nods in understanding, as if he should’ve expected that, but Arthur’s smile drops as he unfolds his arms, getting over his annoyed speechlessness in a matter of seconds:

“You’re telling me that Merlin, my personal manservant, is responsible for all the knights’ patrol packs?”

Gaius finishes cleaning Gwaine’s wound, muttering a quiet apology when the knight hisses at the first poke of the needle, speaking slowly as he focuses on making sure the stitches were neat and uniform:

“No, Sire. Technically the knights are meant to take care of their own packs, but Merlin is a paranoid man, he likes to double check things to make sure everyone has what they need. I suppose some people got used to having it done for them.”

Gwaine winces abashedly, making a mental note to remind the others to check their packs before their next patrols, but Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and immediately accepting that this little incident was therefore Gwaine’s fault, and not down to Merlin's absence.

The voice in his head sounded a little doubtful, but he ignores it, choosing instead to chide his rebellious:

“Do try to pay attention to your own responsibilities, Sir Gwaine, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to you because you’re unable to complete your own simple tasks.”

Gwaine just sticks his tongue out petulantly, looking away from The King before he can see the blonde’s rolled eyes. Arthur huffs at his childishness, turning around to cover his grin and speaking over his shoulder as he walks from the room:

“You will be on time for once, Gwaine, training starts in a few hours and I want to see you bright and early.”

Gwaine just smirks, waiting for the door to shut behind Arthur before moving his sly, curious eyes to the physician in front of him:

“He’s missing Merlin, then?”

Gaius just gives him a knowing glance before looking back down at the now stitched gash, gathering bandages:

“I’d imagine so, though he’d never admit it. Merlin implied that Arthur wouldn’t cope with his absence,-”

Gwaine interrupts him with a laugh:

“Hence his insistence that it was entirely my fault?”

Gaius nods wordlessly, and Gwaine snorts, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Meanwhile, Arthur stalks back towards his chambers, eager to get out of his armour and get into bed; Gwaine had training in a few hours, but so did he, and he needed at least a little sleep. He purses his lips in annoyance as his gaze falls upon the clinical cleanliness of his room... George had been in then.

Look... Arthur being used to a slightly messy room did NOT mean he depended on Merlin. And Gwaine not being used to having to actually organise himself ALSO didn’t mean that Merlin was... ok. Maybe Gwaine relies on Merlin a little.

So that’s Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine, two of The King’s most trusted knights, who can’t cope without Merlin. But Arthur is doing just fine. It’s been half a week and he is just. Fine.

Just fine.

It was the next day that things began going wrong a little more... drastically.

George wakes Arthur up for training on time because of course he does. Arthur had found himself losing out on a lot of sleep without Merlin insisting he go to bed at a reasonable time, and waking him up late; Merlin had gotten into the habit of snatching Arthur’s paperwork away and holding it out of reach until The King agreed to go to sleep, and somehow manages to fit Arthur’s entire morning routine into half a candle-mark. George would never snatch away Arthur’s paperwork, and he takes so much longer in the mornings meaning Arthur has to wake up earlier.

Not that Arthur would ever admit to enjoying his and Merlin’s unorthodox routines.

Eight more days to go, and he’s fine.

At least... that’s what he thought until a nameless guard approaches the training field, waving him over from his spar with Mordred. Arthur strides over quickly, annoyed at the interruption and nodding at the guard to speak as he drinks from his water-skin:

“My Lord, Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel have arrived. I believe they’re waiting for your presence in the courtyard.”

Arthur chokes, managing to turn his head to the side just in time before he spits a mouthful of water over the guards face. He quickly wipes his mouth and turns back to the pour armoured man with wide eyes:

“That’s today?!

The guard nods hesitatingly:

“Yes, Sire, would you like me-”

He’s interrupted when Arthur shouts a hurried:

“Fuck!” as he drops his water-skin and begins sprinting up the field towards the castle, desperately trying to calculate if he had enough time to wash and change before they got antsy with waiting. Probably not.

Seeing Arthur’s panic and hearing his loud curse, Leon hurriedly approaches the guard, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder as he speaks with a frown:

“Gavin? Is everything alright?”

The guard, Gavin, looks to Leon with a confused frown:

“It would appear that His Majesty... misremembered the date of Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s arrival.”

Leon’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly to the castle as he rushes out an exclamation identical to Arthur’s:

“That’s today?!”

Gavin just nods again, and Leon drops the hand from his shoulder, letting out a loud:

“Shit!” as he recreates Arthur’s sprint up to the castle, knowing that he was expected to be at The King’s side when welcoming guests. He doesn’t pause, even when he shouts:

“Lancelot’s in charge!” over his shoulder.

The knights all look to each other in amusement, but Lancelot quickly takes charge, running drills as if he had been doing it his entire life and trusting that, whatever it was, Arthur could get things sorted. And if Arthur couldn’t get things sorted, then Leon would get things sorted. And if Leon couldn’t get things sorted, then Merlin would... oh.

He glances worriedly to the castle just as Leon falls through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him in his panic. Oh.

Arthur lets out the deepest breath of relief he thinks he’s ever experienced when he sees George ahead of him in the corridor; he gestures him over hastily, making the servant jog to keep up with him as he continues his fast pace down the hall:

“I don’t care how many other servants you have to pull from their duties, but I need the castle prepped for Halbert and Ethel’s arrival right now.-”

Arthur barely pays attention to George’s faltering step of shock, just stops suddenly in front of the door that leads down to the courtyard, turning to the servant and putting both hands on his shoulder as he stares at him intensely, face flushed and breathing harsh:

“I need you to do this for me, George. Prepare guest chambers, send someone down to show them to the right rooms, and make sure the Kitchens know they’re feeding two extra nobles for three days, starting today. If you can organise all of that in the next two minutes, I’ll give you a raise and a Godamn hug, you hear me?!”

George gulps, his shoulders tense, his face pale, and his breath frozen in his lungs as he meets Arthur’s frantic gaze with wide eyes. He gives a shaky nod, instantly turning and sprinting down the corridor without a word when Arthur lets go.

Leon skids around the corner, moving to stand next to Arthur with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, speaking in a slight wheeze:

“I... I left Lance... in charge.”

Arthur nods in approval, pulling Leon to stand before holding his hands out to the side, presenting himself for inspection. Leon takes one last deep breath, smoothing the training tunic over Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to rub the dirt from his nose, and brushing a quick hand through his hair before stepping back and holding his own arms out. Arthur pulls a leaf from behind his ear, but is otherwise satisfied, and the two of them turn to the door, schooling their faces and stepping down into the courtyard.

Arthur has a calm, welcoming smile on his face, and Leon stands stiffly behind him, hand on the sword that he luckily had on his hip as he stares blankly ahead.

The nobles seem taken aback at The King's state of undress, but don’t say anything, covering their shock quickly. Arthur’s hoping that his friendly attitude will just give the impression that he’s...approachable and slightly laid back, as opposed to just an idiot who forgot they were coming because no one had reminded him.

Gods. Merlin can never know about this.

Thankfully, the next three days went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as possible after Arthur spent an hour rifling through his old mail to try and figure out the original reason for Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s visit (watching their eldest’s knighting ceremony, and discussing with Arthur the potential for their youngest to move to the city to become a squire).

He waves them off in a much more regal manner than he had welcomed them, and keeps his promise to George, upping his pay slightly; though he exchanges the hug for an awkward pat on the shoulder, which he thinks both of them were grateful for.

He’d successfully made it through nine days. Semi-successfully. He’d just about made it through nine days.

Five more to go. But Arthur was feeling fine about those five days. He’d double checked all his mail, and made sure to find out when his patrols were scheduled.

Which is... unknown to Arthur, where the next problem stems from.

Arthur wasn’t the one to rota the patrols, he really didn’t have the time to sit down with a list of names and hours and times and maps and organise everything fairly, it was difficult and time-consuming, but he made sure that Leon knew exactly how many hours he could give up for patrol each week.

Apparently, the communication between Leon and the council was normally handled by Merlin, who wasn’t there. So whilst Arthur was enjoying a solo patrol along the city borders at noon, waving at citizens and making his horse do tricks for giggling children, the council were sitting around the table, waiting rather irately for his arrival.

Now normally, this could’ve been easily dealt with, but when the same guard from three days ago gallops over to inform him of the problem and take over his patrol, Arthur was reminded rather suddenly that Merlin was always the one that came up with sensible sounding excuses.

(He also makes a mental note to avoid that guard forever out of embarrassment.)

This was one of the very rare occasions when Arthur simply glares the council into submission. Normally he likes to work with them; he hates to feel like they're just doing what he wants because they were kissing his arse, but he has no excuse other than “I forgot.” and he felt like that was worse than just.. acting like a bit of a dick for five minutes.

So... yeah. Merlin wasn’t there to reorganise the council meeting around Arthur’s patrol, and then also wasn’t there to come up with an excuse for why it wasn’t reorganised.

Arthur makes it ten days before he admits to himself that perhaps he relies on his manservant just a little too much.

Four days later, Arthur had missed another council meeting (despite his best efforts), Lancelot and Mordred had accidentally insulted some visiting Lord (and had therefore been told not to leave their rooms until he had vacated the city), and Gwen was no longer speaking to him, on account of The King being a dick without realising because Merlin wasn’t there to rein in his ego and... well... dickishness. That, and his crown had somehow gone missing between yesterday morning and now.

(If that last one had happened even a week prior, Arthur would’ve been adamant that it had been stolen or something else equally not-his-fault, but with how quickly he’d been made aware of his apparent bad memory and social clumsiness, he had every faith that he’d just misplaced it, and Merlin would know exactly where to look.)

Arthur was sitting on the courtyard steps, tunic unlaced at the top and hair a mess when his servant finally, finally walks through the castle gates. The King perks up slightly, but refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of being run to, so forces himself to remain in place. He was especially glad that he’d made that decision when he saw Guinevere spring over to greet him. He has a feeling she won’t be all that... welcoming, at least not yet.

Merlin wraps her in a tight hug and Arthur forces down the swell of jealousy in his lungs, especially when he laughs brightly and pulls back to clasp her shoulders. Arthur sees Gwen’s face fall at a question Merlin had asked and he gulps, biting his lip when Merlin frowns and raises an incredulous eyebrow at her response. She points in Arthur’s direction, and The King’s eyes go wide as he rapidly stands, failing miserably at looking as though he weren’t staring in their direction. Guinevere rolls her eyes before giving Merlin one last hug and walking very deliberately in the opposite direction to Arthur.

Merlin marches towards him, slight annoyance mixing with a secret eagerness to check on Arthur speeding up his normal pace significantly. Before the servant can say anything, Arthur grabs his wrist, pulling him up the steps and through the castle without a word, tugging harshly every time Merlin opens his mouth to demand an explanation for himself or an apology for Gwen.

When they finally reach his chambers, Arthur quickly locks the door behind him, whirling on an angry Merlin with flushed cheeks and a desperate look in his eyes:

“I swear Merlin, I will never doubt you again, but Elyan almost died, Gwaine got an infection, Leon and I forgot about Ethel and Halbert, Lancelot and Mordred are essentially under house arrest, I missed two council meetings, lost my crown, and now Gwen’s not talking to me. You’re never allowed to leave me again.”

Merlin freezes in place, staring at Arthur with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few moments before he bursts into laugher. Arthur huffs, crossing his arms as his blush deepens, but waits patiently instead of demanding that Merlin stop. Honestly? He may have been laughing at Arthur, but it was still the most beautiful sound The King had heard in two weeks, and he’d definitely missed it. Which is... something to think about at a later date.

Merlin finally relents, his dimples showing prominently as he holds in another round of giggles at Arthur’s red face. The servant drops his pack to the floor, stepping forward and not giving Arthur time to move away before he pulls him into a tight hug, sighing contentedly at the warm contact:

“I missed you too, you prat. You’ll just have to come with me next time and we can leave Gwen and Gaius in charge.”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, finally wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle tightly and burying his face in the slightly taller man’s hair:

“I did. Miss you, I mean. And I also mean it when I say you’re never going anywhere without me again, this has been a nightmare.”

Merlin snorts, tightening his grip on Arthur as if he were trying to squeeze all of the stress out of him:

“Co-dependency isn’t the healthiest thing in the world, you know.”

Arthur just huffs, refusing to let go as he petulantly responds:

“I don’t care. I’m The King, I can do what I want.”

Arthur can almost feel Merlin rolling his eyes, but the servant just laughs again and seems to nod in agreement:

“Hmm. That excuse is going to come back to haunt you one day. Heard you gave George a raise?”

The blonde tenses in embarrassment, now refusing to pull away so Merlin wouldn’t see his pink cheeks:

“Uh... yeah. He cleans too much and is shit at coming up with plausible excuses, but he did save my arse a few times.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, and though the man was usually rather touch averse, he found he never wanted the feeling to stop. He found himself hoping that Merlin felt the same when The King chuckles at his response:

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I get a raise for being good at excuses and bad at cleaning?”

THE END!!!

Literally wrote this in one day so... sorry if it’s bad😅

Had no clue how I was going to end it until I got there, my thought process essentially just went “Hugs? Yeah. Hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs.” :D

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out in full or remix it or whatever, go for it, just drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

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sailorhyunjinz · 4 years ago

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~ ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣!𝕁𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤; SMUT!!! gn!reader x inexperienced!sub!jeongin. pillowhumping, secret crush, best friends/childhood friends, first kiss, semi-public sex (ok not that but like getting caught?), orgasm (m), cum, mentions of blowjobs, mentions of cum eating.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥; 1,8 k

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖; finding good gifs of jeongin that aren’t from when he was a minor and fit the concept at least a fucking crumb is DIFFICULT YALL so i present this cute gif ahssahsah

also i always make jeongin inexperienced?? I NEED TO WORK ON THAT

Here Jeongin was. Staring at the ceiling in the dark room, the only light coming from the streetlight outside the window of your bedroom. You were sleeping peacefully next to him but sleep was the last thing on Jeongin’s mind, his chest heaving nervously from lying so close to you. Usually this isn’t a weird occurence, the two of you best friends since childhood which equaled a lot of sleepovers but Jeongin couldn’t shake the feeling off longing. Longing to touch you.

He covered his face with a pillow, trying to put a physical barrier in order to stop the inappropriate thoughts that included everything from you kissing him to him being fucked by you hard enough to make him see stars. His delicate dick twitched in his boxers as the thoughts piled up in his brain, him not able to act on the urge to jerk off, not when you were sleeping soundly next to him.

The horny boy turned around to lie on his side, facing you as he grabbed the pillow and instead put it between his knees, huffing as he was hoping for a miracle, a miracle called falling asleep. Jeongin’s heart skipped a beat when he realised how close your face was to his, the air from your quiet breaths hitting his cheek. Your plushy lips formed into a pout as your cheek squished into the pillow, your eyelashes gently draping your weary eyes. Jeongin swore he could hear your heart beat next to his. The dark haired boy shuffled closer to you but almost gasped out loud as the pillow rubbed against his erection, his already sensitive cock twitching from the friction. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, looking around in the room to distract the feeling but to no avail, his hips rutting against the pillow as if by magic, it simply felt too good to stop.

Jeongin thought he had gone crazy, what was he even doing? How could he be thinking such lewd thoughts about his best friend that was sleeping inches away from him, all whilst humping a pillow like a desperate mutt. The mattress that lied on the floor was shuffling in a questionable manner as the soft moans from between Jeongin’s scarlet red lips were now dripping out like sticky honey. His hand shifted from his mouth to his messy dark hair, ruffling it and tightly gripping it as he felt closer to his orgasm like never before, the sweat beading on his forehead from the slightly stuffy atmosphere in the room. His dark orbs shut tightly as he tried to grasp onto those last explicit thoughts before they all dripped out of his mind like his cum if it wasn’t for you groaning out into the night.

“J-jeongin,,,”

Silence errupted between the four walls as all his movements came to a standstill, his eyes springing open as he looked at you in panic but was met by you still asleep, looking just like you did moments earlier. The poor boy sighed, frustrated of having lost his impending orgasm but relieved, at least you didn’t see him.

Or did you?

Jeongin felt as if he could cry right on the spot, feeling frustrated and desperate for a release to calm his hard-on. He turned away from your sleeping face, thinking maybe that could help stop the intrusive thoughts. Maybe even closing his eyes completely would be even better, shielding himself from anything that could be associated with you. The poor boy nuzzles his face closer to the pillow, sighing for the last time before breathing peacefully. Just as a sweet slumber lingered close by he felt you shift and before he knew it you were dangerously close to him.

“Do you need help?”

Jeongin turned his head around in fear, thinking maybe this was a dream but it was a real as it could get. Your one hand slipped between his legs, palming him through his boxers that already had a wet spot from the precum that was leaking out. He opened his mouth in a loud gasp but you were quicker, muffling his sinful noises with your other hand over his spread lips. You lean into his ear, his head shying away from your close proximity as your lips almost touched the shell of his ear.

“Be quiet and I’ll make you feel good”

Jeongin bucked his hips against your warm hand, craving more of your touch as his face turned bright red, flustered at the words that came out of his best friend. Your eyelashes fluttered softly as his doe-like eyes were glued on yours, his eyebrows furrowing as you gave his hard member a squeeze before tracing the outline of his hard-on with your fingertip, the poor boy feeling all his blood rushing south as you slowly released your hand from his mouth.

“Pl-please,,y/n,,, help me out, I’m going crazy”

You smile softly at the pleading boy, crashing your soft lips against his slightly chapped ones, the kiss immedietly deepening as you slipped your tongue inside him, his body stiffening at the unfamilliar feeling before his entire body relaxed in your arms, him now sitting up on his knees. The soft mattrass dipped down from the two figures that were entangled with each other, hands roaming freely over your hot skin, the both of you barely wearing clothes to begin with. The wet sound of the kiss ringed in Jeongin’s ears, this new experience making the knot in his stomach tighten even more than it was before.

It felt wrong but so right.

Pulling away from the kiss, a line of saliva connected you, his eyes fluttering open sweetly. You smile, heat rising to your cheeks as you looked away for a moment, trying to find composure.

“T-the pillow felt good”

Jeongin spoke in a shy voice, scratching the back of his head as his puffy cheeks were on display, you wanting nothing more but to smother them in kisses. You looked at him, confusion dancing in your eyes which Jeongin noticed.

“N-not anything weird! I just happened to,, accidentally rub,,, against it,,, I’m sorry if it’s weird y/n, I was really frustrated, I’ve made you uncomfortable-”

You attach on your lips once again to stop the words spilling out of him, potentially waking someone else in the house. Your tongues swirled around each other, Jeongin gulping loudly as he felt nervous everytime you kissed him, filled with uncertainty, you were after all his best friend and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. As soon as you pulled away from the kiss for the second time you put a finger on his slightly swollen lips.

“It’s not weird, I can help you. Let me help you,,,babyboy”

You cringed at your own nickname, giggling and hiding your face behind your hands, sneaking a glance of the boy through the gaps between your fingers. To your surprise he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. It was as if he’d frozen to ice in the stiffling room. Your smile quickly turned into concern, thinking that maybe you’d gone too far but all your worries were wiped away when Jeongin silently muttered;

“Call me that,,, I-I like it”

You eyes widened, never before seeing him this weak for you. You smirked, inching closer to him and gently stroking his hot cheek with the back of your hand.

“Only if you ride that pillow for me”

His dark eyes darted towards the pillow that was lying lazily on the carpeted floor, grabbing it in an instant.

“This one?”

Jeongin whispered, both his eyes and question filled with innocence. You nod slowly, watching him straddle it, his knees poking slightly inwards. You smiled at him, your bottom lip quivering in excitement, wanting to see him submit to you.

“W-what should I do?”

His eyes twinkled in the dim light that came from the window, his fluffy hair pointing all different directions and his lips slightly pursed. You scoffed, licking your lips that turned dry from the kiss.

“What you did when you thought I was asleep”

Jeongin blushed, his cheeks turning a light pink that was barely visible to you. He started humping the pillow, his twitching cock still in it’s clothed prison as the friction ignited a fire in his core, the previously ruined orgasm returning to it’s home. The delicate whimpers made their way out of his mouth in the softest manner, them being hardly audible due to him nibbling on the inside of his cheek, holding back on moaning. You traced your fingers up his exposed flexed thigh, eventually tracing circles over his tip, the wet patch making you snicker quietly from his desperation. You didn’t want to silence the pretty boy but his glistening lips leaving you with no other choice but to kiss him, Jeongin shortly moaning into the kiss, the sensation of release drawing closer with every second of your lips against his.

As his pace quickened the mattress started moving around, his hips rolling upwards against the edge of the pillow, the previously frustrated boy now feeling nothing more but pure euphoria as the knot tightened. You smiled against his lips, enjoying to see him desperatly chase his release. His arms trembled as his hands were grabbing onto the soft material beneath him for dear life, breaking the kiss hastly.

“y-y/n- agh,, can,, can i cum?”

His voice trailed to a whisper, the question sounding more like a statement. You nodded shyly, the so called question sounding too direct in your ears. The last couple of humps were uneven, the poor boy sweating enough to leave small sweatdrops around his temples, Jeongin’s soft hair failling in his face and covering his dark eyes with a even darker curtain. You opened your mouth to warn him from making too much noise but it was already too late.

“Jeongin, be quie-”

A loud groan escaped between his pretty lips making you slightly startled as the room was previously muted. His eyes shut tightly, a million cubes of colors flashing before his eyes as he slowly rode out his orgasm. The white sticky substance staining his underwear, forming a slightly darker shade on the black fabric he was wearing. In panic you smacked your hand across his lips like you’d done before but it was already too late, a beam of light shining through the crack of the bedroom door.

“y/n? are you ok?”

It was your moms voice. You pulled down the boy, covering him in a blanket as he was still lost in his pleasure, his breath shaky. Turning around and dragging the covers over yourself you closed your eyes it just in time before the door opened. You could hear your nervousness, imagining the different ways you could get out of this situation when morning came. The door closed quietly after a couple of seconds and the footsteps got fainter.

Facing the boy you saw him smile lazily, his eyes still closed. You poked him on the cheek causing the boy to giggle, his eyes slowly opening and meeting yours.

“thank you y/n”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Should I help you clean up babyboy?”

You smirked, insinuating something dirtier than what the innocent boy thought. His eyes widened as you plunged down beneath the blanket that covered his body.

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 3 years ago

Note

I'd also love to see the thing of Foul Legacy Childe going feral to protect the person he loves 👀

*coughs* well, if you insist >:)c again, i'm not good at fight choreography but this one seems ok to me so i hope it's alright for you too!!

~ * ~ Abyssal Ballad

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Injuries, gore, pain, blood, broken bones, mentally snapping, fear, potential death

~ * ~

You had never known much about the Abyss. How could you, as an ordinary, magic-less human, who toiled away at a standard researching position in the Liyue industry? While Celestia was often praised as being home to the archons and gods above, a sanctuary for only the finest heroes and the origin of elemental Visions, the Abyss was dark and mysterious, full of vicious creatures and an endless ocean, disturbed only by glassy waves and cold, twinkling starlight. While both held their infinite secrets locked tightly away, they were seemingly opposites, forever battling against each other in a plane the people of Teyvat wouldn’t dare reach. Fairytales and journals and books all held the same message: Celestia is day as the Abyss is night, and each will consume you, for better or worse.

The Abyss had always been “for worse”, something you had found difficult to believe when Childe reappeared. You had known him before, when he was a ginger-haired, Delusion-bearing Harbinger of the Fatui, but you knew him even better now as your fluffy and affectionate roommate, with endless curiosity and a love for dozing in the sunlight. You were cautious at first, but every time he curled up next to you for cuddles or pressed his forehead to yours with a happy trill, your hesitation waned, and it seemed every day grew brighter in this eternal summer.

But the Abyss never relinquishes anything it once kept.

It had been cloudy that day, rain looming on the horizon. But you, ever persistent, had set out with an umbrella, a report to deliver, and a mothlike monster by your side. He didn’t have to come with, but he insisted, something you found sweet and kind of him to do. The citizens of the city had gotten quite used to you and Childe, some even greeting you as you left for Wangshu Inn, just out of the Harbor and towards Mondstadt. The clouds looked suspicious, but remained a teasing gray instead of pouring rain onto you.

The walk was peaceful and quiet, only broken by Childe’s rumbles and your quick responses to them. Your umbrella was long enough to be used as a cane, and it tapped merrily with every step you took, never out of sync. The Inn was close, a faint outline in sight at the end of a winding path, soon to be reached by you and your companion.

It only took a moment.

Like all bad things, it happened at the first chance, quickly and efficiently.

Childe liked sparkly things, as did you. A couple of magpies, you often joked. A crystalfly had caught his attention, and he jumped up to chase it. He’d be back soon, as he always was.

Two minutes.

He was gone for two minutes, and two minutes was all it took for someone to grab the collar of your shirt and pull you back, immobilizing you with a simple yet effective hold. They whisper to you, and more whispers join them, ordering you to show them where “the monster” was, to do it, do it or else, because pain would be delighted to meet you. Unfortunately, for both them and for you, fear has never easily gotten a grasp on your senses, and you simply choke out a command for these people to leave you alone. They laugh, and take your right wrist between their fingers. They give you a choice: tell them, or have your wrist broken. Should be an easy choice, no?

There’s a sudden yelp of alarm and they turn, dragging you with them, towards the sound. Childe stands there, tense and furious. The person behind you laughs again, and someone moves closer to Childe, only to stumble back when he hisses at them. The grip around your wrist tightens, and they address Childe instead of you. Either come with them willingly, or your bone breaks; it’s his choice now. From your position, you subtly shake your head- don’t give into their demands- and he hesitates.

There’s an awful cracking sound as your wrist is harshly yanked to the side.

You grit your teeth from the pain, before whipping your head down and biting, biting hard, on your captor’s wrist. They yell in surprise and release you, and you scramble to get away using only one arm.

Then someone hits you with a blow to your ribs, and your breath vanishes as you fall.

Something in Childe snaps. There’s a deep, guttural growl, building slowly from his throat, before he leaps on your attacker, tearing off their head with horrifying accuracy.

Your captor’s companions hastily begin backing away, holding their weapons with trembling hands, pitiful little sticks that Childe easily flings away with a swipe of his talons. He lets out a shriek, a harrowing sound filled with rage and a terrible, eager anticipation, springing up and clamping his jaw onto someone’s arm to dislocate and rip it off.

Your vision swims as you blink, the edges of everything gray and fuzzy. Someone’s screaming- everyone’s screaming. It’s loud, so loud, and you wince in pain as howls of pain make your ears ring. There’s a stabbing sensation in your chest, and you vaguely wonder if one or more of your ribs are broken, the sound of bones crumbling beneath sharp, vicious fangs in tune with your thoughts.

Blood splatters on the ground, the tang of it making you nauseous, and there’s the sound of flesh being torn to shreds while you can almost hear a mocking, maniacal laugh.

You’ve heard that laugh, so long ago, in the fiery walls of a house of gold.

You close your eyes, letting your mind slowly go blank in a valiant attempt to ignore the cries and pleas of people before they die at the claws of the Abyss. The pain in your side remains, pestering you to stay awake, but quickly fades into the background as your mind detaches from reality, dulling your senses and thoughts.

Then everything falls silent.

The lack of noise hangs thickly in the air, deathly quiet and stagnant. The pond of eerie serenity ripples, heavy footsteps pressing the grass as they approach you, and a claw sticky with blood nudges your side. You tilt your head back, ever-so-slightly, and are met with an Abyssal gaze, filled with nothing but ice-colored stars; a cold, unfeeling anger.

And you.

Childe’s stare warms as he lays next to you, carefully draping an arm over your torso. There’s a wet sensation on your cheek, and you realize he’s licking the cuts you had unknowingly received on your face in an attempt to soothe you. He licks your wrist as well, despite the lack of open wounds, and your fear settles as you focus on breathing. You suck in a gulp of air, only to cough when your chest twinges in pain. Childe noiselessly tucks you closer to his side, supporting your head in the soft, blood-crusted pillow of his fluff, and your coughing lessens into sharp gasps for air. A warm liquid fills your mouth, the taste of metal and consistency of sticky syrup. Your vision becomes hazy, and the gray around everything turns to black. You think you can hear humming, a gentle rumble from the throat as a monster drowns in midnight waters.

Music plays, and an old ballad sings. Celestial skies and Abyssal waves, eternal twins, consuming the heart and mind forever.

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wonderwomanfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

melting point

a part two to snowfall

Werewolf! Bakugou x Deaf!Reader

warnings: none? some suspenseful stuff that's about it

word count: 1,000 (about)

summary: what a sweet little thing you are, perfect for some big bad wolf to come to snatch you up, luckily Bakugou is there to protect you.

As the snow settled, and the trade fair came to an end several things changed about your little town, where change so rarely occurred. The first was a foreseeable change, your family came into a bit of money after selling you wears, assuring your family would have a comfortable winter and spring. The second was that the blonde man you’d happened to run into decided to settle on a plot of land previously unoccupied. The last change was the wolf attacks.

As far as you knew there was never a problem with wolves before, but now chickens and even cattle were being found half-eaten. It was horrible really, the thought alone of some bloodthirsty dog stalking somewhere nearby.

Even with how scared you were, at least you kept your head about yourself. Some other townsfolk went as far as to say that it wasn’t a wolf, but a monster. You burst out laughing when you first heard that. Monsters were things for kids, tall tails that served as a warning to stay out of the woods at night. You were surprised at how seriously some people were taking that idea.

You watched as two old women talked, catching bits of their conversation as they turned to you.

“- I tell my kids to stay in at night- once the sun sets they have to be home,”

“-with that beast out there- Carlson lost two sheep last week,”

You shook your head and continued on your way. There were plenty of hunters in town, you felt safe knowing one of them would catch the animal responsible.

You turned your head up to the glacious sky. It was the cold bitter part of winter, no snow or cheer, just waiting for spring to come.

Luckily for you, you looked down at where you were going before you started walking again. Bakugou Katsuki was standing right in front of you. You gasped and stumbled back almost falling, luckily he wrapped an arm around your waist catching you. His smirk seemed to say “we really should stop meeting like this,”

You squirmed and he released you “watch where you’re going,” he signed you felt your face heat up with embarrassment.

“I could tell you the same,” you shot back, He just smiled at you and brushed past you. You glowered at him as he passed until you realized that he was carrying a stack of logs over one of his shoulders, then your face soffened. Just how strong was he?

You couldn’t seem Bakugou, you supposed that it had been so long since anyone had moved into town that any new fae stood out, but it seemed like he was everywhere. He seemed to frequent the butchers at the same time you did, you found him buying thick woolen sheets from your mother one day then had to buy firewood from him the next, and of course, he was always there to catch you when you tripped.

And even though he was cocky, arrogant, and angry, you found yourself falling for him. There was just something that drew you to him and you found you didn’t mind seeing him so often.

“A defenseless girl like you shouldn’t be in the woods this late,” bakugou signed to you, appearing out of nowhere as he so often did. You straightened quickly and crossed your arms. The worst part is you knew he was right. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew that you were lost in the trees this close to sunset.

The truth was your father had asked you to set some simple snare traps in hopes of catching a rabbit or two as a test of your independence and well, you’d gotten a little turned around. A completely understandable mistake.

The harsh January wind whirled around you, biting at your face and piercing your clothes like knives. “Don’t you know there’s a monster in these woods? What if he caught you and gobbled you up?” he was teasing you. And you didn’t much appreciate it, but still, he probably knew the way back to town.

“But you’re here to protect me aren’t you?” you signed taking a step closer and putting your hand on his broad chest. For a moment he just stood there in awe, you had to admit it was pleasant seeing him so caught off guard.

He mouthed something that looked like “that’s right” and took your hand leading you out of the darkening woods. He even stayed back so you could show up at home unoccupied sparing you your pride. You thought, not for the first time, that Bakugou Katsuki would make an excellent husband.

It was a bitterly cold night when you saw the beast. A storm of hail and sleet beat down on your roof as wind raced around you causing the very boards of your house to shift. You were held up in the barn laying on a soft bed of hay wrapping your two goats in blankets and tucking their ears into woolen hats so their ears wouldn’t freeze. Your mother swore they would be fine, they were tough old things after all. But you had grown up with these goats, and it broke your heart to think of them succumbing to frostbite.

When you came into the barn they had been shivering and huddled in a pile of hay, reaffirming your decision to come here in the first place. You rested with them for a moment, building up the courage to brave the elements again.

The barn door shuddered as the rain beat down on it before it burst open. You jolted, falling backward into a pile of straw. Your sweet goats cowering behind you. And as the hail pelted your face, you saw it in the dark of the night. A set of glowing eyes and a hulking massive body creeping towards you.

You’d never seen a wolf, but surely this was too big to be a wolf, four times the size of a normal dog. The creature bore his teeth in a horrid snarl coming to the entry of the barn filling the doorway. You trembled and prayed that someone would come to save you. There was no way you could escape.

But suddenly the wolf shifted, tilting its head to the side and dropping the intimidating sneer. His approach seemed much less intimidating, but that didn’t stop you from crying as he came face to face with you. His hot breath beating on your face. He snorted and turned leaving the barn. You stood on shaky legs and ran as fast as you could back to the house, shaking your father awake to messily sign to him what had happened.

It only took a day for the news of another attack to spread through the town like wildfire, and this time you didn’t feel like correcting anyone when they called it a monster.

“I heard you fought the beast,” Bakugou teased, you had heard that too, the story had been tweaked along the way that you had bravely managed to escape instead of the monster simply leaving you alone.

“You really are a handful, always getting yourself into trouble aren’t you?” he teased. You were used to his teasing by now but it still made you heat up with embarrassment

“And I suppose you could do any better?” you signed angrily

“I could,” he stated matter of factly. You deflated a little, of course, he was right. He was so strong and self-confident you knew he could have done much better in your shoes.

“And if you married me, I could protect you too,” he signed leaving you stunned, had he really just proposed to you in the middle of teasing you for being a weakling?

Bakugou smiled to himself as you gingerly walked into his embrace, placidly accepting his marriage proposal. You were such a scared little rabbit, he almost felt bad. Of course, he would never hurt you or scare you like that again, you were his mate after all. He wouldn’t have even come to your barn if the rain hadn’t been obscuring your delicious smell.

Now that he had your heart all he had to do was win over your father, and with how well he’d ingratiated himself to your family that shouldn’t be hard at all. What a sweet little rabbit you were, trapped in the arms of a wolf.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #alpha bakugo #alpha bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia abo #my hero academia head cannon

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golden-wingseos · 4 years ago

Text

loving you is like . . .

what is loving them like?

featuring —

✧ zhongli, diluc, childe (separate) x gn!reader

warnings ―

✧ not proofread

notes ―

✧ lovin him was reddd

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 ― ❛ THE LISTENER. ❜

Loving him is like watching the trees in winter blossom in the spring.

in his 6,000-yeared life, many years have passed. many lives have been lost, but many lives have been made

the trees have wilted and grew. the flowers have decayed and sprung. all are little things, things that the archon didn’t notice until you had pointed it out to him

and now, he can’t unsee it

every little caterpillar would eventually become a butterfly. every beautiful butterfly was once a little caterpillar

the world is beautiful, zhongli knew that

but it wasn’t only the world that was beautiful. it was you, and the sun, and the sky, and the birds.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and there is not one thing zhongli cannot find beauty in

“Aww... the snow melted,” [Y/N] hummed, their face pressed against the glass window. Staring blankly out at the ever-melting snow, Zhongli couldn’t suppress the growing smile on his features.

“It will be back,” The archon simply said. It would. After all, the snow always came back.

In his life, he had learned many things. The world comes in full circle, and so does kindness and karma. When the snow leaves, it will come back. When the flowers wilt, they will prosper in another life.

It seemed that such things came with people.

When you came, happiness and love flourished in his stomach. Rippling up his chest and lungs like an infection of sweetness, the feeling would quickly disperse as soon as you left. Love was like the wind, moving and free, yet constant and open.

And with each flower bud that’d appear on the trees, and each sunrise and sunset, Zhongli would always spare a glance at your form. His amber eyes unwavering yet cascading with love.

Life came and went, yet you came and stayed.

For the first time in his life, there was one constant since the dawn of time.

Love. To him, it feels like he had loved you for so long, it feels like he had loved you in so many different forms, year after year...

Forever.

A word that never should be used, especially by the likes of him—

But to him, you are forever... for you are love.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 ― ❛ THE DARK SIDE OF DAWN. ❜

Loving him is like watching the sunset on top of a cliff, your feet dangling over the edge.

love is dangerous

sometimes, love will hold your heart with the most delicate touch. sometimes, love will use your vulnerable state to control you, your movements controlled by a string

sometimes, love will smash your heart to pieces

it was a gamble, falling in love with him... diluc ragnvindr. you knew this all too well, but still, such beauty and gravity... it was like fate was pulling you to him

he’s a dream man. he’s rich, powerful, and reserved

yet his vengeful wrath is not unknown. his built up anger for a fault that is not his own...

so even with the risk. the risk of falling from that cliff with no one to catch you, the risk of dropping your heart like a porcelain vase...

you will love him. amongst all his pain, suffering, and hate. you love him, for he is the sun that sets in the distance, preparing a new day for the world

The comfort of being alone was to only have to rely on yourself.

And as the sun quietly went down, allowing the moon to rise, you sat atop Starsnatch cliff, wondering ever so innocently whether you could truly snatch a star from the sky.

Sunsets were a limbo of beauty. The balance between light and dark, the decider of life or death.. a sunset could represent the end, but it could also represent a new beginning.

As a child of freedom, you never once relied on anybody or anything. You’ve never had to stop and wait for someone, or hold their hand and walk them through Wolvendom..

But you’ve never met an equal, either.

You’ve heard of him, Diluc Ragnvindr. Who hasn’t? You’ve heard of his infamous dislike for the Knights of Favonius, his skilled swordsmanship and powerful vision.

Yet you never thought you would’ve walked beside him.

You wanted an equal. A match who would challenge you, a match who would match your pace instead of run ahead or walk behind. You wanted someone who would work their hardest for their goals, not relying on you to support them.

And that was him. That was the Diluc.

So as you sit upon this cliff, gazing out at the ocean of possibilities, you are left to ponder:

Once the sun sets and the sky is no longer orange and pink... will he still be there? Will Diluc be there to match your pace and your strides?

The answer was yes.

―It always has been.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ― ❛ THE YOUNG MASTER. ❜

Loving him is like staying up past curfew and doing anything but sleep.

rebelliousness... something that especially comes with loving childe

it’s like a part of you knows he’s dangerous. you know he’s poison. after all, being a fatui harbinger means anything but good

but a part of you loves it. you love the excitement that comes with him... that comes with danger. you enjoy the love he gives you, treating you as if you were the only one in the world

power. that was what you had. when it came to him, power was in your grasp. you knew all too well to not associate with the fatui, for you could end up dead..

yet the dangers of such consequences meant nothing if he was there. love has no bounds... and even if he is an addictive poison, entering your heart when it should’ve been guarded..

you’ve grown immune.

Reckless love is the best kind of love.

Free falling into his arms, you never expected to fall for him. Childe, Tartaglia, Ajax... whatever he wanted to go by. But to you, he was nothing short of ‘Love’.

It was like he was the key to your cage, allowing you to stretch your wings and fly high into the sky. The feeling of adrenaline pumping in your veins as he sparred with you was a thing that you had numbed to over the years. To the public eye, you were a perfect individual. So kind, so caring, so poised.

But to him, you were you. You were strong and beautiful, ambitious and determined.

Among the dangers of his job, the hate of the world, the knives that were pointed at his throat...

He loved you. The mere mention of your name was enough to send his entire future flashing right before his eyes, a future with you.

And as he walks out of your shared house, his scarf floating with the wind and bow materialized into dust, he remembers ever so benevolently:

When he goes home, you will be there. When he cries, you will be there.

For he is the reason you are free and unafraid, and you are the reason he is content and ready to come home everyday.

#genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #genshin zhongli #genshin childe

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rebeccathenaturalist · 3 years ago

Text

I Found a Baby Deer! Now What?

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/i-found-a-baby-deer-now-what/

My previous two posts dealt with what to do if you find a baby bird or baby rabbit. This week I’m going to complete the “commonly kidnapped baby animals” trifecta with baby deer. All three may be found unattended in spring and early summer, and unfortunately many end up dying because well-meaning people separate them from their parents intending to care for them themselves, or taking them to a wildlife rehab. Even under the best of professional care many baby animals are simply too fragile, and like the other animals, if you’ve found a baby deer it’s best to leave the care to mama.

A fawn is simply a young deer, particularly one that hasn’t been weaned from its mother yet. North America has several species of deer, though the young of white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus), Columbian black-tailed deer (Odocoileus hemionus columbianus), Sitka deer (Odocoileus hemionus sitkensis) mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) and Yucatan brocket deer (Odocoileus pandora) are the most likely to be known as fawns. The young of other deer like elk (Cervus canadensis) and moose (Alces alces) are more commonly called calves. There are also a few non-native species of deer raised on meat/hunting farms like fallow deer (Dama dama) and axis deer (Axis axis), but you’re not as likely to run into these in the wild unless a few have escaped from nearby farms.

Fawns are generally born brown with white spots; these spots help with camouflage. While they are precocious and can walk within hours of birth, they won’t be able to keep up with their mother until they’re a few weeks old. Therefore, like rabbits, the doe leaves her young hidden in vegetation while she goes to graze and browse. She only returns to nurse them; if she has more than one fawn she often hides them separately, and visits each one in turn.

By about three months of age a fawn will have shed its spots and started to grow in a more adult coat. However, fawns stay with their mother for a while after; bucks will often leave after a year, while does may stick around for another year, even if the mother has a new fawn to care for. Even after the fawn is weaned from mother’s milk, it still has a lot to learn about living in the wild, something we humans can’t teach it.

Too many people find a baby deer curled up in the grass and assume it has been abandoned. Unfortunately, while wildlife rehabs do their best to care for fawns that are brought in, not all will thrive on formula. Moreover, if a fawn is the only deer at a given rehab facility, it’s easier for it to become habituated to humans and lose its fear of us; while these facilities try to keep the fawns in groups, if only one is currently in house there’s not much they can do for cervine socialization.

Why is this a problem? If deer lose their fear of humans they’re less likely to run away from hunters or avoid roads and housing. Those that have come to associate humans with food can become dangerously aggressive in seeking food from any human they meet. They also may be less hesitant to attack humans if they feel threatened, or during the fall rut. Those cute little baby fawns grow up into rather large deer; a mule deer buck, for example, can top out at over 300 pounds! And those antlers are serious business, too. Bucks and does alike can do some significant damage kicking and striking with sharp hooves. And just getting body-checked by an aggressive deer could result in severe injuries! Bambi is NOT your cute little forest friend.

In short, the less human handling a fawn gets when young, the less likely it is to run into problems–or be a problem itself–later on.

Should you run across a fawn curled up in the grass, the best thing to do is give it plenty of space and keep moving. Don’t touch it, don’t pick it up, and don’t try to feed or move it. If you’re able to come back and check on it you can do so after a day or so, but chances are it’s going to be fine. If the fawn is thin and bony-looking, trembling, wet and cold, laying on its side instead of curled up, obviously injured, or has been calling for its mother without answer for a while, then it may need help. (The “curled ears” thing is not as simple as it’s been made out to be online, as per this article.)

Even if the fawn is distressed, your first action needs to be contacting your nearest wildlife rehab or state fish and game department and ask for advice. They may be able to determine whether the fawn is actually in need of help or not, especially if you’re able to text or email a photo, and they may want to come pick it up themselves as they have more experience. If they want you to bring it in, they’ll give you instructions on proper handling.

Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you attempt to care for a fawn yourself if you are not an experienced, licensed wildlife rehabilitator. Not only do you lack the skills and tools to give the fawn the best chance possible, but it is illegal to possess native wildlife without a permit. And I want to reiterate that the vast majority of the time, a found fawn is going to be better off under its mother’s care.

Finally, I want to end this the same way I did the other two articles, with a reminder that sometimes it’s best to let nature take its course. Many fawns don’t survive to adulthood in the wild, but instead become crucial sources of food for young coyotes, foxes, hawks, and other predatory species, as well as scavengers on clean-up duty. This is always the way things have been, and nothing is wasted in nature. If the fawn you’re about to kidnap is going to die anyway, let it be in a natural setting where its remains can benefit other young, growing animals rather than in the terrifying confines of a human facility.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#long post #deer #baby deer #cute #cute animals #ecology #wildlife #wild animals #animals #scicomm #science communication #nature #nature literacy #wildlife rehab #wildlife rescue

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chasingpj · 3 years ago

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

masterlist taglist: @xxyrr @nct127bee @mochabreezeee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @Slytherclaw-kitten @zhethugisa @-thatgirloverthere- @sanovr @passionswift @nanskidoodle @idk-bye-no @ilvermornyidiot @all-hailreyna @blackpopcorn @autmngirlworld @sunkissedskin1328 @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @hajigayy @aleksanderwh0r3 @drayshadow @tonyedwardstarkk @londoncherry @ashookykooky @lotusnegra666 @loverstyless @t0xicmuse @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @tomriddles-wh0re @chasingpj @pixietilly1924 @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @shawkneecaps @cbmelody @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @theverydramaticcabbage @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @silver-gemini @vodkavanity @hamdehlesmis @shadowsndaisies @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @scarlets-widow

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

#percy jackson and the olympian fic #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x you #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x y/n #my writing #percy jackson and the olympians fanfiction

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heisenbergresimp · 4 years ago

Text

Little Mouse

A karl heisenberg X fem! Reader fanfic

NSFW Do not interact if you are under 18.

TW: Non-Con Play (but is in fact consensual), rough sex, degredation, bondage.

it was a chilly spring evening. the snow had just melted but the earth was still frozen under your feet. you had been late at a friend’s house, sipping tea and talking. so, you had failed to notice as the sun began to drop in the sky.

once you had seen what time it was you had grabbed your shawl, thrown it over your shoulders and headed out.

you lived on the outskirts of the village with your lover. it had made you a bit of an outcast in the village. some people looked upon you with disgust, while other looked at you with pity. but your friends and remaning family seemed to understand your choices.

you didn’t care, you were happy with your beau.

to get home you had to head over to the ceremony site. moving the large stone chalice -hidden nearby - over the Dias to take you down to where the bridge was. from the bridge it was just a short walk home.

Normally the bridge was empty, very few people had a way to get to the bridge, which meant the walk was quiet and peaceful.

except today. today a large man was leaning against the crumbling stone on the bridge smoking a cigarette. the village knew him as one of mother Mirandas four lords, her lieutenant. Lord Heisenberg.

you felt yourself talked a big gulp of air before deciding to scurry over the bridge.

"Now, now, now little mouse. where do you think your going, not even going to say hello" the man said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"s-sorry lord Heisenberg, I’m just heading home"

"Home? oh you’re that girl who lives near here. going home to your lover aren’t you, surprised he isn’t here to make sure you get home safely. lot of bad men in these areas"

by now he had dropped the cigarettes, extinguishing the bud underneath his boot. you could see his eyes behind his glasses, predatory, like a wolf stumbling upon a rabbit.

"Thank you for your concern lord Heisenberg, but I’ll be fine"

you tried to turn away, to get away from the dangerous wolf but he stood to his full height and walked in front of you, blocking your exit. you couldn’t help but o looks up and see his smirk. "Oh, don’t leave yet, little mouse. not before the fun has begun"

you raised your knee into his crotch. oh, you were going to pay for that later, but no one could blame your gut reaction. he took a s step or two back his eyes wide, wondering if you had actually just tried to kick him in the nuts.

he chuckled "you didn’t think that would work, did you little mouse. you’re going to pay for that"

you tried to run past him, but he grabbed you and threw you to the ground. while getting on top making sure to pin you down by your hips. "Stop wriggling or 'ill tie you up"

you don’t listen, just try to scramble away. you can see him grow more frustrated as he keeps having to pull you back. eventually he grabbed your hands and pinned them over your head while a piece of metal flew overhead. the metal wrapped around your hands and dug into the ground.

now you were truly trapped to this beast of a man.

he leaned down, warmth breath sliding over your air. the cold spring air mixed with the warm breath made you shiver "Guess you’re all mine now pet, I wouldn’t try to yell. even if anyone could hear you, they wouldn’t save you"

he bit your ear, nibbling it for a second before moving down to your neck and then your shoulder taking bites and leaving bruises. you could feel a moan bubble up in the back of your throat and bit your lip to keep it in.

"Oh no, little mouse. don’t keep those moans in" he grabbed your bottom lip and pulled it out from your teeth.

eventually he got to your chest. instead of unbuttoning all of the little buttons he simply grabbed the collar and yanked. buttons flew everywhere while your breast became exposed to the cold air.

Normally he would have a smart-ass quip but instead he just leaned down taking one nipple into his mouth while using a gloved hand to manipulate the other before switching, making sure both stood to full attention.

"Mmm, stop, someone might see" You beg, its pathetic but you have to at least try

"Who cares, worry they'll see what a whore you are, writhing under me"

he doesn’t bother to take off of the rest of your clothes, just lift up your skirt and pull down your underwear. you can see the wet spot on your panties.

"Wet for me? I knew you were a slut"

you try to disagree but he grabs you thighs and pulls them apart so he can have an uninterrupted view of your rosebud before going down on you. his tongue circles your clit sucking and nipping while your hips buck.

despite the cold whether sweat begins to form as you push your pussy closer to his face. Like a man starved he dives in, his tongue circling your clit. He knows exactly how to manipulate the little pearl till you’re a moaning mess

just as you begin to see stars, he pulls away. but its too late, your orgasm still happens and he watches as your hole contracts around nothing.

" I think your pussy needs something to fill it pet. I got just the tool."

he's taking off his clothes, letting you see the dozens of scares that mar his skin, the salt and pepper body hair that trails over his chest and from his navel to his rod which is engorged.

"You- you can’t, Lord Heinsberg" you pant "My partner, he's expecting me home soon"

"Oh, but he can’t make you feel this good, can he? now be a good slut and take me in."

he's on top of you now, lining up and entering you. you feel the metal binds on your arms fall away allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "Hold tight doll" is the last thing he says.

your sex turns animalistic, grunts and pants and moans as he pulls in and out of you, the occasional swear from his lips. you feel him move in and out of you, finding rhythm. in your ecstasy you indent your nails on his back and scratch.

at one point he flips you till you on your hands and knees and he behind. then he thrusts again taking you like a bitch in heat. he gets rougher and rougher, pulling your hair and forcing your head up so he can give you a bruising kiss.

his movement gets jerky but he reaches round and plays with your clit again so that you can cum.

his hips are moving frantically and every nerve in your body is alight with pleasure.

you come first milking his rod. he swears before giving you every last drop of his cum.

you collapse to the ground, feeling the cold stone underneath your face while he sits on his ass behind you.

a few moments passes and you feel him drape his trench coat over you. "Good girl, didn’t even use the safe word once" he says, wrapping his coat around you and lifting you up and on his lap.

"You okay, I didn’t mean to kneel you in the balls"

he chuckles "I’m fine, hot damn you were amazing. you played the helpless village girl to a tee"

"wasn’t hard, I played her for years before coming here"

sure, you had not one but two intense orgasms, and normally you wouldn’t want to get up from Heisenberg’s embrace, but today you were covered in dirt from the bridge.

"We should go home; I need a shower"

"Well let’s head back" he said lifting you up, bot even caring he was buck naked. "Keep this party going somewhere a bit warmer".

#karl heisenburg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #re village #resident evil 8 #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil #karl heisenberg x reader headcannons #karl x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg headcanons #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg headcanon

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mmvalentine · 3 years ago

Text

Pomegranate pt 4 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. We gettin spicy now. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Hybern have slipped into the mortal lands, and will any day now be at the wall.

The wall has always been the weak point of Pythian, and the Spring Court holds the south most border. After gathering as much information as he can, Rhys sends word to Tamlin.

The first attempt is a letter, which goes unanswered. Rhys waits for hours, until he cannot wait anymore. The second attempt is to send Mor, but by afternoon she returns. She was not granted an audience with the High Lord.

“Gods fucking damn it,” Rhys roars when she tells him. She doesn’t flinch, just looks worried. “Tamlin you stupid fucking prick,” Rhys mutters. He has started pacing. It is one thing for Hybern to attack another court. It is one thing for Hybern to breach Prythian. It is one thing for war to be on their doorstep.

It is another to endanger Feyre.

“I’ll go myself,” Rhys growls.

“Careful,” Mor says. “If you go in there all hot-headed, you’ll only give him a reason to start a fight.”

Rhys gnashes his teeth in frustration, but eventually nods his acknowledgement. Mor bites her lip, bows her head, then leaves him. Rhys takes a deep breath in through his nose, rolls his shoulders, and then winnows onto the steps of Tamlin’s manor.

It’s been a very long time since he has been on this doorstep.

Once, years ago, his father brought him, wanting him to have experience of a High Lords’ meeting. Rhys had known Tamlin had a daughter, but on that day she was nowhere to be seen. Rhys wonders idly how much of her life Feyre has spent locked in her room.

He strolls through the great doors, not bothering to wait for Tamlin to deny him entry. As he walks, he shoves his hands into his pockets, and listens to the chatter of the minds of the house residents. He does not look for Feyre’s. Doesn’t want the distraction.

Rhys finds Tamlin in the study, and leans against the doorframe.

“Afternoon,” he says in greeting. Tamlin’s face twists at the sight of him.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d grind your bones if you ever came back here?” he says. Rhys just looks at his nails.

“You did,” he said, “but I’m in an altruistic mood, for some reason.”

“What are you jabbering about, boy?” Tamlin snarls. Rhys pushes off the door frame and looks him in the eye.

“Hybern,” he says. Tamlin snorts.

“Not this again.”

“Tamlin. My spies are never wrong. Hybern is moving against Prythian as we speak, and you need to be ready.”

“I don’t take orders from whelps,” Tamlin growls.

“Fine,” Rhys says cooly. “Do what you want. I only thought you’d be interested in the preservation of your own lands, or your people, or your daughter for that matter. I shouldn’t be so presumptuous.” Tamlin growls again, but Rhys looks bored.

“You dare speak of her,” he begins.

“Calm down old man,” Rhys says. “I just wanted to come here in person, so that I could be assured that when Hybern attacks and the Spring Court falls, you knew it was happening and you let it.”

“What do you care?” Tamlin spits. “You only rule a savage court, you’ve never spared a thought for another in all your life.”

“Yes,” Rhys says simply. “And if we’re worried, so probably should you be.”

“Leave. Now.” Tamlin pounds the desk as he speaks. Rhys just shrugs.

“As you wish.” He sketches a bow from the waist, and exits the room.

But he doesn’t walk out of the manor.

Rhys folds himself into the shadows, and climbs the grand staircase without anyone noticing him. Feyre’s bedroom door is locked, of course, but he he shimmers through the wood without much effort.

“I know I should have knocked,” he says, “but I’m not looking I swear.”

“Rhys!”

“Can I come in?”

Feyre laughs, soft as eiderdown, and pulls his hands from his eyes.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you for asking.”

“I would have asked from outside,” Rhys tells her, drawing her into his arms, “but that would have ruined the whole sneaking around thing I’ve got going here.”

Feyre stands up on her toes to kiss him. Rhys sighs over her lips, and the taste of her soothes his soul.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Rhys chuckles.

“I’m not the one being kept prisoner in my own bedroom.”

“You look tired.”

“I haven’t slept the last couple of days.”

Feyre touches his cheek and he leans into her palm. “Well come lie down then,” she says, and turns toward the bed by Rhys stops her.

“Feyre,” he says. “I have to tell you something. It’s important.”

Feyre’s eyes darken with concern, but she tugs him forward and he gets on the bed with her. They lie on their sides facing each other, and Feyre touches his chin.

“What is it?” she asks. Rhys folds her fingers into his.

“For a long time now, Hybern has been looking to expand its territory,” he tells her. “I have reason to believe- I am sure, they are now gathering in the mortal lands, and plan to attack Prythian from the south.”

“The south… is us,” Feyre says, eyes widening in understanding.

“Yes,” Rhys says. “I have tried to tell Tamlin but he won’t listen. I’m starting to think that if I told him the sky was blue he’d disagree, just because it was me saying it.”

“That’s probably true,” Feyre admitted. “So… what do we do?” Rhys lifted their entwined hands and kissed her fingers.

“I want you to know that I won’t let anything happen to you. The Night Court is ready and willing to send aid. Tamlin won’t hear me. Could you try to convince him to let us help?”

Feyre exhaled heavily. “Well, he doesn’t listen to me either. But of course, I’ll talk to him.”

Rhys kisses her knuckles again, on both hands. “Thank you,” he says.

“Rhys? What if doesn’t agree to it? What if he doesn’t listen?”

Rhys slides a hand under her hair, and his thumb strokes her jaw. “We’ll come anyway,” he says. “And I am finally going to get you out of here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Feyre says, and her voice is small with worry. Rhys kisses her until the tension slides from her shoulders.

“Rhys?” she says.

“Yeah honey?”

“I love you too.”

Rhys quirks a smile, and kisses both her cheeks and then her nose.

“I love you too, too.” He kisses her mouth then, and she wriggles closer to him. Rhys slides an arm under her and rubs his fingertips against the is of her skull.

It is so easy to forget wars and jailers when Feyre is touching him.

Feyre’s bare feet press into his ankles, and Rhys slides a hand down the outside of her thigh. The silk is cool beneath his fingers, and there’s a split in the fabric just above her knee. He catches her calf and hitches it over his hip as he keeps kissing her, and she squeezes him closer with her leg while his hand strokes her ankle.

“Are there flowers in the Night Court?” Feyre murmurs between kisses. Rhys smiles against her lips.

“Yes,” he says. “And the most wonderful fruits.”

Feyre’s hands are sliding up his chest now, fumbling with the fastenings in his shirt. She nips his bottom lip, and he licks the back of her teeth.

“Don’t they need sunlight to grow?”

Rhys laughs. “Feyre darling, we have just as much sunlight as you do.” His hand on her ankle has slid back up her calf, and is now curving around the underside of her thigh above her knee. The cream coloured dress is pushed further up her legs.

“But it’s always Spring here,” she says. She’s found the hem of his shirt and her hands have slipped beneath it. They are warm on his stomach.

“Well it’s not always night in the Night Court,” he assures her, and moves his lips to her throat. Feyre tips her head back to give him better access.

“Why?” she gasps.

“Because,” Rhys murmurs, trailing kisses down her neck, “things need to grow. And we need the warmth.” His hand on her leg is moving again, and cups her backside now. “And because no amount of power in the world stops the sun from rising.”

He kisses her mouth before she can ask any follow up questions, and the taste of her moan is so sweet it makes his head spin.

Rhys presses Feyre onto her back, and his hand on her ass slides around to her hip. His other arm is still behind her, and he massages his fingers in the back of her head. Feyre tugs at his hair, and he pushes her skirts further up so he can stroke her from knee to hip. Feyre shivers under his touch as his thumb skirts her inner thigh.

“Touch me,” she whispers, and Rhys’s hand tightens on her thigh before it dips between her legs.

Feyre’s hands fall from his neck and grab a hold of the sheets. Rhys watches her eyes flutter closed as he moves his fingers again, lightly over the cotton of her underwear. He slips beneath the waistband, and Feyre’s back arches up off the bed. He bites down on his own moan- Feyre is so wet on his fingers.

“Gods Feyre,” he breathes. He slides his hand down over her pussy before circling lightly against her clit. Feyre bites down on her lip and makes sure to stay quiet. Rhys thinks he’s never been so turned on as he is as he watches her writhe on his hand. He’s circling faster now, and sucks against her nipple through her dress. Never taking his eyes off her face.

“Don’t let anyone hear,” he reminds her softly, just as he pushes his index finger deep inside her. Feyre grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him hard, as she begins to fuck herself on his hand. Rhys grinds the heel of his palm against her clit as she does, and his other hand makes a fist in her hair.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he tells her. “I just wanna make you feel good.” He adds a second finger, and can’t help but imagine what she’d feel like if she was rocking on his cock like she was on his hand. Feyre’s nails scrabble at his chest, and her eyes meet his only momentarily before rolling back in her head.

“Do you feel good Feyre?” he asks her. She nods, mouthing words but not making any sound. “Can you come like this?” he whispers. Her hands tighten in his shirt and she’s struggling to draw breath. “That’s it,” he says. “Don’t make a sound, just come on my fingers.”

And she does. Her lips move silently, and her hips bow up off the bed. It takes Rhys a minute to realise she’s mouthing his name.

Feyre tightens around his hand as she climaxes, and when she finally comes down, she looks so peaceful. Rhys gives himself another moment to watch her, and then kisses her softly.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he whispers. Feyre’s eyes open into his, and waves crash in her gaze. He put his fingers in his mouth, kisses her again, and then disappears like smoke.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @tanvee1231

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine #smut

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ncssian · 4 years ago

Text

A Favor: Part Twenty

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait yall this month really kicked my ass,, but also we reached part 20!!

tw infertility discussion

***

Gwyn: isn’t he beautiful <3

In the freezing February air outside the tea house, Nesta clicks on the picture attached to Gwyn’s text. It’s a distant shot of a man in his mid-thirties hunched over a library desk while working, unaware that there’s a camera on him. She’ll give it to Gwyn, though—he is a little handsome.

Emerie: the stalker levels are through the roof, gwyneth. seek help.

Gwyn: no i’m gonna marry him

Nesta doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, but she types out a brief response before her thumbs fall off from the cold: Will give my opinion on him later. Got to go.

Gwyn’s crush will have to wait, Nesta thinks as she finally puts her phone away and pushes her way inside the exquisite tea house. Immediately, blasting heat thaws her frozen fingers and toes, and farther inside she spots the table she reserved for three. Right now, only one person sits at it.

Nesta grits her teeth and approaches the round table, heels clicking softly on the parquet floors. Elain doesn’t look up from the menu she’s reading. “This place would be nicer to visit in the spring,” is her only acknowledgment of Nesta.

“I like the winter,” Nesta answers simply, taking her seat across from Elain. She likes how the ice creeps over the garden outside until everything looks frozen in time, and she likes how the colorful flowers and trees become dulled by white snow. Not that her sister would understand or care.

“Of course you do,” Elain mutters, setting down the menu with all the careful elegance of a debutante. “I’m only here for Feyre, anyway.”

It almost saddens Nesta that she doesn’t feel hurt or offense at the words. She thought she would care more about Elain’s opinion than she actually does. “Where is Feyre, then?” she says, looking pointedly at the empty seat between them. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“I’m right here,” a breathless voice says, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Feyre appears, looking flushed from exertion and the cold. She sets her bag down and joins them at the table, scooting her seat all the way in. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nesta bites. “I was just about to order.”

“So was I.” Elain smiles breezily.

Feyre glances between the two of them, clear concern on her face, but she covers it up and says, “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

It was Feyre’s idea, of course. After Nesta told her off for never being interested in what she wanted to do, Feyre actually listened. She asked if Nesta wanted to hang out, and then let Nesta fill in the rest of the details on her own terms.

Which brings them to the tea house. Unfortunately for her sisters, however, Nesta doesn’t really know where to go from ordering tea and biscuits.

“How is school going?” Feyre asks her after their drinks arrive.

Nesta sips from her tea, already bored. “It’s been fifteen minutes and you have yet to say anything of substance, Feyre. It makes me miss being alone with Elain and her mood.”

Feyre looks taken aback, and Elain levels a glare at Nesta. An unsurprised, of course you have to ruin everything like this glare.

So Nesta clarifies, “That wasn’t an attack. I just hoped that after driving out here, I would get something better than shallow small talk.”

“And how do you know it was shallow?” Elain steps in harshly. “How do you know she isn’t actually interested in how you’re doing at school?”

Nesta slides blunt blue eyes to Feyre. “If that’s the case, then I commend you. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if I was in your position.”

To her surprise, Feyre snorts. She looks resigned when she says, “No, you’re right. I don’t care about what’s going on at school, not if you don’t. What would you rather we talk about then, Nesta?”

Without hesitation, Nesta says, “Ask me something you really care to hear the answer to.”

Elain shuts her mouth and sits back at that. Feyre twists her lips, thinking her next words over carefully. “How is your therapy going?” she finally asks in a cautious tone. “What do you talk about there?”

Remembering that she’s in a formal setting, Nesta stops herself from crossing her arms. She settles on wrapping her fingers delicately around her teacup instead. “We talk about whatever I feel like talking about,” she answers honestly. Although lately her conversations with Lana feel more restrained than usual.

“And what’s that?” Feyre urges.

Nesta shrugs, fitting apathy onto her face like an old mask. “Recently? Childbearing.” But it isn’t her favorite topic of discussion, not at all.

“You’re pregnant?” Elain jumps in, leading Nesta to throw her an unamused look.

“No, idiot,” she says. “My therapist just has the idea that if I end up being infertile it’ll screw me up, mentally and emotionally and whatever. She thinks I should deal with that baggage now instead of saving it for later.” She rolls her eyes thinking about it. How many times does she have to repeat that she doesn’t care about her body’s reproductive abilities until Lana gets it?

Feyre chuckles, confused. “Why would you be infertile?”

Nesta forgot—she didn’t want her sisters knowing anything that has to do with her health. She even made Cassian keep her doctor visits secret from Feyre. But that was months ago, and the sisters are… not exactly in a better place now, but looking for the way there. Nesta thinks she can tell them without any severe regrets. “I have endometriosis.”

When she’s met with silence, she adds, “You know, with the tissue growing on my ovaries and stuff. It might affect all the babies I don’t care to have in the future.”

Elain is the first to speak. “You always wanted to be a mother.” Her voice is soft, almost mourning. It irritates the hell out of Nesta.

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps back.

“You did,” Elain insists. Feyre still hasn’t said anything. “You took care of our cat, Mittens, until the day she died. You taught Feyre her alphabet. You raised me when Mama and Papa were too busy to do it. You never carried dolls around in strollers or anything, but you loved being a mother.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Feyre says, blinking. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the endometriosis part?”

Nesta sips from her tea, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from Elain’s words. “What about it?”

“How long have you known?” Feyre demands.

“It isn’t cancer. And I’m getting treated, obviously. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Nesta sighs, setting her cup down. “October. Cassian made me go to the doctor because he was worried about my periods, we had a big fight about health insurance, and now I use my salary from your boyfriend to afford medication so I don’t feel like dying every month. Is that everything you wanted to hear?”

Feyre only stares at her, for once revealing no emotion. “I keep forgetting,” she says finally, “that we’re not at a place to share things like that with each other. I keep being surprised every time I realize how much of your life you keep from us.”

“I don’t,” Elain huffs under her breath while she tears a croissant in half.

Nesta is still watching Feyre. “You remember how bad my cycles were? I would cry loud enough at night to wake the house.”

Feyre flinches at the memory, and Elain goes still.

“But no one ever woke up,” Nesta says. They never talked about it before, and she has no desire to keep speaking about it now. If they start to tally all the hurts they’ve dealt to each other, Nesta fears they’ll be here for hours. Worse, she fears she will lose.

She reaches for a lavender macaron and delicately pulls it apart, studying the cream filling inside. “Did you know they make these using the lavender flowers from the garden outside?”

“I hate lavender,” Elain says.

Spying her chance to shift the subject off herself, Nesta goes for it. “Because Azriel smells like lavender?” She pushes one half of the dainty cookie past her lips, chewing. “It’s an interesting cologne choice, I agree.”

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Feyre looks around, unaware that they’ve moved onto another topic.

Elain’s innocent brown eyes turn into daggers pointed at Nesta, betrayal written across her face. Nesta feels no pity for her—especially not if they’re going to sit around judging each other for keeping secrets.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she turns to Elain. “Is it about your,” she lowers her voice and whispers, “crush?”

Nesta raises a skeptical brow. She doubts whatever Az and Elain have stops at just a crush.

“No, it’s not,” Elain answers determinedly. “God, do you have to bring men into everything, Nesta?”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Quit it,” Feyre snaps at the both of them. “Or I’ll grab my things and leave.”

Do it, Nesta almost dares. But she has a feeling that Feyre means it, that she won’t submit to being taunted, so Nesta reins the words back from the tip of her tongue. After all, this tea is expensive.

The sisters take a moment to settle, and Feyre is the one to restart the conversation. “Either way,” she tells Nesta, “it looks like counseling is going really well for you. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it really gives your skin a certain glow,” Elain drawls.

Nesta doesn’t rise to meet her sarcasm. In all seriousness, Elain and Feyre could probably use a therapist themselves. It might make Nesta’s interactions with them less headache-inducing.

“You should visit one day,” she throws the suggestion out without thinking.

“What, like a therapy session?” Feyre says.

Realizing the implications of her terrible idea, Nesta forces herself not to backpedal. “Yes,” she makes herself grit out. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Elain and Feyre share a glance of hesitation and concern. It’s a glance that grates on Nesta’s nerves, but she keeps her mouth shut and waits for a response.

Feyre answers first: “We’ll do it.”

Elain looks more doubtful, but seems to realize that refusing to go would paint her in a negative light. We can’t have that, can we? Nesta thinks wryly. She reaches for some macarons and starts stuffing them into her purse. “Sounds good. Great.” It is not at all great. Having her sisters in the same room as her and Lana might just be terrible enough to ruin Nesta’s next month or two.

“I’ll text you the details whenever I feel like it,” she tells Feyre and Elain as she rises out of her seat. Likely not for as long as possible.

“Where are you going?” Elain demands.

“I’m leaving.” Nesta pointedly drapes her coat over her shoulders, picking up her purse. “I have plans for the rest of the day, sorry.” Plans to get home and rate Gwyn’s work crush on a scale of one to ten. Maybe she’ll rewatch a sitcom if she has time.

“But it’s only been an hour,” Feyre protests.

Did Feyre think they would be spending the whole day together? Nesta wants to shudder at the mere idea of it, but she somehow… feels bad for her sister. “Maybe another time,” she promises vaguely. To provide some sort of reassurance, she adds, “I had fun today. Thanks for pulling this together.” The words are hollow, fake, and she’s probably a hypocrite for not being able to return the same sincerity she demanded from Feyre. But honesty isn’t going to get Nesta very far today, so this false politeness is the best she can manage.

Elain looks somewhat relieved, and Feyre looks disappointed but unsurprised. “Alright.” The girls nod at her. “Get home safe.”

She turns and leaves as soon as she’s given the green light.

A stale scent greets Nesta when she enters her apartment, reminding her that she hasn’t been around in days. In her defense, the winter months are easier to bear in Cassian’s heated cabin than in a poorly insulated basement.

Flicking the lights on, Nesta books it to the thermostat, her teeth nearly chattering out of her body. After turning the heat as high as it can go, she climbs beneath the covers of her bed without bothering to take her coat off. She doesn’t take out her phone to text the groupchat like she promised she would. She doesn’t even get her laptop to turn Netflix on. Rather, her focus is caught on the framed picture of her and Cassian sitting atop the dresser.

Everything was okay as she stepped out of the tea house. It wasn’t until she was inside her car that it came upon her: the whirlwind of emotions that had stayed so carefully hidden while she chatted with her sisters. All throughout the drive home, her mind kept returning to that one topic. Children.

Elain said that Nesta used to genuinely enjoy playing substitute mother when they were children, and she was right. But that was all fun and games, like playing teacher. What Elain left out was what happened after their actual mother died and their father went into debt, leaving all three girls in need of a parent figure. Nesta wasn’t a mother then—or at least, not a good one.

Now, she stares at the picture full of smiley cheeks and windblown hair, remembering the night that she realized she wanted to hold Cassian’s hand in hers.

She can’t imagine Cassian not wanting kids. They’ve never discussed it, but it’s so obvious to anyone who’s ever met him: he has too much love to give away to not one day end up with a whole brood of children. The thought makes Nesta’s stomach churn.

***

“Thanks again, guys.” Cassian shakes hands with his team as they file out of the conference room, all of them dressed professionally while he lingers in his hoodie. As soon as the last worker is out the door, he pulls out his phone, ready to shoot Nesta a message. She met up with her sisters alone today for the first time in a year, and he can’t wait any longer to find out if their brunch ended in a fight or not.

He clicks on his phone to find two texts from his brother, sent not too long ago.

Rhys: You’re in the office today for the monthly check-in, right?

Rhys: Don’t leave after the meeting is over. I’ll be there in an hour to introduce you to the new guy heading the Milan project.

Cassian frowns, confused. Rhys and the new guy are coming all the way up here to meet him? He didn’t know he was that important to the project.

While he waits for his unexpected guests, Cassian texts Nesta twice, and only receives a single short response saying she got home safe. Resolving to call and have a real conversation with her later, he gets up to change into the spare buttondown and pressed slacks he keeps in a locker in his office. If Rhys wants him to play the part of company boss, then he might as well look the part.

He’s adjusting the cuffs of his dark-colored shirt when the door to his office opens without warning, and Rhysand strides in followed by a stiff-looking young man.

Cassian eyes the stranger up and down first, trying to get a read on him the way he’s seen Nesta and Rhys read others. He doesn’t come up with a single thing, as usual, but he hopes he achieved his goal of looking intimidating.

“Cass,” Rhys greets him with a subdued nod, in full CEO mode. “This is our new hire, Keith O’Connell. I snagged him from right under Vanserra & Co.’s noses.” His near-violet eyes gleam with pride. “He’s going to be working out of Milan for us starting this summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cassian smiles lazily, and this is something he doesn’t need to fake—confidence. He reaches out to shake Keith’s hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian Madani.”

“Good to meet you.” The other man shakes back, but his grip is too tight, like he’s trying to break Cassian’s hand. Try-hard, a voice that sounds like Nesta tells him. Uses arrogance to cover up his insecurity.

Cassian takes it all into account as he pulls his hand away, seeing Keith through clearer eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, and a shrewd black gaze takes in every detail of the office. He stands like he’s attempting to seem taller than he actually is.

A typical white-collar worker looking for a way up the corporate ladder, Cassian concludes. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but there must be a reason Rhys is so excited about him.

“Keith is starting here at your branch next week,” Rhys is saying when Cassian refocuses.

He blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. “What, all the way out here?” Away from Velaris in this modest mountain town?

“We agreed it was best if you two work together as closely as possible while preparing for the summer launch. Since you can’t come to Velaris, that means Keith comes here.”

Cassian looks at Rhys in astonishment. He thought that once he rejected the Milan position, he’d cleaned his hands of the job for good. Clearly he was wrong. “Just how involved am I going to be on this project?”

Rhys grins back at him. “You’ll lead from home base, of course.”

Cassian glares. Rhys responds with a look that says they’ll talk about this later.

Keith seems to find the idea of working alongside another person as distasteful as Cassian finds it unexpected, but he says anyway, “I can’t wait to start working together. I have a lot of ideas for the Italian outpost that I think you’ll appreciate.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cassian hums. “When do you start again?”

“Next Monday.”

“Then we should talk then.” Cassian gestures out the door. Keith looks taken aback, likely having expected more out of this meeting. But Cassian can’t meet with this guy until he gets a hold of what the fuck is going on. After shepherding Keith out of the office and shutting the door after him, he turns to Rhys with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys warns. “Your role in this project is serious.”

“This project isn’t even part of my job description. What am I supposed to know about international business conductions?”

“You know enough to keep an eye on that O’Connell kid for me.” Rhys leans against Cassian’s desk as if it’s his own and crosses his feet. “He’s an asset to the company, but he also worked for our competitors up to a couple of months ago. I can’t trust him to manage this thing on his own, and I don’t have the time or resources right now to watch over him myself. That’s why the duty falls to you.”

“I manage security,” Cassian states, in case it wasn’t obvious. “What about Az?”

“Az has his own things to handle.” Rhys waves him off. “Just do what I tell you to, will you? Pay attention to O’Connell for the duration of the Italy venture and make sure he doesn’t steer our ship off course. You’ll get paid triple for the extra hours.”

“I don’t need triple,” Cassian grumbles, but Rhys is no longer listening. He’s typing on his phone and already heading for the door.

“Feyre and I are having dinner here before heading back home,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you later; I believe in you!” The door shuts after him, leaving Cassian alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies to the empty room.

Cassian leaves not long after Rhysand does, having no excuse to linger. Outside, he’s greeted with a surprise leaning against the hood of his truck.

Nesta pushes off the hood as soon as he catches notice of her. “Long day?” she asks.

He laughs for the first time all afternoon, the sound surprised and genuine. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard your thoughts.” There’s a light in her pale eyes that only burns whenever she looks at him. It’s the same light that powers her ability to make jokes and let her guard down around him in a way she can’t with most others, and Cassian is especially grateful for it today.

Nesta reaches out and takes his hand into hers. He watches the way their palms fit together in endless fascination, his brown fingers a stark contrast against her white ones. He squeezes once and looks back up at her. “How did meeting your sisters go? You never told me.”

The light flickers so briefly Cassian wonders if it’s a trick of his eyes. But then Nesta is there again, at full brightness. She squeezes his hand back. “Take me home. I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

a/n: i love writing stuff related to cassian’s job i’ll just be throwing random words in there and calling it business jargon

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