#thumb abductor

[kimstills]

blame

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

*

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

*

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

[peachesofteal]

Part two of scary bar Simon PLEASE like go insane go crazy go manic

18+ dark content.

The town is sleepy.

So sleepy, most people in the single pub you've managed to find seem shocked to see you. They stare at you like they've never seen a girl before, like your very presence offends them.

And maybe it does.

When you fling yourself at the bartender, eyes wide and frantic, trembling, dirt stained hands trying to reach for her, she only stares at you.

You made it this far. They didn't follow you. They haven't found you. They don't know where you are.

You have a chance.

"P-please. I need help." You whisper. "I've been kidnapped... these men... they took me." Your voice cracks and shakes, rough foundation of your sanity slowing chipping away like peeling paint, layers and layers of lead leeching into your blood. "Please! The men, who live in the old estate, they t-took me."

"What men?" She asks, eyebrow raised.

"Call the police, please." You snuff out a scream, raw and agonized, red tipped with rage. It combats the sinking ship of despair, the one battered by the seas, bow broken and wooden slats splintered.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tells you, each word bland on her tongue.

"Just... call the police. Call anyone." You turn, glancing at the next closest person, and they avert their eyes quickly, glancing at her before shaking their head.

No.

"What?" You choke on it, the disbelief like a rock lodged in your throat. No one in the pub makes eye contact with you, and the room is silent and still as you stand before them, listless and tearful, begging until your words run dry. "P-please, please. They're... they took me. I want to go home. I need to go home."

"You are home." The Manchester accent rings at your back, and you flinch instinctively, stomach dropping into a bottomless pit. He ducks through the doorway, floorboards groaning beneath massive weight, and they echo across the dead space between your ears.

Your captor. Your abductor. Your everything… now. Dark, fathomless eyes. Heavy, severe gaze, drowning your rational thoughts out easily.

"N-no." You glance around frantically, but everyone's eyes find their feet. No one stands to help you. No one seems to care. "No. No... please."

"It's time to go home."

"Please." You cry, tears blurring your vision. You hold your hands out in front of you, trying to create distance, but it's no use. He's on you without hesitation, and when you twist and squirm in his arms, trying to grab onto one of barstools, he pries your fingers free one by one, clucking his tongue.

"Alright, that’s enough little one. You’re scarin’ everyone in here.” His eyes pinch at the corners, sinister smile twisting beneath the mask. “We’re going home…” he cradles your cheek, rubbing a thumb through your tears.

You can only stare at him in horror when he lowers the black fabric to stick it in his mouth, lips cracking into a grin.

“Now.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Homebound.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Mentions of Torture, There Is A Kid Involved But Childe Just Sorta Found It In The Woods, and Disturbing Themes.

[Part Two]

He would be coming for you, soon.

The sky was still dark, the stars still as bright as they had been in the dead of night, but the moon was beginning to sink below the horizon, the lampposts that lined the street below your apartment beginning to fade as their oil stocks ran dry. You’d been at your window since sunset, too anxious to do anything more than stare at the scrapes of landscape and, occasionally, glance towards the cradle behind you, where your Lina slept soundly, unaffected by your racing heart or gnawing nerves. It was for the best, as unfair as it felt that you would have to burden her fear as well. You did this so she wouldn’t have to suffer like you had, wouldn’t have to live under the suffocating care of a man with too much power and too little love in his heart.

You were doing this so she would never have to know what it was like to be a part of Childe’s family, and a toddler's cluelessness wasn't going to be the thing that made you give up.

With a shallow sigh, you tore yourself away from the window and brought yourself back into the reality of your cluttered apartment, hastily thrown into disarray after his visit that afternoon. As many of your possessions as you could account for had been ripped from their drawers and thrown from their cabinets, brought out into the open where you could take stock of what few belongings you had. There wasn’t much you needed, really. Any family heirlooms or beloved childhood trinkets had been lost the first time you escaped from Childe, but you filled your pockets with what little you still considered dear to you  - a rose-shaped pendant a kind stranger had gifted to you when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a flimsy ring of golden vines and miniature cecilias you had won at a booth during the last Windbloom festival, and lastly, the sphere of metal and glass as-of-yet unbound by any casing. Your Vision, as much as you hated acknowledging the damned thing’s existence.

 Your cloak was next, dark enough to melt into the shadows of the forest and long enough to drag against the floor as you tied it around your neck. A swab of shapeless, black fabric accompanied it, but before you made use of that, you found the powered sleeping draught a healer had given your sometime back, when the nightmares were still too vivid to be suppressed by exhaustion alone. Gritting your teeth, you spread a small portion of the lilac dust over the pad of your thumb, and approached the cradle.

It was a small mercy, really, that whatever resemblance Childe had seen in Lina was lost on you. She had reddish hair, but it was too light, closer to blonde than ginger. Her eyes, while blue, were brighter, more curious, more full of life than those of a man who felt nothing but bloodlust and obsession could ever be. She did not have her abductor’s freckles, his pale skin, and you were thankful each time you looked at her that you did not see Childe, that she would never be bound to him by blood or by likeness.

You could remember the day he brought her home, no more than a few months old and bundled in his blood-flecked coat. He’d made it out to be a miracle, as if the archons had descended from Celestia and laid the child that you had selfishly refused to give him at his feet. You’d already decided to run away by then, already started to plan how you’d escape his awful little cabin and his awful frozen nation, but Lina had forced you into immediate action. It was one thing to submit yourself to Childe, to play soft and innocent for another week while you prepared. You couldn't have left Lina in his care for any longer than absolutely necessary and still expected to be able to live with yourself.

That might’ve been why your heart ached as painfully as it did as you reached down, slipping your thumb past her lips and spreading the powder across her gums. She stirred, her expression souring, but you swallowed back your remorse as the sleeping draught took effect, as she relaxed and fell into a sleep too still to be natural. The guilt was nearly overwhelming, but you would have to stomach it. Whatever happened, she couldn’t wake up. Not before you made sure she was somewhere safe.

Steeling yourself, you pulled the cloak’s deep hood over your head, lifted Lina from her cradle, swaddled her body in the black fabric, and slipped out of your apartment and into the night.

--

Childe was in your apartment.

In your living room, sitting in your favorite (and only) armchair, bouncing Lina softly on his lap. You could hear her cooing as soon as you stepped through the door, see her sitting upright and gripping at the fingers of an offered hand, taste the apology you'd been practicing for taking so long at the afternoon market, but it took you a little longer to notice Childe, to process that he was here, in your house, holding your daughter. Like he had any right to. Like you hadn’t gotten away from him.

“I can already tell - she’s gonna be a fighter.” He was already grinning, already pushing himself to his feet. You couldn’t move, couldn’t run as he came to stand next to you, holding her against his side. “That’s our little Atalanta. Barely a year old and already shaping up to be such a fierce warrior.”

Atalanta. You’d almost managed to forget that Childe had given her a name of his own – a name fit for a hero, at that. Your Lina wouldn’t be a hero. She wouldn’t carry a name that demanded a place in the tales of adventures and on the tongues of storytellers. She would live a quiet, happy life in Mondstadt. the city of freedom. She would be great if she wanted to be, but she wouldn’t be a weapon. She wouldn’t be what he would’ve raised her into.

“She's growing like a weed, too.” And yet, you couldn’t seem to say that. You couldn’t seem to move. A hand fell to the small of your back, his smile taking on a softer drawl as he let his head lull to the side. “We’ll have to redecorate the nursery. I tried to keep up with all the milestones, but it’s been… how long? Nine months?” He paused, chuckled. “You kept me lonely, you know that? I didn’t even have our little Atalanta to keep me company.”

Something very large and very sharp lodged itself in the back of your throat. “Lina.”

Childe’s smile faltered. “What was that, dear?”

“Her name is Lina.” You were smart enough not to try and tear Lina out of his arms, but that did little to stifle the temptation. “You’re not welcome here. Get out and get away from my daughter.”

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling away from you and returning Lina to her cradle, unbothered by your meager threats. “You’re really going to be stubborn about this, huh? I let you go on your little trip, gave you more than enough time to live out your little fantasy in this rotting shack of a country, and you’re still going to be stubborn?” Another laugh, another faltering grin. He started towards you, careful to keep himself between you and Lina, but it was an unnecessary precaution. You were rooted to the ground, unable to move as he embraced you – wholeheartedly, this time, both arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you off the floor and into his chest. You could feel his smoldering breath fanning over the side of your neck, his blunt nails burrowing into your sides as he fought to keep you as close as possible, but you did nothing to resist him. You weren’t going to fight him in front of Lina, no matter how much you wanted to claw at his face, to shove at his chest, to get him away from you. You weren’t going to make her watch that. “Come home. I’m only going to ask once.”

He hadn’t asked at all, but it would’ve been a waste of time to point that out.

“Are… are you going to hurt me, if I refuse?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to hurt you either way. You ran away from me. You stole my daughter.” Spoken softly, with more than a note of anticipation in his voice. “But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

--

His subordinates were swarming the area around your apartment. They couldn’t wander openly, not with the attention their concentrated presence would draw, but you could feel their eyes burning into you from side streets and alleyways as you descended the narrow staircase, prying into you for a moment before moving onto their next target. They were looking for someone who fit Childe’s description – a sweet, doe-eyed thing carrying a child made from sunlight and laughter, not someone dressed for weather much more hostile than anything Mondstadt had to offer, trotting a formless heap of material. What interest your attire would’ve garnered dissolved completely as you joined a large group of passing drunkards, thrown out of their taverns and sent to stumble home at some unholy hour, too belligerent to do anything but welcome you into their numbers. It was a small blessing that you'd spent as much time in the taverns as you had, despite how little you cared for wine. There wasn't a barfly within Mondstadt's walls who would think to question your presence among them.

You followed them north, through the city’s commercial district, keeping your head low and Lina wrapped in your arms until you reached the gate to the eastern port. The drunkards continued on, but you remained.

It was deserted, as you thought it would be. You knew Fatui agents were posted at the city’s gates, waiting to catch you if you tried to flee this nation, too, but the eastern port wasn’t so eye-catching, wasn’t such a vital thing to guard when it came to blocking off the possible escape routes of runaway captives. Even if it hadn’t been so easily forgotten, it would’ve been a waste of men to guard. There was only one bridge over Cider Lake, and no one in their right mind would try to swim across, especially with a child in tow. Unless you could walk on water, the main gates were the only way in or out of the city.

Unfortunately for Childe, you weren’t as helpless as you’d been the first time he stole you away.

You followed the shore for as long as you could, until the city’s walls threatened to bend and reveal your position to the agents posted at the main gates. With no lack of trepidation, stepped onto the sand and reached into your pocket, taking up your Vision and holding it tightly in your clenched fist. The chill bit into your palm, unhindered by any casing, pure Cryo energy pulsing beneath the hazy surface of the glass. You hadn’t been able to look at it for weeks after you arrived in Mondstadt, and even after you’d started to overcome your aversion, it was hard to imagine a world wherein you could carry it proudly, where you could give such an awful thing the care and attention it’d take to learn how to use it properly.

Not that you had time to practice, right now. It was all you could do to give yourself a few seconds to catch your breath as you stepped out and onto the lake, the glassy water instantly freezing underneath your feet. A hairline crack formed across the surface as you shifted your weight onto it, but the ice held, and you let your shoulders slump, relief replacing a fraction of your anxiety. It was slow progress, each step hesitant and unsure, but you persisted, even as frost crept up the heel of your boots, even as a chill more pointed and more penetrating than any you’d felt before seeped under your skin and into the gaps between tissue and bone.

Even as, as much as you loathed to admit, you realized that the cold was not quite as unpleasant as you'd hoped it would be.

--

“But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

You glanced towards the cradle, towards Lina as she struggled to sit up and started to look for her suddenly absent source of entertainment. It wasn’t good to lay her down so quickly, to leave her unattended while she was still awake, but once again, you doubted it’d be of any use to tell Childe that. “What’ll happen to Lina?”

“I’ll take care of Atalanta, obviously.” You could feel his lips against the curve of your throat, the points of his teeth against your skin. “I've had to wait months for this. Do you really think I’d neglect her now?”

You were more worried about how she’d turn out under his full attention.

But, you pretended to consider it, pressing your lips into a thin line and going quiet. After more than a few seconds, you brought your hands up to his chest – not shoving, but nudging gently, softening yourself into something delicate, something he’d be able to understand. There was a throaty, disappointed groan, a minute or so of resistance, but eventually, he lowered you back onto your feet, letting his hand fall to your hips. “I’ll come with you,” you started, slowly, deliberately. It hurt to say, the sentiment searing your throat and catching on your teeth. The fact that you, of course, did not mean a word you said was only a minor salve. “But, Lina deserves one last day in her home, and so do I. Give us until dawn tomorrow, then we’ll both come willingly.”

He bowed his head, falling far enough to let his lips brush against your forehead. He’d always thought of any distance between your body and his as an unnecessary frivolity, a luxury he wasn’t willing to give you. Apparently, your time apart hadn’t lessened his distaste for separation. “You know how pointless it is to run, right? The Fatui have every plank of wood in this city under surveillance, and my subordinates won’t be as forgiving with you as I am.”

“Please, Childe.” You lean into him, melting against his chest. He was a soldier, a warrior, not a diplomat. If you were sweet enough, if you spoke in a way that appealed to his delusions, then he would listen. “Just one more day. Then, you’ll have us for the rest of our lives.”

There was another squeeze to your waist, another lingering kiss to your forehead. “One day.”

There was no need to look at him as he pulled away. You could practically hear his smile.

“Then, you’re all mine.”

--

You made it to shore unscathed, but your trek through the forest was not so painless.

Each step was labored, made more impossible by the bundle in your arms, the weight of your cloak, the months you’d spend living in domestic peace. Your cloak snagged on every stray branch and boulder, your boots easily caught under roots and stray vines, and the darkness of the night only served to make each obstacle more unavoidable, more difficult to shield Lina from. Even holding your daughter was a challenge, once the adrenaline faded and exhaustion began to set in. Your arms ached where they had not already gone numb, and your chest swelted underneath the heavy fabric, more suited for Snezhnaya's eternal winter than Monstadt's ever-present summer. Resigning yourself to the main road would’ve cut hours off of your journey, but roads were patrolled, and you could not risk meeting another person – knight, adventurer, and agent alike. You didn’t have the time it would’ve taken to explain yourself, let alone pick a fight.

You travelled west, across the valleys of Windrise, through the most wilderness-infested outskirts of Springville. The sky was beginning to lighten by the time your destination came into sight, and with its purpose now obsolete, you shed your cloak and began to descend, taking your time to skirt down sheer rockfaces, to wad through the slow-running streams that webbed across the land. You navigated through the rows of wooden racks and grape vines, not yet in bloom, only letting yourself slow as dirt turned to cobblestone, as the mansion before you turned from a shadowed suggestion to a great, towering structure – secure in the sheer implication of its size.

Finally, finally, you came to a stop before the main entryway. It was all you could do to stand there for a moment, to stare up at the mansion and note all the minute differences between its face and that of Childe’s cabin. When you finished, you raised your hand and, with as much force as you could manage, knocked on the door to Dawn Winery.

A maid answered immediately, confusion turning to abject horror as she noticed the state of your clothing, the leaves and debris caught in your hair, the thousand or so tiny cuts and scrapes pleated over your arms and face. She opened her mouth, but you spoke first, unwilling to spend any longer out in the open than you already had. “I need to speak to Master Ragnvindr.”

She pursed her lips. “The young Master does not—”

“Concerning what topic?”

It was a masculine voice, coming from further down the hall. Somewhat begrudgingly, the maid pulled the door open, allowing you to see into the dim mansion. Diluc stood at the other end of the hall, half-dressed, a length of black ribbon in one hand and his hair gathered in the other. Clearly, you’d interrupted his morning rituals. “I’ve heard,” you started, unwrapping Lina’s bundling and praying that those long nights spent listening to the rumors that swirled in the deepest pits of the darkest taverns would serve you well. “that you do not hold much affection for the Fatui.”

His gaze flickered from you to Lina, to your trembling arms. With little hesitation, he approached you, meeting your eyes as he reached for your daughter. You gave a reluctant nod, and he took her up, holding her to his broad chest. “I've always preferred to keep less blood-stained company.”

“In that case,” You step across the threshold, allowing the door to fall shut behind you.

“How would you like to make a Harbinger very, very angry?”

[pricegouge]

*rattling the bars of my cage* PISS! PISS! PISS! PISS! PISS!

keep misbehaving i'll keep you in that cage until you make a mess

cw: piss/human urinal. fem reader

>>you drink enough water today hen?

<<Johnny, enough

where the question used to make you giddy with excitement, overcome with feelings about a partner who ensures your overall wellness, it only serves to make you squirm now - the two sided agony of the promise of life altering orgasms and embarrassment like you've never known before Johnny infiltrating your being on a nearly molecular level. On the one hand, you can tell him yes and be expected to prove it by the end of the night, or you can admit you haven't and await whatever punishment Johnny sees fit for such a grievous mistake. Neither option is particularly appealing.

>>that's a no then isn't it?

***

The funnel was your idea, an attempt to not make a mess. Johnny ruins your plan in seconds, his hot piss overflowing the shallow tunnel quickly because your cunt won't loosen enough to accept the load. It sloshes over the edge of the instrument, coats your belly and slickens your skin. "It's not going down?" you ask stupidly, and Johnny sticks his finger into the nozzle of the funnel, working you open through the silicone.

"Is now."

***

You leak like a sieve when he fucks you, gushing all over his hairy thighs despite the fact he hasn't made you cum even once tonight. It's too hot and thin to be mistaken for your own slick but that doesn't stop Johnny, his hips pistoning into you like you're the most welcoming thing he's ever had. 

"Squirtin' like a fockin' whore," he grits, and the sight of the tendons in his neck jumping makes you clench regrettably, yet more mess splashing across his tummy. He grunts as if shot, thick hand planting on the bed next to you as he fucks into you twice more, movements becoming slow and sporadic until he finally stalls. 

"Don't you fucking dare," you hiss, but it's too late, yet more warmth filling you until you're fit to burst, flowing over onto the ticklish cords of your abductors. Jonny's thumbs dig in there, your reflexes making you open impossibly wider for him. 

"Shit, hen," he grits, burying himself to the hilt. "So fockin' wet."

"Ye gonna squirt on me?" He asks, Adam's apple jumping under the scruff of his throat.

You're are, is the worst part, your own slick beginning to combine with his piss, reducing you to nothing more than a wet hole for him to fuck. The sound of his hips slapping into yours is bad - the smell worse - but still, somehow, between the way he pinches your clit and the way his cock manages to reach the very end of you, aided as it is by the slickness you've both built, you feel on the verge of shaking apart anyway; do so when you feel his fingers against your rim, know he's gripping the base of himself so tight and low he has his balls clenched in his fist as well, anything to draw it out one more moment. 

You shake your head, adamant. He places the flat of his heavy palm on your belly, insistent.

"O'course ye are, hen. Let me see it."

And so you do, unable to deny him anything when his cock feels that good. He fucks you through it, wet splash as you cum against his hairy belly deflecting back onto you. You hardly even notice it, hot spend blending with the layer that's already drying on your skin, thin and tacky. Johnny slicks his hand through the mess, collects the thin spend onto his thumb and circles your clit with a callused finger, pulling you through one last orgasm as he finishes himself off, cumming so deep inside you the piss that still leaks from you runs clear for another hour before turning milky.

[tenderlyrenjun]

7Dream and bouts of some relationship insecurity

I don't really know how to title this, but yeah ...

includes ... making out, suggestive/implied sexual content, light swearing, references to fist fights, alcohol mentions, food mentions, jealousy/insecurity, vague choking; Juyeon cameo, hey babe ... also, I got carried away with one of these because I originally had it as part of a fic but I just deleted the fic instead so, yeah, sorry, you can ... really tell which one it is ._. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED.

Mark Lee

"Hey, man, come on. That's my girl."

The single sentence took less than a minute, but the conversation ended with Mark's fist through the guy's jaw and with security escorting all five of you - you, Mark, Jaemin, Renjun, and Yeein - out the back door. Everyone else opted to head home, since the entrance fee was, like, ₩50,000 to account for weekend tax.

Mark barely managed a quick good-bye over the driver's door before you slammed your own door shut. You probably should have driven, since his knuckles continuously cracked along the steering wheel, but driving relaxes him, something he needed, especially after that incident. Some guy kept chatting you up, standing way too close, borderline touching your ass, even though you redirected away from him, several times. And Mark knows, and trusts, that you would never leave him, much less cheat on him; he has the upmost faith in you, if his constant words of affirmation are anything to believe, but that does not mean he has to trust everyone else, epsecially when alcohol comes into the mix, heightening emotions too much. And he didn't blame you - doesn't blame you. You look hot, something on which he commented ... very enthusiastically before even going to the bar, with your satin mini-dress, a small (literally) article he bought while thinking about you on a work trip.

But as he sped down to your apartment, you - his passenger princess - pointed your knees at the window, just generally looking away from him. He cramped his fingers on the steering wheel that time, flooring the gas pedal. Then, you, silently, guided him into your apartment, sitting him down in the bathroom, where you, now, wrap his knuckles.

Mark watches you take a salve, applying it via cotton swab over the dried blood, accidentally reopening the would, much to his grimace. Though, he says nothing. The frown embedded between your brows and the heavy breathing in the room prevents him from opening his mouth. So, he lets you paw at his hand, only letting out soft grunts when you overextend his thumb (it got caught on the guy's jaw after Mark went in for a third punch). Eventually, you finish with the salve, wiping away the excess with toilet paper, and you get up, walking out the small half-bathroom.

"I'm sorry," Mark calls softly. He half hopes you don't hear him, over the blaring air vent, because you still have yet to even look at him, in the eye, since you got in his shiny, red car. But, still, you return; eyes trained on the ground though, waving a beige roll of adhesive tape. And he repeats it, even gentler, saying your name this time, "Babe?"

"Hmm?"

"I said I'm sorry."

You stare at him, for awhile. He sees your eyes scan his face, probably lingering at the one or two cuts from when that guy landed a blow, and your fingers slip, accidentally fastening the bandage around his abductor muscle. And Mark resets his jaw, with his prettier hand, just thinking about the bar incident all over again. But then, your face drops, into your lap, and his face drops.

"No, yeah, I heard," you return, sighing, then unwrap his hand to fix your mistake. "I," you swallow thickly, licking your lips, refocusing on his fingers. Gingerly you turn them over in your polished hands, grazing his purpling skin comfortingly. "You don't have to be sorry," you say softly, "I just ... I didn't ..." You pause, dropping his hand back in his thigh, and kneel between his legs. "I didn't know you could be that kind of hot," you confess, smile fighting its way onto your face. You let out a breathless chuckle, cutting it short when you bite your lip. So, Mark pulls it from your teeth, palm brushing into your cheek. "You ... were really ... sexy." You run your hand up and down his inner thigh, and his knee twitches. "Normally, you, um, you use your words." You look up at him through your lases, teetering on your knees, still wearing that short, satin dress he bought, the loose neckline swaying teasingly. "And you're really good with your words."

Mark bites his lip this time, shifting his hips down the toilet seat on where he sits. "Gotta - Gotta defend my girl, yanno?"

You stand on your knees, taller, and Mark gets even closer, the two of you a magazine-width apart. His palm lowers down your cheek, down your jaw, settling above your collarbone. He presses, gently, at first, then squeezes around your neck, entire upper body shuddering. You breathe upward, on his lips, seam of your mouth breaking with each gasp, then move first, straddling his legs, drawing closer - yet so far - to his face.

"Well, you got your girl," you whisper. And his hand squeezes again, holding you at a distance to hear what you say, even though he keeps tilting his head across your pretty collar. "What are you gonna do now?"

Huang Renjun

You take off your couple bracelet, leaving it in the key dish by the door, before heading to work, and Renjun found it, an hour later, when he was running late to the office. He said nothing, that night, collapsing in bed before you even finished your evening skincare routine. Then, you changed your phone case to some new otterbox, replacing his matching universe one, as you both went out to dinner with Juyeon and Jun. Still, Renjun said nothing, holding the elevator door open for you and a few older ladies. The following weekend, he plucked up the courage, before a brunch date, to bring up another couple accessory before you could show him its absence:

"Are you going to wear your ring today?"

You pause, in front of the vanity mirror, steel makeup spatula a hair away from your cheek, and look at him through his reflection. Renjun gnaws inside his bottom lip. He stands at the foot of your shared bed, his coat strewn over the neatly pleated duvet. Oppositely - as oppositely has you have been from him this week - you sit across the room, at the small dressing table, still wearing your bathroom, hair wet in the front where you have yet to blow dry. Eventually, after an eternity, you turn to face him, placing the spatula, elevated, on the open foundation cap.

"I don't know," you confess slowly. "Should I?"

Renjun inhales sharply. "It's your choice," he emphasizes. But he shows you his silver ring on his right hand, the accessory pinched before his pinky. "I'm wearing mine."

You turn back to the mirror and finish applying the sunscreen, simply nodding at him, acknowledging his statement - neither confirming nor denying your own end. He thinks you might continue like that - passive aggressive - for the rest of the day, through the entire date even, but you surprise him, rotating again. You sigh, once, breaking the seam between your lips, then close them again, tongue cleaning your teeth, obviously. He waits another second, giving you the space to organize your thoughts. And you finally speak.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, staring at the ground. You swallow thickly, just once, then look at him, repeating, "I'm sorry, Junjun." You swallow again, blinking more rapidly, and Renjun crosses the room to hug you, your hands instantly climbing around his waist as he cradles your head against his stomach, your tears ruining his button-up shirt. "I know that I've been impossible lately," you confess, "I just ... Seeing someone else hit on you last week didn't ... It didn't feel good."

"I didn't know," Renjun admits, "that you felt that way."

"I didn't want you to know," you muffle, pawing his shirt.

"But you have to tell me," he says, "when I do something that makes you feel bad, especially if I don't catch on in the moment. I love you, only you." He kisses the top of your head. The hostess, at dinner last week, hit on him when she thought he came alone, but he was just reserving the table for you two; then, she persisted through the dinner, only stopping 30-minutes later, after you and he stayed later than her shift. But still, she left her number for him, much to both your annoyances. Though, it seems as though his annoyance wasn't evident enough. "Next time, I'll stop it sooner, I promise." He detaches your face from his shirt and cups your cheeks, thumbs brushing away loose tears. "Do you still want to go to brunch?"

You shake your head, no, and apologize, "Not really. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers, pecking you quickly. "I'll order us some fried rice from the restaurant across town and make it up to you in bed."

Lee Jeno

It happened a couple days ago, last weekend, but Jeno has been ruminating - through all the car rides to work, all the mundane chores around the apartment, all the lonesome meals he has to eat while you work from your office - about that barista who asked for your number.

You didn't hand it out, obviously, only shooting a raised eyebrow until you got your card back. And Jeno ... he kinda just clung to you the rest of the date - making you sit in his lap, head on your shoulder, arms tight around your waist, which had you asking to use the bathroom. He knows that his behavior persisted home, over, essentially, the week, creating this ... this distance between the two of you - during drama marathons when you would otherwise cuddle; during dinners alone together in your apartment, during sex, but he can't help it: he got in his own head about it. Not even rebuilding his LEGO bonsai tree could mediate his thoughts.

And he tried.

Jeno ended up going through the motions, blindly attaching turntables to tyres, while he stared more at the coffee table than pieces. Then, you came home, as he finished assembling the cherry blossom stems (he did the green foliage, too, not yet having a preference for either), and sat on the floor with him, leaning your cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling into his hoodie.

"I missed you."

Jeno shrugs, not enough to shove you off though because your cheek rolls a little further on his chest, immobilizing his left arm. "You saw me this morning."

"Yeah, but -" You slide into his lap, resting your head over his thighs. He lifts his elbows a little higher, as you squirm around, nudging your face toward the ceiling, though you stare at him, only him. It gives him some comfort, and his hand moves automatically, coming down to caress your face. "- I don't know," you confess, "I guess I just felt a little ..." You scrunch your nose, and he rubs away the lines in your cheeks, making you grab his wrist, dragging him onto your stomach, twiddling with his long, nimble fingers. "... insecure? Lonely? Maybe?"

"Is that a question?"

"No," you shake your head. You turn on your side, burying your face in his abdomen. Jeno drops the remaining LEGO pieces and threads his free hand in your hair, matting it backwards. You sigh, deeply, "I guess I might just need some extra support, or something, right now. I love you, you know."

"Mmhmm," he nods, because he does know, that you love him. "I love you, too." It's just that Jeno doesn't like the idea of someone occupying your time the way he should. So, he lays down on the ground, too, scooting back a bit until you're face-to-face, albeit upside down, like a Spider-Man kiss. And he blinks up from your lips to eyes, seeing you watch him. "I'm sorry," he apologizes first.

You offer him a small smile. "You don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault." Tentatively, you stutter a hand toward his hair, only digging your fingers in his scalp after he nods an okay, though he also confirms that he thinks it's his fault, from how much he has been pulling away this week. "I just need some extra support, if you're able."

"And if I'm not?"

You tilt your head to the side, and Jeno frowns.

"If I'm not enough?" he clarifies.

"Then," you kiss him quickly before he can respond, elongating it for another moment, "we can support each other." You hold his chin still, staring him in the eyes. "But you are," you enunciate, "enough, more than enough."

Lee Haechan

You should have stayed home.

Really.

Haechan didn't even want to go out, didn't even want to come to the restaurant. He was content staying at home, drinking wine from tumblers rather than these elongated goblets; he already bought you flowers. You don't need to hold a glass stem and drink wine over an unreasonably exorbitant dinner. He has the same wine at home(!), the exact same Boudreaux you ordered, and he can make a steak just as well.

Okay, maybe not, but he can have Jaemin make a steak for you just as well as the chef at this restaurant, or he could order it to home. Or you could eat the really good lobster that his mom made him take yesterday. And you could pop open the rosé, over rose-scented candles, instead of the cheap taper candle - a single one - decorating your current tablecloth. There are people, too, sitting so much closer than he would like, preventing him from having an actual conversation with you.

Oh, and it got worse when the waiter started flirting with you.

At first, neither of you noticed, focused more on the menu, debating between steak or mushroom bruschetta to pair with the Boudreaux you love. Then, you laughed at some stupid joke, politely, probably, if Haechan were more level-headed, less peeved, and the waiter started flirting more enthusiastically.

"Babe?"

"Hmm?" You tilt your chin at him, still swirling your wine, reading off the drinks list.

"Baby," he tries again, whining the last syllable further. And you toss him a short glance, smile extending longer than your gaze. "Baby," he sighs, "can't you pay attention to me?"

"I am," you answer, and finally put down the small menu, but you stay there, far away from him. So, Haechan stands up, halfway, pulling your chair next to his until he sits down with his arm behind your shoulders. Haechan touches his forehead on yours, making you maintain eye contact, noses brushing together. "What's wrong, my love?" you ask him, rubbing his free arm.

In lieu of an answer, he drops his hand down your knee, curling under your skirt.

"My love?" you try again.

And he stops moving his hand up your dress, stopping as far as your thighs separate, fingers itching toward your underwear. He exhales once, twice, breath shaking, then looks at you through his glasses. "I like it when you call me that."

"What? My love?"

Haechan nods. "Makes me feel like I'm yours," he mumbles.

You giggle at him, patting his arm. "Because you are, dummy." You peck his lips, falling back into your chair before he has the chance to deepen the kiss. He feels like he lost you again tonight, or like he has the potential to lose you, so he tenses his fingers between your thigh, opposite hand incidently rocking your chair up so high that you slide into his lap. "My love," your breath hitches again.

And Haechan nods, kissing your neck a little longer, tongue tracing his name in your skin.

"Yours." ♡

Na Jaemin

Honestly, he shouldn't be staring. But Jaemin could burn a hole in your head, or obliterate that guy you're with - Juyeon, or Juhyon, or something.

It was a coincidence that Jaemin even sees you here, at this nightclub, with an absurd ₩70,000 entrance fee. Mark only convinced him to go after promising to do his scut for the weekend.

That, and Jaemin may or may not have been stalking your Instagram; especially after you removed him from your close friends story - he knows, because Renjun is still on your list. You pushed him onto some other list with more people he couldn't see, not that he knew anyone on your following; you're not even really friends, just met through Renjun at some hookup party. And you do hookup with him, whenever he calls, which isn't as often as he thought, evidently, he considers now, since he apparently doesn't know what you do the other days of the week.

Like wear that black mini-dress while dancing on Juyeon, of all people.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and sips his beer, wincing in the same second when it touches his lips (Haechan is a liar, and he is not taking beer recommendations ever again). He has been waiting for about 15 or 20 minutes, for you to notice him, just acknowledge that he is here, in the same space as you, but you remain oblivious, sliding your arms in the air, shimming in front of Juyeon, who keeps trying to bring your waist close. It takes another ten minutes before he slams his empty glass on the bar, spinning around to trudge the dance floor.

Except, as he spins around, narrowly missing a line of Kamikaze shots placed a little too close to the edge, he bumps into you, literally. His arm swerves over your head, and he takes a step back to avoid making the both of you fall down. And you catch his waist, with both hands, a short leg stepping between his, for balance, his spinning head tells him.

"Jaemin?" you call, standing on your toes to whisper in his ear. Instinctively, he steadies your waist, toppling your heels down to the ground, leaning his ear to your lips. "Did you hear me?"

The Jaemin in question pulls back, slightly, his nose grazing yours. He flickers his eyes up and finds you staring at him, granted less intense than he had been, breath hitched at the back of your mouth, slowly scanning his entire face. Jaemin brushes your hair behind your ear, needlessly, most of it tied up. The glitter stickers highlight the actual makeup high on your cheekbones, under the blue false lashes mixed in with brown ones. His hand lingers over your face, wrist tilting head back, chin up, long fingers making you stand still, gaze dipping back and forth between your lips and eyes. And fortunately, all the other couples - whether they came together or hooked up - blend you two with the rest of the crowd, little bubbles of intimacy keeping everyone separated. You all ignore each other, per atmosphere, so Jaemin takes the opportunity to kiss you.

"No," he confesses, pecking you quickly, once, twice, three times, dragging your neck along with every move he does to deepen it. "I wasn't listening." Jaemin breaks first, squeezing your waist tighter, because you might have to get back to Juyeon on the dance floor. And he closes his eyes, leaning in again, lips ghosting a breath over yours. "Come home with me," he asks, and he squeezes again. "Just ... come home with me."

"Jaemin ..." you start, but he kisses his name off your lips, even quicker, replacing it with a soft moan. He bumps you against the bar, his knuckles taking most of the blunt force, against the wood, holding you steady as he waddles impossibly close. You seem to respond, fingers dipping into his bicep, puckering back. Then, you shake your head, knocking him away. "Jaemin, I'm here with someone else."

"Don't be. Come home with me." Jaemin's voice cracks, "Please? Just be with me, not him." He squeezes you again, stuttering down your lips, slotting his leg between your knees. Jaemin peeks both his eyes open, just a crack, and finds you nodding at him.

"Okay, let's go."

Zhong Chenle

"Your shirt looks so nice," the girl at his left compliments, fawning over the empty seat, even though she probably can't see the full Go, Go, Power-Rangers logo under both his bomber jacket and the dim club lights. The sole light source comes from the shelves behind the bar on which Chenle leans, only his brown hair shining obviously as he nods, slowly, eyes trained on the path to the bathroom. "I'd love to see it more," she tries, leaning even closer, almost touching his arm.

Then, he raises his hand, sliding further down the bar.

And you walk toward him, waving, "Hey," all the way until you take the stool he saved for you on his right. You also grab the glass of wine he kept not-so-subtly hidden behind his elbow and eye the meniscus without looking at him. "Have you been drinking my wine?"

Chenle just smiles at you. His arm snakes under your arms, high on your torso, as he nuzzles into your neck, chest prepped to laugh, but you smack him.

"You can order your own!"

He kisses your jugular, just once, briefly, giggling more animatedly than he had been talking to the girl, who is still there (!) by the way.

"I did," Chenle answers, "but I think the bartender likes you more. He didn't pay any attention to me while you were gone those whole ten minutes," he pouts.

"Umm," the girl interrupts, "Excuse me?"

"Mmm," you swallow the remaining ounce of wine and put it back behind Chenle on the table, tapping the rim twice at one of the bartenders for a refill. You extend your arm for a handshake, across your boyfriend's chest, but she just stares at it, at your fingers, at the matching, dainty watch adorning your wrist, until you retract, both hands now resting on Chenle's shoulder. "Did you want to drink with us? We're just waiting for our table." You lean in closer, like giving away a secret, and Chenle laughs into the air, catching your waist before you fall off the stool. "We got here early for the cucumber martinis because they stop serving them at 7, and this one -" You point at Chenle. "- can't mix a drink for shit."

"Hey!" He pulls you upright, standing full in front of you, back toward the girl as he fixes the straps of your dress. "I spike your lemonades just fine." The bartender, who ignored him earlier, gives him a suspicious look, to which Chenle tries to wave off, showing that you are his girlfriend who frequents his home and has sex with him willingly. And he brings you down the stool, under his wing, incidentally flashing his inappropriate-for-a-Michelin-restaurant Power Rangers t-shirt. "Plus, I don't have to mix the Sauvignon Blanc when I cook you dinner."

"No," you crinkle your nose, pushing his face away, laughing at his pout. "You just make me wash the dishes." In the minute beat, you look back, over his shoulder, and see the girl finally gone, then you settle back onto the stool, pulling Chenle, by his open jacket, between your legs. "Oh, no," you feign, pouting and running your hands down his sides, "Your new friend left. Do you think it was my fault?"

Chenle kisses the top of your head, giggling into your hair. "Were you jealous?" he teases. You don't answer; you just bite your lip and trap him tighter, heels almost making him plié before you, fists wrinkling his shirt. "You don't have anything to worry about, princess," he whispers and pecks you quickly. "You're my one and only. I wouldn't do anything to create a misunderstanding like that." He kisses you deeper, attaching his hands down your waist, rubbing circles with his thumbs, as you wrap your arms around his neck, half standing off the chair to kiss him better, the sweet red wine taste staining your tongue. "With anyone," he clarifies, palm caressing your cheek, to stop you from jumping his bones in this very public bar-restaurant. "You know you're my girl."

He kisses you again, pressing your back into the bar, folding your neck 90-degrees against your spine. Your chin rolls around, letting out a silent open-mouthed moan, and Chenle slips his tongue down your throat, dissipating that sweet, dry flavor off your lips, gently breathing life back into your mouth. He rubs the hair in front of your ear, thumb growing outward to draw his three-letter initials on your cheeks. You kick your leg up, inner thigh resting on his outer one. He feels your dress slip up, shorter, over his pants, and whimpers a small praise about your soft lips.

Then, the bartender who shows you a little too much favoritism comes back, tapping your cup on the counter, and Chenle, panting, shields you away from the new glass of wine, frowning at all five ounces.

"On second thought, maybe we should just go home."

Park Jisung

Jisung pulls you into his chest, around your shoulders, spinning you until your back faces that bartender, the one at whom he glares.

"How's your drink, baby?" he asks through shaky breath, teeth gritted. Jisung puffs out his chest too, while you finish another sip, nearly moaning, and pushes his thumb into his pocket, readjusting the front of his leather pants that you hide.

"Mmm, fresh,." you answer, obliviously, wiping the corner of your mouth with your index finger, platinum couple ring shining a few digits down under the colorful changing lights. You smack your painted pink lips together, loud enough for him to hear above the club music. "Can't even taste the vodka, really, and -" You raise the small glass to his lips, prompting him to sample your free drink, too, which he does, tongue pushing back on the rip before you spill all over his white shirt. "- the cucumbers are still crisp."

Jisung nods, a slice hitting his top lip. He has to hold your wrist still when you start trembling, splashing a drop of alcohol on his chest. You do nothing about it, simply curling into his torso, an arm belting behind his waist, feet waddling around his, resting your cheek between his open jacket zippers.

"Better be," he mumbles, chest vibrating.

"What was that?" you ask, almost innocently, staring at him through your eyelashes, cucumber martini glass finding your hand behind his back. And he wonders whether you looked at that guy - the bartender - like this, wide-eyed and pouting, tongue poking through the seam of your lips, when you got this free drink, never mind tonight's sample offer over the experimental martini. "Ji...sung," you hiccup between his name, placing a hand over his chest, his heart.

But he frowns, even deeper, and takes down your hand. A little too forcefully, given the way you step back, on your own, wobbling backwards over your heels. You tilt your head to the side, not-so-subtly checking him out, and raise an eyebrow. Jisung doesn't bother to look at you, simply inhaling, raising his broad shoulders taller. He rolls his eyes to the right, incidentally at the bar, with the bartender. And he glares again.

Jisung tightens his arm around your waist. And he knows - he knows how this looks: possessive, possibly overbearing, protective, which is what he half-wants. He also knows that he indirectly tells you not to touch, despite holding you closer, his fingers clenching into a fist that pushes you deeper into his wide chest. You hand balances over his pec to keep you both balanced upright without anything behind him to catch either of you from falling.

But he mumbles, "Don't touch," teeth nearly scraping each other, individually, and, again, he takes your hand down, making you frown as equally deep, though your brows furrow as high as your gaze. You wrap all your fingers around your cup, and he curls his hands into your dress, digging toward the hem, incidentally pulling the material up, just below your underwear. "I don't like you flirting with other guys," he confesses, eyes fluttering shut.

Jisung's hands grab you simultaneously, in the same way, one at your waist and the other at your neck; your own hands bracing your cup against his chest. He sighs, dropping his chin down your cheek, pressing a kiss behind your ear. Your drink is still an inconvenience. So, Jisung takes it, placing it on a random table, then drags you into a private room and jostles you against the door, accidentally increasing the distance. He just moved too fast, and you still comply, not touching him. In the wait, you lick your lips, chest heaving high. And he pushes you backwards again, slower this time, by your hips, guiding you onto a firm surface as he descends. He stops halfway, drawing back a millimeter on his next breath, flickering his eyes at yours. They're already closed. So, he leans in.

"You should only be flirting with me."

And he almost closes his eyes, too, pausing halfway again to watch you anticipate his kiss, teetering on your toes, fingers twitching toward him. The urge to blink forces him to look away before he sees you pout, equally. But he feels it.

Jisung feels the way you roll around your head as he opens his mouth wide, searching for the best angle to kiss you. He puckers his lips sideways, simply pressing on your mouth, almost cutting off your response (if you were going to say anything). And when you gasp, silently, letting him sneak his bottom lip between your teeth, he cracks open his eyes, only slightly, enough to make sure that you're enjoying this, enjoying him, only him. You bite him on a close, barely using your teeth to keep him from leaving again, and he runs his thumb along the side of your face, outside your ear, long fingers supporting your head when you falter.

But you don't pull away.

Instead, you fist his shirt, incidentally pulling it from his pants. And he drives you into the wall, changing the slope of his nose, reflecting it over yours on the other side, brows falling further. Jisung catches you right as you lick your lips and sucks your tongue in his mouth. You mewl, breathless, something audible - although incoherent - finally escaping. And he returns it, moaning an mmmh. His hand at your waist, hits the wall, bracing himself from going too far, moving too fast. You drag him closer, one thigh between your legs, fingers touching his Adonis belt.

And he has to pull away first.

"I don't like you flirting with other guys," he repeats, more winded this time.

"You're the only guy I want to flirt with, Jisung."

[justkidneying]

The Snuff Box

I want to take a moment to talk about one of my favorite anatomical areas. I mean areas, as in arbitrary things like Hesselbach's triangle, the quadrangular space, the delto-pectoral triangle, and the...anatomical snuff box.

This is a region on the dorsal surface of the base of the thumb. It's a nice little triangle that appears when you abduct and extend your thumb. The tendons that make up the borders are the extensor pollicis longus (medial border), the extensor pollicis brevis, and the abductor pollicis longus. Within the triangle runs the radial artery and the superficial branch of the radian nerve. Under those structures are the scaphoid and trapezium (carpal bones), which can sometimes fracture when people fall on an outstretched hand.

Below the cut is my shitty diagram. But also, the reason this is called the snuff box is because it's a great little divot to hold cocaine powdered tobacco when you want to sniff it.

Correction: snuff is apparently powdered tobacco, and not cocaine. I don't think anyone sniffs snuff anymore, and you can still use this triangle to hold your coke.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore III.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore II.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, references to religion, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, the reader has a panic attack, violence/gore, Hisoka showing up again sorry, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

"She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iii. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

This morning, as you opened your eyes, a throbbing migraine greeted you. The aftermath of a nightmare always brought forth such a wretched morning. The reason behind these intense headaches following a night of unsettling dreams remains elusive, yet their unwavering arrival each morning remains an undeniable truth.

Perhaps the throbbing in your head stemmed from those restless evenings when you ingested copious amounts of caffeine to ward off sleep and reduce the likelihood of haunting visions of your former abductor returning for you.

Or perhaps it was how you sometimes cried in your sleep during those nightmares, curled on your side to prevent Sebaste from seeing your tears. Or perhaps it was the fact that you always pretended you were fine the morning after, holding back a sea of tears, and eventually, the fear piled like some sort of karmic debt. Perhaps it was all of those things combined. It would make sense. You still don’t know the exact reason, though. You were only aware of one thing–a throbbing headache that seemed destined to accompany you throughout the entire day like an unwanted hitchhiker. At least it was the first of November now, you guess.

No children at your door until midnight to collect candy from you and Sebaste. Maybe it was the constant opening and closing of your door and your repeatedly saying “treat” to the children that caused your migraine, now that you think about it. This village had most of the kids and some adults trick or treating, amounting to almost twenty people knocking on your door at different times of the day, some multiple times a day, to ask you for candy that you will give them if you do not want to get tricked. After sunset, you just put a bucket of candy at your door and called it a day, not wanting any other disturbances for the night. After a few minutes of rubbing your eyes and yawning, you eventually encouraged yourself to get up. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, your head throbbing and bouncing around as you groaned.

As usual, the morning after a nightmare you had of Chrollo resulted in you not being able to undress and take a shower. You have tried a few times. Whenever you closed your eyes and had your shirt or dress above your head, about to take it off completely, you would feel a presence behind you. You would immediately cover yourself back up and quickly turn on the lights.

Every time after a nightmare about Chrollo, you would practically be reduced to being an eight-year-old again. Sebaste sleeping next to you was the only way you could calm down a bit. On days Sebaste was on trips or sleeping at a friend’s house or just traveling in general, you would take your pillow and your blankets to the couch in the living room to sleep there as that is where your brightest lamp was. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You mutter to yourself, splashing cold water on your face to become more awake. 

On nights Sebaste was gone, you would always fall into an irregular slumber where you would jolt yourself awake every time you heard that calm and collected voice enter your dreams. You never cried when Sebaste was there, you only cried when he wasn’t. Even though crying sometimes made you less likely to go back to sleep, you had to express your fear sometimes, as rare as those times were. 

“What doesn’t?” Because of your exhaustion, it took you a second to realize that voice was Sebastian’s. But as soon as you put the dots together, the corners of your mouth curled upward slightly. There he was, behind you, yawning with his hair ruffled and large spots of black makeup still around his eyes, smudged.

Your head feels slightly better already.

You walk up to him and kiss his cheek, some of his white face paint getting on your lips. It feels dry and bitter, but you don’t mind it. If anything, you find it sort of endearing. Sebaste was so tired and drunk from celebrating Halloween with his friends that he had forgotten to wipe off the cosmetics. 

He was hungover, groaning and massaging his temples.

You feel hungover too, all without a single drop of alcohol in your bloodstream.

He hugs you and puts his head on your shoulder, his still-worn skeleton costume smelling like chemicals and beer. Perhaps a rest day would be good for you two.

“Nothing.” You say as your arms wrap around him. “Don’t worry about it.”

*~*~*~*

Tears stream down your face as you struggle and fight to push yourself off of your captor’s lap. Your efforts seemed futile, however, as you simply were not strong enough to push him away. No matter how hard you try to break free, his grip on your wrists and legs is too tight to fight off. The only thing you could do was to try your best to wipe away your tears and snot with the sleeves of your gray hoodie, the only long-sleeved shirt you were allowed to wear. 

With a heavy heart, shaky breath, and even shakier hands you stop fighting. Chrollo pulls you closer to him, praising you with sickeningly sweet nothings.

Chrollo's smile is almost cruel as he gazes down at you, mockingly.

“You’re so good, aren’t you?” He coos, and you find yourself likening his tone to the creaking sound of a rusty door opening. 

“At what?” You mutter, your voice cracked.

"At pleasing me." He whispers, his mouth hovering close to your ear. "You're quite the siren, you know that? Those tears of yours look rather beautiful on your cheeks." With that he gives you a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just like the rest of you," Chrollo whispers. "Stunning."

Chrollo hears your cries, yet he does nothing to console you. To him, a wounded animal is nothing but an attractive sight. He continues to kiss and nuzzle your neck, whispering loving and yet cruel words in your ear. You can feel his body pressed up against your own, your movements limited by his strong arms.

"Your tears are delicious, darling." He mumbles. "Just like the rest of you."

Chrollo can feel how your body trembles against his own, and this only serves to stoke his desire even further. He enjoys these displays of pure, genuine emotion. He trails his fingers up your arms and to your face, slowly caressing your tears away from your cheeks. 

"I didn't think that someone as gorgeous and charming as you could be so adorable when she cries." He whispers. "It's like your entire personality changes."

Chrollo's eyes travel down to you once more, taking in your face and your body with a slow, predatory gaze. He traces a finger all along your collarbone before moving it slightly lower.

"Look at you," He whispers. "You're like a painting come to life. It should be no wonder that I wanted to steal you." 

With that, he plants a kiss on your cheek, his touch as light as a feather. His breath blows against your skin, making you shiver. Your cries are music to his ears. The sound of your genuine anguish is something he finds intoxicating.

"That's it, darling," Chrollo whispers, his voice becoming increasingly husky and deep as he continues to shower your neck with kisses. "I know you want this just as much as I do."

His arms tighten around you yet again, his grip almost painful.

You look at the clock above the television. There are twenty minutes left before you are placed back in those silk restraints. You don’t know whether this is a good or bad thing for you.

*~*~*~*

Your stomach is warm from having the pleasant, wholesome dinner Sebaste had made. Eggplant parmesan and lemon salmon with amaranth, kale, and garlic. Delicious. He claims that he is a bad cook and that you are better at this stuff than he is, but you think otherwise. You hum happily as you feel comforted.

For the first time, you truly feel safe and protected because of how well Sebaste treats you. He is kind and caring, the opposite of what his stepfather says about him. Your heart and mind are still filled with anxiety but you know that Hisoka will keep his word and not tell the Phantom Troupe of your location. He does not seem to be a liar, despite being many other things. That gives you a twisted sense of comfort, in a way. 

But you can’t help but think about Chrollo.

You remember the moment after the massacre. You remember everything.

Your emotions from that day are still alive in you. You feel the same terror, the same fear, the same horror when you remember being tied up, all alone in Chrollo's penthouse.

You can't help but think of those emotions again now, as you're in your bed, trying so desperately to sleep. You remember the shock you felt and the terror. You remember how you desperately begged Chrollo to let you go, but he just kept coming at you, so soft yet so cruel.

You try hard to not remember. It is best not to think about it.

No, it's something that you try very hard not to remember but you still do. You remember the time Chrollo kept touching you. When he spoke in that sickening way as if he cared for you. All those touches, the words from his foul mouth. You remembered the feeling of that day. The coldness of his touch. The cruelty of his words.

"I’m willing to wait." 

That sentence is stuck in your head.

You do your best to distract yourself from those terrible memories, but they keep haunting you.

No, you don't want to go that far back in your memories, your mind tries to stop you. You don't want to remember those days.

When you think of the ways you kept seducing Chrollo to lower his guard, you feel disgusted.

You try to forget it.

You try to make those memories go away.

But they won't leave you alone.

You focus on them. Those memories, those feelings.

For some reason, you can't get them out of your mind.

You remember Chrollo's gifts, the way he slid clothes and jewelry onto your body like another chain. The bribes. The touches.

The fear, the helplessness of not being able to do anything to stop him. Of being forced to do what he wanted you to do. That desperate feeling of wanting to do anything if it means that you will escape.

You try to make that feeling go away, but it keeps following you. It keeps haunting you as if it is trying to punish you.

It's hard to forget those experiences.

It's hard to forget those memories.

It’s hard to forget Chrollo.

You don't want to think about them. But you can't help it.

The horror, the disgust, the helplessness.

A flashback washes over you.

It takes you to those days.

The gifts.

The touches.

The helplessness. The pain.

I want to go home.

That is what you wanted most and still do.

You feel yourself there again, in that horrible place.

Your body is shaking. The memories wash over you.

You see Chrollo's face, and you feel sickened.

The flashback hits your mind, and you feel completely alone, overwhelmed with fear and sadness.

You want to forget, but you can't. The memories are still there, haunting you.

You close your eyes. You feel yourself transported back to those days. You feel the cold shackles of the chains that bind your hands together. You feel a hand squeeze your inner thigh. You look up and you see Chrollo smiling at you. You feel like you'll go insane. You feel scared beyond belief. Chrollo's sick smile and his dark eyes, staring right back at you. You start crying. You scream in fear and despair. It's a nightmare. It's a horrible nightmare. You wish you could forget.

"Someone help me!” You scream.

Nobody can hear you.

It's like you're in a bubble, and the world around you doesn't exist. It feels like you're alone in here, and you can't get out of this flashback. You're reliving the nightmare in your head, and you can't stop it. The flashback continues.

"I’m willing to wait," Chrollo mocks you, saying those same words he said those days.

You see him there, in your mind. His eyes, his smile, staring back at you. Your heart is filled with fear, and you close your eyes and scream. You want it to stop. You don't want to see the cruel and mocking face of Chrollo, those words from his mouth.

You close your eyes and scream.

All your fears, all your anger, all your hatred. It's like being back in that hell, once again. You feel completely helpless, and you just want to get out of this nightmare. But you can't stop it. It's in your head.

The memories feel so real. The cruel words, the fear, the loneliness. The gifts and the shackles and the threats. It's like being back in that room again. It's like nothing around you is real.

The flashback continues, and your mind takes you deeper and deeper into the darkness, into the nightmare. Your breath is shaking, and your face is covered in cold sweat. Your heart is racing in your chest.

"I’m willing to wait," Chrollo says, once again.

Your eyes are closed, and you curl up into a ball.

You feel those cold shackles on your legs, those cold chains on your arms.

You hear Chrollo's mocking and cruel voice. You see his face, smiling at you. You see him in your mind, watching you. Taunting you. You can't even see Sebaste or the room, because it feels like everything is gone, and you're back there. It's like going back to that day again.

The flashback continues, taking you to the darkest corners of your mind. You feel the silk blankets covering your legs. The tears of despair, the frustration of being unable to do anything else. You hear the cruelty of his words, and you see his mocking smile. You feel alone, trapped in your mind. You can't see anything else, the world around you is gone. You're in a dark room with him. Just a little girl, at the mercy of a monster.

The memory continues to haunt you. You're trapped in it, and you can't get out. You see everything around you as if it's real. You feel the cold handcuffs and the velvet restraints. You feel the fear, the desperation. The helplessness of being completely under his control. You hear his cruel voice, his words mocking you. You see him there, smiling at you in your mind. You're trapped in his sick reality, and you don't know if you'll ever escape.

"I’m willing to wait," he says.

He's mocking you again.

You try to forget every memory of him, every memory of what he did to you. But you can't. Your mind won't let you forget, and that's the worst part. These memories are stuck in your mind, and you don't know if you'll ever forget them.

You try to block them out, and you scream again.

You scream for someone to help you. You scream for anyone to come and save you, but no one hears you.

Suddenly you hear Sebastian's voice. He's here with you.

Your memories fade away, and you find yourself in your bedroom again. You're safe. It's gone. Your mind is filled with relief. It was all a memory after all. A nightmare. But you still feel a bit shaken. You know these memories are still deep in your brain. And you fear that they'll surface again in the future. It's a terrible feeling. Your body still feels cold, and your heart is still beating fast.

Sebaste is looking at you with a concerned face. He's still here with you. He doesn't know what happened, but he feels concerned about your well-being. You want to tell him what happened, but you don't know if you should. You don't want to worry him any more than you already just did. But, you do feel the need to talk to him, to share what's on your mind.

You scramble backward when he touches your legs. "Don't touch me!" you cry out through your tears. You're still caught up in the nightmares, and you're terrified. "I'm not going back!" you scream.

Sebaste stops, his expression filled with concern.

"Hey," he says, gently. "Calm down," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "Calm down," he says again, holding his hands up and showing you that he's not going to hurt you. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you." 

He tries to move closer, but you move backward again. He doesn't want to scare you. 

"It's okay." he says, "It's okay, you're here, in the present. Nothing terrible is going to happen."

“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg, hyperventilating.

"No, no," Sebaste says, his eyes full of concern. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to lock you up. I'm not going to do anything to you."

He steps closer again, but you move away.

"It's okay." he says, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you."

He tries to show you that he's not going to do anything to you, he's trying to reassure you. He speaks slowly and softly, trying to comfort you. You take a deep breath and try to calm down. “You're safe." he says, "Calm down. I don’t know what happened to you in your past, but just know you are safe here."

“I never could tell you, I never could… I never could.”

Sebaste frowns. "You know," he says, "You don’t have to face all the troubles this world gives you by yourself."

 He moves even closer, slowly and carefully.

"I'm not going to do anything to you," he says, "I'm not going to hurt you or punish you." He's trying to calm you down and soothe your mind, but he knows how difficult it can be. "It's okay," he says, "you're safe, calm down."

“Please don’t hurt me like he did.” You cry out.

"Shh, shh, I'm not going to hurt you like he did," Sebaste says, confused yet trying to be comforting. He doesn’t know what you are talking about but he is trying to understand you. He's speaking in a soft and gentle voice, trying to calm you down. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, "I'm not like him, whoever he was. It’s okay, you're safe here. No one is going to hurt you here."

You start crying loudly, your eyes filled with tears. You can't seem to stop them. The fear keeps growing inside you.

"Please calm down," Sebaste says, "You're safe here. No one is going to hurt you."

He's trying his best to sound reassuring and comforting, but you can't stop crying. The memories keep coming back, haunting you. He's trying so hard to reassure you, but you're terrified. You're scared of him and the memories are still fresh in your mind. 

Out of impulse, you run out the backdoor before Sebaste can stop you, claiming that a walk would help you calm down.

*~*~*~*

You assume it is dawn right now from the view outside the bedroom windows, but it does not bring you any comfort. Even as the darkness quiets down and gives way to the sky changing from pitch black to teal to salmon pink, a beautiful sight all things considered, it does not change the fact that you are still here, sleeping with silk restraints and tied down to the bed. You can’t speak because you have been gagged as usual, though if you can take Chrollo as a man of his word for once, the gagging will stop soon. You wish you could speak freely, feeling a feeling near a bird having its vocal cords removed. Is this karma for what you have done? If you ever escape, would that be considered your last chance from whatever power is above you?

You have never been religious. That and if there was a God out there somewhere, why would they unleash upon you such a twisted fate? Is this judgment from the divine? Has the court been adjourned, and the suspect not even being there to witness her trial let alone sentencing? Perhaps a successful escape will be the only way for it to reopen. Refrain. 

You can practically hear a judge’s mallet slamming, ending the trial before you can even arrive. Death sentence for you. If you get out of here, maybe there would be an appeal.

If you try and rebuild yourself, whether you are still in captivity or not, would that be your saving grace? Will the heavens above worship the very ground you walk upon, you being what it truly means to be human? What you do next could determine whether or not that can become reality or you are just deluding yourself yet again. False visions can lead to failure, no matter how small that blindness to reality is. 

My Lord, give me one more chance.

That is what prayers are like, right? Maybe, maybe not. You just hope that if the divine does answer your prayer, it will be soon and not the last one. 

Judgment has passed, but you aren’t giving up.

The sunrise is pink now. You are tired. Your mask is fading into watercolor and shattering the faux stars around you. You and the devil lay side by side in your hell; this bed.

You sometimes think sleeping Chrollo is an entirely different person.

Half of his hair is always tangled, the half that was making contact with the mattress. His forehead tattoo however stays in view no matter how messy his hair turns up, not that that meant much. He sleeps on his side every night, facing you in a fetal sleeping position. He is either holding you in his arms with an iron grip or at the very least has one of his palms on one of your cheeks.

Whenever he would wake up before you, he would gently rub your shoulders and mutter sweet nothings in your ear. Sweet nothings like how you looked divine while you slept and oh, just a bit longer and this adjustment period would end. This would be followed by a kiss somewhere on your upper half, then what you would like to eat that morning. You often chose buttered toast or oatmeal, something warm and comforting. You hardly ever liked cold dishes anyway. He would come back a few minutes later with whatever item you requested and feed it to you, or if you have been particularly receptive to his touches and honeyed words, he would untie one of your wrists and sit you up, letting you feed yourself. You have found out that the chance that he would let you feed yourself increases with dishes that don’t require a knife or fork, for obvious reasons.

He never ate in front of you in the bedroom. On times when you were unrestrained for an hour or two, you would occasionally see him with a cup of black coffee or some bread or a pasta dish, but it was indeed rare. You think you eat more than he does. You once dreamt that he had forgotten to eat so much that he died of malnutrition, which is still one of your favorite dreams if you are being honest with yourself. It was funny. So funny that you woke up chuckling. Thank goodness Chrollo was asleep. Or at least pretended to, you wouldn’t put it past him after all.

“Good morning, beloved.”

“Good morning.” You mutter, still half asleep. Your captor chuckles at that and leaves a chaste kiss on your cheek. You yawn and turn over to him the best you can while still being restrained to the headboard. You blink once, twice, three times in total before you can see the cross on his forehead. “What time is it?”

*~*~*~*

You go to the old shed that is on the other side of the farm.

You unlock the door with your key, disrupting the spider webs that have been made both inside the lock and on the doorframe. There are no bright lights as only your house, the coop and the barn have electricity for heating and the radio, though Sebaste likes working on his desktop so you have let him install new cables in his office. 

“Bonjour.” There is a smile on your face, but it is one as cold as the beach’s ocean. 

The corpse remains fastened to the chair with its arms attached to the handles with zip ties. 

Half of the top of his skull was caved into itself from a quite obvious strike of a hammer, leaving some dried brain matter on its surface with a trail of blood leading from the crack at the center of the crevice downward to his lips. His eyes were gouged out with the optic nerves still in place making them move from side to side if a fly or rat had touched it or had started to eat it.

If you ever were to eventually dump the body, you would need to at the very least hide the inside of his mouth as the corpse had no teeth and some maggots had started to make the near-black gums their new home. You would also have to tear out the eyeballs and close the eyelids. You didn’t want to leave anyone who finds the body to be too traumatized, after all.

It would also be harder to identify that way. No one knew of someone who had willingly their mouth and eyes sewn shut, after all, and also the top of his head hardly had any hair from all of the yanking you had done yourself, the bottom of the shed being littered with it along with dust, urine, blood, and other bodily fluids. 

Hisoka knew the human body well, unsurprisingly considering he is a member of the Phantom Troupe. 

*~*~*~*

The bruised and battered man brought to you was a mix of what you were and were not expecting.

He had short hair that was shaved on its sides and slicked back with a tad too much gel. There was a small part of it that was black in the back while the rest of it was an unnatural dark yellow, like Dijon mustard in a sense, making you assume that he was born dark-haired. 

His face was an odd mix of round and oblong, his nose asymmetric and bulbous.

His lips were thin and looked cracked, his breath smelling so much of garlic, booze, sweat, and cigar smoke that you smelled him before you saw him.

He was short and thin, small bits of dried skin sticking among his black and blue cheeks and one of his eye areas, forehead, and his broken nose. He had dark brown eyes and a poorly taken care of mustache that looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in at least a week. The man seemed to be half unconscious by the looks of it, Hisoka certainly did not hold back on him. Not that you complained about it.

“Into the shed, then?”

The Spider’s voice is like bubblegum in a way; sticky, too sweet, artificial.

The man, thrown at your feet just a minute or two prior, groans in pain. His voice is grainy, and croaky, akin to a dying frog. Slimy, loud, and almost gross. If it weren’t for Sebaste, you would still hate them. For that reason only, you then move from the image of a frog or toad to a jackdaw. Annoying, and loves shiny things, if the many golden jewelry the man has around his neck and wrists were any indication of such.

They both are just gross.

Sticky, sticky, sticky. Slimy, slimy, slimy.

“Yes, there’s a chair inside for him in the center.”

“I know,” Hisoka says, his smile widening into a smirk. “I saw it.”

You choose not to pry any further, Hisoka has proven to be a man of his word and a key ally. However, he is no chess piece for you to control; whether he is a king, knight, or pawn.

He moves on his own. If what he says is true, even Chrollo does not control him, letting him do whatever he wants. You have both recognized how strong Hisoka is to either side. He plays a double agent to get twice the rewards in the end, whether that reward is simple amusement or riches.

You would like to think that your voice is like bittersweet chocolate with almonds. Sweeter than its dark counterpart, but more bitter compared to its milk one. Slightly dry or crumbly. It has an unlimited shelf life if stored in the dark and surrounded by cold air.

“Your tools are cute.” Hisoka murmurs as he drags the man by his broken leg and throws him into the chair with a hard slamming sound. “Adorable even, I’ll be sure to use some.”

“Feel free. Be sure to zip-tie him first.”

“Should I though? It’s not like he’s getting very far anyway.”

“Just do it please.”

Hisoka chuckles as he obliges your request. 

“There. Happy, princess?”

“Never call me that again.”

He shrugs and laughs, the sound nearly causing your ears physical pain as your stomach recoils onto itself. You hope he will oblige that request too, if he is in a good mood right now. Hopefully. All Spiders loved bloodshed from the looks of it, and torturing a man is probably child’s play to him. To Chrollo and Feitan at least it was. 

You still have nightmares of those who were tortured in front of you.

It was in the early days of your capture. You think those sessions in Feitan’s basement were to instill fear in you, with your cries and begging to not see it anymore. Not that you could run, Chrollo made sure Feitan chained you to the wall with the longest chain he had, which wasn’t much, but perhaps it was a small mercy along with the stool you were given. During those rather unfortunate meetings, Feitan would rarely ever talk to you and Chrollo would either be sitting beside you or partaking in the gruesomeness himself with his book. 

“Very well, little beauty,” His praise feels more like a threat. “Should I slap him awake now or after the tools are set out?”

You don’t answer, instead trying to remember what specific techniques they used. It wasn’t hard, not to your own surprise. 

“I’ll do it after, then.”

He opens the spare closet this shed came with and whistles. You think if Hisoka ever was surprised, you think that would be how he would act. 

Three pistols, bullets both blanks and not, and a taser are on the top part. Multiple knives litter the second shelf, most being taken from your kitchen. A large hammer is on the floor level, the kind used for tenderizing meat, along with cleavers and a large orange chainsaw. A birthday gift from Robin, as odd as it was. At least now you would be able to use it.

“Nervous? God, you can’t get any cuter, can you?”

You start thinking whether or not this deal was a bad idea, but stomp out the thought.

Hisoka is valuable. You cannot lose him in this game.

“No.”

“No?” He mimics your fear with his ever-eternal smirk on his face. “You know, I think I am starting to know why the boss was so taken with you.”

Hisoka is much bolder than Chrollo ever was. This can both hurt and help you in your situation. You have to think carefully of what to say and do while in his presence.

As Hisoka retrieves the tools, a silent exchange unfolds between you and him. One by one, he delicately arranges them on the petite table positioned next to the chair. He hums a melody unknown to you, but it sort of resembles carnival music. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

He goes back and forth between the table and the closet slowly. He brings forth a tool like a cat bringing its owner a dead bird before going back for another. You think this is for dramatic effect. Chrollo and Feitan both love a dramatic buildup before the finale, after all, so Hisoka should too.

Eventually, when all the tools are laid out, he pauses and puts his pointer finger and thumb on his chin in contemplation. 

“Ah, which to use first… hmm,” He grabs your wrist and pulls you in closer to him, his other hand playing with your hair. You try to get away, but his grip tightens as he chuckles. He then pats your head and adjusts your bangs so they aren’t as ruffled. “Which do you think, dear? Maybe the tweezers or-”

He stops himself as he picks up a pin cushion from the now bare closet floor, with a few needles and thread beside it. “Ah, this brings up some memories, doesn’t it, my dear? Our dear sewer. Should I say hi to her for you?”

You shake your head as your eyebrows furrow. “How are you supposed to do that? If she knows it came from me she’ll come for me. She’ll bring me back.”

“True. I could say it was anonymous.”

You think he’s just playing around, teasing you. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that to his new plaything.

If she wasn’t a Spider, maybe you would have accepted. She was nice to you and even taught you how to sew once. It was after a meeting and she had noticed that you had a small hole in your dress, a detail both you and Chrollo had missed. Chrollo trusted her enough to let you not be at his side for a few minutes, knowing that she would give you right back to him. 

“You’re really lucky that this shed is on the other side of your property, my dear.”

“I know.”

You cannot truly be free without getting your hands stained, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Your stalker turned out to be Dario’s eldest son.

A legitimate heir, it would seem. He was stalking you to make you his wife, eventually. He wanted to get rid of Sebaste. He kept screaming insults as he died, and also promising to take good care of you as your husband, which only pissed you off and amused Hisoka further. 

It was Dario’s dying wish for the stranger and you to marry.

Disgusting.

*~*~*~*

You had learned what exactly Nen was today. You did not expect to, all things considered. You were just traveling on foot trying to find some shelter after leaving yet another dirty motel room.

Another individual shared your idea, journeying alongside you toward the unknown destination this path would unveil. You didn’t speak to each other until there was a fork in the road. It was raining and muddy, making you almost slip and fall into him. That was when you finally took a good look at him. He was short, around your height, had worn clean clothes, and had well-kept short black hair with purple highlights.

He seemed to be able to take care of himself well. When he stared back at you, he crossed his arms and scoffed. His face contorted into one of disgust, you think. 

Perhaps he was also comparing you to him. Your hair was soaking wet from the rain as you had lost your only jacket, the jacket you stole from some unsuspecting teenager. The indent that the bear trap left on your leg was still there, covered in dried blood, with you wincing every time you took a step. Your clothes were tattered and stained with sweat, water, and blood. 

Despite you two being the same height, this man seemed to tower over you, staring down at you like you were some sort of pest to him. His lower lip was slightly droopy because of the scowl he had on his face. It was like you were responsible for this man’s suffering or the heavy rain. 

Both of your pairs of eyes looked exhausted, though. The stranger had a few cuts on his otherwise flawless and pale cheeks and some of his makeup had washed away from the rain, showing his large eyebags. Your cheeks had purple bruises and cuts twice as deep, your eyebags even bigger than the man’s.

Is he pitying you? Hating you? Envying you? He seems unreadable, the only emotion shown on his face being disgust and slight anger. Does he want to fight you?

You sure hope not. Hopefully, he will choose one of the paths and walk it and you will take the other.

You nearly flinch as he speaks.

“Who are you?”

Your mind runs through tens of fake names and titles given to you by those you have encountered in the past. “Just a wanderer.”

He scoffs again and turns to the side, clearly not buying your lie.

He stomps his foot down, the mud splashing your bare feet. 

“I’m not stupid. Who are you?”

You both look down at your feet at the same time.

Your feet are covered in injuries from the past few weeks, a large infection on your right one screeding yellow pus. You didn’t have enough funds to buy medical supplies and thought that just going on walking would be the best option, much to your future self’s pain. 

You’re so smart, yet so dumb.

“A runaway.”

He nods as a mocking smile appears on his face.

“Good. You have a functioning brain it seems.” His voice is full of so much fake sugar that it makes you sick. “No wanderer would ever be in as bad a shape as you are in. What did you run away from?”

Should you tell him the truth? He obviously knows something about you. Maybe you could tell him a half lie, tell him that you ran away from an abusive family that is after you, or a crazy ex. The second one wouldn’t necessarily be a lie after all. Maybe you could just laugh it off like it is some joke between two acquaintances, but you know he wouldn’t like that at all. So, you think of an actual answer.

A good one.

“I ran away from…” You hesitate to speak, fearing the repercussions that may follow if you reveal the truth. “A kidnapper.”

His mocking smile fades, his mouth falling into a flat line. “Who is?” You want to cry but you can’t.

You don’t want him to know. He can’t know. You can’t run because of your leg. You can’t keep all of your suffering under lock and key and never tell a soul. It has to eventually get out, like you have.

He keeps staring at you with those cold blue eyes of his, not amused, and takes no nos for answers. He wants to know.

“Go ahead.” His voice is bitter like the blackest coffee.

Why is he asking you this? Does he know you? Is he a Spider?

“The Phantom Troupe.” You finally say as your head drops back down again. “The leader mostly. I… I ran away a few weeks ago.” You shiver, and you don’t know if it is because of the cold rain or the man’s gaze. You sniffle. “I… I have no money. No home.”

There. You got it out to someone.

Hopefully, nothing bad will happen to you now, right?

“Believable. Understandable.”

He takes a few steps closer, and closer and you stand still like you are trapped in stone. You make eye contact again, and there is a softness in his eyes that makes you feel slightly warmer. He nods.

He looks down at your leg, at your feet, your hands, your arms, and your face.

“I’ll help you then.”

*~*~*~*

“I’m back.”

You want to apologize to him. You want to hug him. You probably hurt him.

You hurt him while he was trying to help you.

You set your coat down on the coat rack by the entrance, took off your shoes, and started walking up the stairs to the living room and kitchen area. You heard water rushing from the faucet and scrubbing. Sebaste seemed to be paying too much attention to washing the dishes to notice you. 

“I just want to say that I am sorry. I am.”

Your voice inadvertently trembles, exceeding your intentions, but the circumstances render it unavoidable. The aftermath of your intense outcry on the distant side of the farm leaves your throat with a lingering ache. Permeated by a cold sweat, your neck becomes speckled, and your arms quiver as you position yourself behind him. Your gaze darts aimlessly, evading direct contact with him as he pivots in your direction.

To the kitchen towels. To the tiles on the floor. To the refrigerator. 

As he dries his hands, silence prevails. Uncertain of his gaze or whether he caught your words, your anxiety fluctuates. It is essential to remind yourself daily that he is not Chrollo.

He is not Chrollo. 

Right?

He can’t be. He is too good of a person. You care about him.

There is a ring of the doorbell, and Sebaste walks off without saying a word, frowning.

When he opens the door, it is like the Devil himself rose from hell to collect you.

[knight-of-ashes]

One of the subtlety bad things about connective tissue issues and being a Weird Little Goblin at the same time is the part where NO BRACES FIT. I've been trying out shoulder braces after absolutely destroying it falling off my truck camping last weekend (I'm not making this up) and a small/medium fits my shoulder but compresses my upper arm enough to entirely cut off circulation. A large/xl applies the right pressure to my biceps and triceps and is uselessly loose on my shoulder. And like, ain't the only problem spot. Knee braces don't accommodate my ludicrously fat thighs. Arthritis gloves are too long. Thumb stabilizers don't catch my meaty abductor pollicis and abductor pollicis brevis. I ripped an ankle brace trying to get it high enough on my beefy calves because I sized it for my skankles. KT tape can help a lot and is way more customizable but sometimes you just need the all around pressure and warmth. FAT PEOPLE CAN HAVE EDS AND PLAY SPORTS YOU DUMB MOTHER FUCKING WALMART PRODUCERS!

(pictured: the okayish thumb stabilizer that still isn't great)

[samuraiondo-mace-1177]

Can I just go absolutely feral about sm writing I did cause I found it funny? no?

alright. Still doin it.

[Edit: this turned into an analysis on Asahi's character in one scene. Woops. w/o spoilers too... now that's a surprise]

[Edit 2: Blades are mentioned btw, not described but mentioned]

So for an OC-tober day, I wrote sm Asahi lore (very lazily tho). It's not the description of how he lost his eye or anythin, but when he woke up- actually, I'm gonna derail this cause there's alot more funny shit

Yes, this is gonna be done like a serious analysis on a Canon character. It's how I work.

Asahi wearily looked up from the familiar dusky tiles to glare at his abductor. "You're a heavy sleeper." Soma noted, smirking. "Oh... fuck." Asahi muttered, horrified. "Soma-sama..."

"Soma-sama"... up to this point, we've only seen Asahi use the suffix 'chan' with basically everyone, even people he knows can kill him (e.g: Aku-chan [Akustu], Tian-chan [Zhao], Nan-chan [Nanba], etc.), so why -sama?

Well, in some side content that I wrote back in early September, Asahi says, 'If I could, I'd be calling him Kaz-chan.'

In an earlier incident, Asahi called him 'Kaz-chan' once and was immediately met with violence. ...I guess Soma isn't too fond of nicknames...

Asahi squirmed as he attempted to stand up. His arms didn't budge. He shifted his head to the side – trying to understand the issue behind him. He kneeled, then gradually stood up and stepped around in a little circle, like a dog chasing its tail, whilst Soma stared at Asahi's stupidity.

THIS. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED TO TALK ABOUT.

I fucking love how if you read this as an extract in an English class, your teacher would force you to annotate the sentence 'like a dog chasing its tail' thousands of times over.

Cause one way, you could read it as 'Asahi is called a dog since dogs are typically seen as obedient and lower in power. Here, he is perceived as such by the viewer and Soma, but Asahi still thinks of himself as the opposite, believing he's more powerful/has the upper hand.' Which... isn't entirely wrong...

The truth is, I just thought it was a funny thing to put in. I liked the mental image, yk?

Soma silently slid his thumb under Asahi's collar. "What the- What are you doing...?" Asahi asked, all jokingness leaving his expression and tone. "You.... tryin to fuck or somethin?" He muttered, trying to bring the silliness back.

Another situation of 'Asahi, you idiot, YOU'RE IN DANGER.'

It gives ya a good glimpse into his coping mechanism. Despite Soma literally holding a dagger, Asahi is STILL trying to lighten the mood and joke around. Besides, I think he's already numbed by how much pain he had to go through back when Homare Nishitani III was his Kyoudai, one joke wouldn't hurt.

The tears started to dry around his only eye. His frown shifted into a confident smile. Soma's face went blank. "I never needed that one anyway...

Motherfucking Mr. stoic.

I absolutely love how my mind can only see Asahi with one smirk. And one smirk only.

This one.

SNSGSHKSNSHS

[remyfire]

🌹

Random WIP Sentence

As he works at the arch of her foot, BJ tilts his head, following the length of the abductor hallucis with his eyes, then thumbs. "I do have some decent experience with husbanding, yes."

Margaret huffs. The tension in her calves still hasn't lessened. "Mm. So I've heard. Here you are, playing husband for three, and I can't even play wife for one."

[drchristophedelongsblog]

What is de Quervain's tenosynovitis?

De Quervain's tenosynovitis is an inflammation of the tendons at the base of the thumb, more specifically the tendons of the abductor longus and extensor pollicis brevis. These tendons slide in a synovial sheath, and when this sheath becomes inflamed, it causes irritation and pain in the wrist.

Causes

- Repetitive movements: These movements put excessive strain on the tendons and synovial sheath, leading to inflammation.

- Intense manual activity: Manual jobs, sports requiring a strong grip (tennis, golf, etc.) favour the onset of De Quervain's tenosynovitis.

- Repeated microtrauma: Repeated small shocks to the wrist can irritate the tendons.

- Hormonal factors: Pregnancy or the menopause can increase the risk of developing this condition.

 Symptoms

- Pain: A sharp, stabbing pain on the outer side of the wrist, worsening with movement of the thumb.

- Swelling: Slight swelling may be visible or palpable at the base of the thumb.

- Sensitivity: The area is sensitive to touch.

- Difficulty grasping objects: Movement of the thumb may be restricted and painful.

Treatment

Treatment of De Quervain's tenosynovitis depends on the severity of symptoms :

- Conservative treatment:

o Rest: Avoid movements that aggravate pain.

o Ice: Apply ice several times a day to reduce inflammation.

o Anti-inflammatory medication: To relieve pain and reduce inflammation.

o Splint: Wear a wrist splint to immobilise the thumb and allow the tendons to rest.

o Corticosteroid infusions: To reduce inflammation of the synovial sheath.

- Surgery: If conservative treatments fail, surgery may be required to widen the synovial sheath and release the tendons.

Prevention

- Rest: Take regular breaks during repetitive manual activities.

- Warming up: Before any physical activity, it is important to warm up the wrists.

- Muscle strengthening: Hand and wrist strengthening exercises can help prevent recurrences.

- Ergonomics: Adapt your workstation to reduce strain on the wrist.

In summary, De Quervain's tenosynovitis is a common condition that can be very painful. With early diagnosis and appropriate treatment, symptoms can usually be relieved and normal wrist function restored.

Go further

[marjaystuff]

Interview with Mary Alford

Ambush in the Mountains

Mary Alford

Love Inspired Pub

July 23rd, 2024

Ambush in the Mountains by Mary Alford a story of second chances, forgiveness, self-healing, compassion, unbridled trust, friendship, love, and redemption. As with most of her books she uses the weather as a character.  Like the previous book, this book dealt with the dark subject of human trafficking in a compassionate and informative way.

The opening scene in the story has Elizabeth Wyse remembering her Amish roots when she enjoyed the snow. At 18 and during the last of her rumspringa, she let an English man, Ray, persuade her to leave her home, her family and everything she’d ever known, to be with him. Instead of having a happily ever after she was forced into human trafficking by threats to her family and physical abuse.

They changed her name to Summer and now eight years later, she aged out as being too old yet was allowed to “help” with the new girls and became Ray’s personal woman. After becoming pregnant with Ray’s child, he decided the baby could bring him big bucks. Although Summer had been and was still petrified at what Ray would do to her, to save herself and her baby she decided to escape. She also knew she had to try to bring Ray down to bring justice to the girls who were killed, save those still in bondage, and prevent any girls in the future falling victim to this monster. She’d save incriminating evidence from his computer onto a thumb drive. Fearful of him discovering the thumb drive, she hid it in the walls of the house they were living in. 

It was during a moment of bravery and now 8 months pregnant she escapes. After running through the woods in the Tobacco Root Mountains during a heavy snowstorm, she ran into the path of a vehicle. Axel Sterling was with his dog Camo, driving home on an isolated road, barely missed hitting her. When he stopped to check on her and to find out why she was out walking in this storm they were fired upon. Survival mode kicked in, which meant getting this terrified, very pregnant woman, himself, and Camo to some place safe. Axel’s heroic dog Camo consistently throws himself into danger to protect those around him. 

Now it’s up to the ex-soldier, Axel, and his dog, Camo, to keep Summer and her unborn baby safe from the abductors she’s finally escaped. But between the icy wilderness and the armed gunmen following them at every turn, one wrong move could cost Axel and Summer their lives.

This is an edgy, intense, and fast paced story with plenty of action. Readers will root for the characters and will fall in love with Camo.

Elise Cooper: Idea for the story?

Mary Alford: There is a human trafficking aspect to the story just like the previous book. When I read about it and saw survivor’s stories it touched my heart. I wanted to write in this book how the main character escapes human trafficking, to shine a little light on it. My forte is to include the weather and have the characters on the run from the bad guys. The weather is almost another villain in the story by giving a sense of urgency. 

EC: How would you describe the female heroine, Summer?

MA:  She was Amish and met this Englisher man during her Rumspringa. He said all the right things and convinced her to run away with him. Through her I touched on what those victims of human trafficking had to endure. She is strong-willed, fearful, has trust issues, vulnerable, damaged, guarded, terrified, and courageous. She tries to put being a mother-first because she is pregnant.  She feels guilty about leaving her Amish family. She aged out but was kept around by Ray. 

EC:  How would you describe Axel, the hero?

MA:  He feels he is on a mission, protective, patient, caring, and kind. Being a former soldier he is a bit of a wounded soul after he lost his best friend who was also a soldier. After he left the military he went to Montana, found a little cabin on top of a mountain.  He enjoyed being isolated.

EC:  How would you describe the bad guy, Ray?

MA:  A predator who had Summer in this sex trafficking nightmare for eight years. He has killed before. Evil, manipulative, berating, and mean. 

EC:  What about the relationship between Summer and Axel?

MA:  It takes her a long time to trust him. He helped her to overcome how she experienced darkness and to feel safe. Axel broke down Summer’s wall that she has up for self-preservation. As they try to escape the enemy they form a bond. Axel sees her courage and strength. He wants her to be happy.

EC: What was the role of the dog Camo?

MA:  He was like the dog that helped those with PTSD: very comforting, loyal, former military dog, a Belgian Malinois, and protective.

EC:  Abram and Lainey were in the previous book and are in this book also.  Why?

MA: In the last book they just met.  In this book, they are married.  She is embracing the Amish lifestyle. They are both good friends to Axel. 

EC:  Next book?

MA:  It comes out in April 2025. It is titled Amish Country Killer. The setting will be in an Amish community in Kentucky. The hero is now in law enforcement but is former Amish. The heroine is the new Chief of Police. The plot has several girls disappearing. The killer is targeting Amish women. 

THANK YOU!!

[alexaloraetheris]

I love how this just WORKS??? Because it makes total sense if you think about it!

Like, on land and upright, humans are a nightmare for crocodilians because the only way they could get their teeth in us is if they rolled over onto their side and managed to throw themselves forward enough to grab a leg, a move that's EXTREMELY risky for them. A human, standing up and moving fast? With opposable thumbs that can hold a croc's mouth shut with just TWO FINGERS?? (They have very strong adductor muscles in their jaws for clamping down, at the cost of very weak abductor muscles for opening their mouth) There is a reason humans by and large have little problem living next to crocodile/aligator infested water, like Egypt and Florida. It was a pain to wash clothes when you still had to do it by a river, with with a pail, a long stick and some experience? They can't do shit to you unless you're stupid enough to literally roll yourself horizontally into their mouth, or off the boat.

And crocs aren't stupid. Bonk them on the head enough times, and you don't even need to apply the shovel anymore, they'll be getting out of your way as fast as their legs can carry them. They're not dealing with those deranged monkeys.

Hippos, on the other hand, would look you in the eye, raise a metaphorical eyebrow and say "So. You've chosen death."

Crocodiles afraid of the shovel

[tejaswinia]

De Quervain’s Disease

About De Quervain Disease

De Quervain's disease, sometimes referred to as mother's thumb or gamer's thumb, is a common wrist pathology. De Quervain's disease is thought to be caused by thickening of the synovial sheath containing the tendons of the extensor pollicis brevis (EPB) and abductor pollicis longus (APL), which causes irritation of the muscles and causes pain and swelling over the radial side of the wrist in patients along with increased difficulty gripping objects. The exact mechanism underlying this condition is unknown. The disorder known as "De Quervain tenosynovitis," after Swiss surgeon Fritz de Quervain, is characterised by tendon entrapment that affects the wrist's first dorsal compartment.

De Quervain disease Causes

De Quervain disease causes have been linked to myxoid degeneration with fibrous tissue deposits and enhanced vascularity rather than acute inflammation of the synovial membrane, while the precise origin of the condition is unknown. The abductor pollicis longus and extensor pollicis brevis tendons become painfully ensnared in the thickened tendon sheath caused by this deposition. It is linked to repetitive wrist motions, particularly those involving simultaneous extension, radial wrist deviation, and thumb radial abduction. Mothers of newborns who frequently lift their babies as their wrists shift from ulnar to radial deviation and their thumbs are considered the classic patient population.

Epidemiology - According to one study, the peak prevalence of de Quervain tenosynovitis occurs in people in their forties and fifties, accounting for 0.5% of cases in males and 1.3% in women. People having a history of medial or lateral epicondylitis may be more susceptible to the illness. There are two major risk factors for the disease: being pregnant and working physically.

Clinical Anatomy of Disease

Both the abductor pollicis longus (APL) and extensor pollicis brevis (EPB) tendon are impacted by De Quervain's syndrome. These muscles originate from the dorsal aspect of the forearm and extend to the lateral side of the thumb via an extensor retinaculum and processus styloideus radii fibrous-osseous tunnel.

Source: https://harleyclinic.com/treatments/hand-and-upper-limb/de-quervain-syndrome/

The increased stress over the tendon sheaths causes fibrocartilage to develop, which thickens the tendon. The tendon sheaths are covered in neovascularization. In this syndrome, the tendons also exhibit myxoid degeneration.

De Quervain Disease Symptoms

Patients present with radial-sided wrist pain typically worsened by thumb and wrist motion. The condition may be associated with pain or difficulty opening a jar lid. Tenderness overlying the radial styloid is usually present. If present, the swelling over the wrist is generally seen proximal to the radial styloid. The typical patient population is a pregnant woman in the third trimester or a breastfeeding mother who holds her child repeatedly.

De Quervain Disease Diagnosis

De Quervain tenosynovitis is diagnosed clinically from the typical history and physical examination findings. Plain radiographs can help rule out other possible causes of radial wrist discomfort, such as thumb carpometacarpal joint osteoarthritis, but they cannot be used to confirm the diagnosis. Different clinical tests that are provocative have been described for de Quervain tenosynovitis. The patient must place their thumb in palmar flexion for the Finkelstein test while the examiner performs ulnar deviation of the wrist. Sharp discomfort that is felt at the first dorsal compartment along the radial wrist indicates a positive test. In order to perform the Eichhoff test, the patient must grip their thumb with their other fingers while bending their wrist in the direction of the ulna. If the test is positive, this will cause a severe shooting pain over the radial aspect of the wrist. Another provocative clinical test documented for this illness is the WHAT test, which causes wrist hyperflexion and thumb abduction. The following differential diagnoses can resemble this condition: first carpometacarpal joint osteoarthritis fracture of the scapula styloid fracture radially Radial nerve neuritis in the sensory branch (Wartenberg's syndrome) Syndrome of intersections Thumb trigger

Treatment/ Management of De Quervain’s disease

De Quervain tenosynovitis has the potential to resolve on its own and may not require medical attention. The most common nonsurgical treatment options for patients with ongoing symptoms are corticosteroid injections, systemic anti-inflammatories, and splinting. One or two corticosteroid injections have been shown to offer almost total relief in 52% to 90% of individuals. Acupuncture, therapeutic ultrasound therapy, and laser therapy are a few more nonoperative treatment techniques that have been reported; nevertheless, there is neither a consensus nor good data on these therapies' efficacy. An operation may be necessary if corticosteroid injections do not relieve symptoms or if they return.

Conclusion

For De Quervain's tenosynovitis to be effectively managed, the patient will need to follow a highly personalized, impairment-driven treatment plan. Early splinting during the acute phase will help the patient avoid aggravating the tissues and enable them to carry out tasks necessary for work and self-care. The patient must be informed about the timelines for tissue repair as well as the significance of avoiding activities that exacerbate their symptoms. Exercise therapy progresses from isometric to eccentric to concentric inner range exercises. A patient should be pain-free prior to advancing to the subsequent strengthening phase.

[suspiciouscorpsicle]

The Marital God Takes A Spouse

Three days out from the wedding of Jin sect's Jin Zixuan to Jiang sect's Jiang Yanli, a thousand cultivators from the four great sects and a thousand more from the lesser sects convened to march upon the Burial Mounds in a surprise attack on the Yiling Patriarch—Emperor of Corpses, Commander of Demons, Defiler of Virgins—and his vile hordes of Wen dogs and fierce corpses in what would be a glorious battle full of honor for those who walked the path of true and proper cultivation. Their arrival caught the feared Yiling Patriarch—Summoner of the Dead, Bringer of Nightmares, Abductor of Unfilial Children—in only his sleeping robe. He was currently a little past tipsy. The last of the wine he had been drinking spilled down his chest as he gaped at Wen Qing, who had appeared before him in a fury-suppressed panic to deliver the news.

“Come again?” His fox-ears twitched, unsure whether to lay flat in denial of ill-tidings, or prick forward in alarm.

“The sects are attacking us!” She repeated.

The Yiling Patriarch—Dread Flautist, Vile and Unnatural Heretic, Kicker of Puppies—stared at her, slowly lowering the empty jar of Uncle Four's fruit wine. His tails stirred restlessly, slow to bristle after an evening spent drinking.

“What...now?”

Her jaw worked as she swallowed and unclenched her teeth. “They're arrayed around the barrier. We're trapped.” Behind her, Wen Ning could just be seen at the entrance to the Demon Slaying Cave. In his arms slept A-Yuan, the very pit at the center of Wen Qing's worry, the most precious life in their sad little camp.

“Well.” Getting to his vulpine feet, Wei Wuxian reflexively dusted off his irreparably dingy robe. “I suppose I'd better do something.”

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

The thing was, he had more or less expected something like this would happen. Eventually. It was happening much sooner than he had supposed it might—Had they used his shijie's wedding as cover to gather all their troops together? Really? He was going to find out about that, and have words with someone if it turned out to be true.—but this wasn't a complete surprise. Wei Wuxian had even been planning for it. True, his plans were not exactly fine-tuned, but it was hardly his fault the sects were so impatient! Weren't they trying to cultivate to immortality? All this rushing wasn't going to do them any good on that front.

“Is this relevant?” Wen Qing interrupted. Her voice was more acidic than usual, and Wei Wuxian's tails lashed in anxious sympathy.

“You know I work best under pressure when I talk to myself.”

“'Under pressure,'” she repeated, and he could tell by her tone that she was looking at the empty wine jars.

“A little faith, please. I could draw this array in my sleep.” Even as he spoke, he drew the last stroke on the last character and straightened up. “Everyone safely out of the blast radius?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Joking, Qing-jie!”

“Ahh, Young Master Wei...?” Wen Ning stood in a far corner, still holding A-Yuan, and looking far more uncertain than any fierce corpse should have been able to manage.

“Yes, Wen Ning?” Kneeling next to his array, Wei Wuxian nipped his thumb with one sharp canine to draw blood.

“If I may ask...what is this meant to do?”

Pausing just before activating the array, Wei Wuxian smiled. “It's very clever, if I do say so myself! Rather than call up corpses to fight back and basically start a small war, I figured what I would do is summon a martial god! I should think that if we have a heavenly official protecting us, it ought to be possible to diffuse this situation and talk like reasonable people to come to an agreement that doesn't involve me giving the Jin an insanely powerful weapon or the sects slaughtering us.”

“Ah.”

“Don't worry,” he said, misinterpreting the doubt in Wen Ning's voice. “If this fails, I still have the corpses.”

“I don't think it's a bad idea, it's just—”

“Great! Here goes!” With his blood and a gesture, he activated the array.

Power gathered in the room. It flooded the lines of the array like water rushing through irrigation channels, saturating the circle with energy. The characters Wei Wuxian had written guided the power, shaping it to his will and his wish. The glow became a gleam became a glaring, golden light. Closing his sensitive eyes wasn't enough to protect them, and Wei Wuxian was forced to turn his face aside, an arm thrown up against the burning brightness of his summons. The power grew and swelled, and then finally, with a tinkling like that of dozens of tiny bells, it collapsed in upon itself, leaving the room once more bathed in the red glow of the blood pool.

Tails waving eagerly, Wei Wuxian turned back to the circle to see the god he had summoned.

Pretty!

No—exceptionally pretty!

No, no—beautiful! Astoundingly, extraordinarily beautiful!

Wei Wuxian stared, drinking in the sight of the god. He was young, with an emotionless, jade-like countenance beneath a bright red forehead ribbon. His eyes were pale, several shades lighter than the yam-orange of Wei Wuxian's, even. His hair was night-dark and sleek as still water, pinned up in a golden guan. The robes he wore could have bought kingdoms, so fine was the silk used in their making and the quality of their embroidery. They winked with gold thread and seed pearls in a pattern of dragons amid clouds on a red background.

...Actually, weren't those robes a little too fancy? There were layers upon layers to them, and they seemed very formal. To Wei Wuxian, they looked as if they would be far too restrictive for fighting. Had he summoned a newly-ascended martial god, perhaps? One more concerned with looking the part of divinity than with more practical considerations? Frowning, he studied the god as the god studied him. Really, it almost looked like...like he....

Wen Ning shuffled in his corner. “It's just that...sorry, Young Master Wei...but doesn't this read 'marital?'”

….

What.

“WHAT?”

Quick as a fox, Wei Wuxian was around the circle and on his knees in front of the character Wen Ning had indicated, claws tracing the edges of his brushstrokes on the dusty stone. Ah. Well. So much for his martial god plan.

“Wei Wuxian....” Wen Qing had come up behind him, and the growl in her voice sent him shrinking right down into his fox form. With a yip, he darted out of reach, up the closest and tallest thing in the cave. That such a thing was the god he had summoned didn't faze him in the least. Whatever small amount of shame he had as a human fled him entirely as a fox, and he grinned at her from his new perch, front paws upon the god's shoulder, back paws in the hands that had come up reflexively to support him.

“How do you even make a mistake like this?” She demanded. “There isn't a single dialect where this could happen!”

He yipped at her, then yipped again in alarm as the hands supporting him shifted. He wound up held around the rib cage, dangling at eye level with an unamused god.

“I am Lan Wangji, Marital God of Blissful Unions.” His voice was deep and melodic, but entirely serious. “Am I to bless you and the lady today?”

Wei Wuxian crinkled his nose. It probably looked like a snarl. When Lan Wangji dropped him, he changed mid-fall so that as the pads of his feet touched the ground, he straightened up looking mostly human.

“No! No unions! No one's getting married. Bit of a clerical error. You can head on out, thanks for coming.”

Lan Wangji frowned. Sort of. His face became generally more severe-looking. “I cannot.”

“Cannot what?”

“Cannot leave.”

Heaving a sigh, Wei Wuxian delicately scratched his cheek with one sharp, black nail. “Listen, I'm really sorry for calling you out for nothing, but we're in the middle of a situation here, and I have an array to re-do, so if there's any way the divine punishment I'm sure I have coming could be postponed...?”

This seemed to confuse Lan Wangji.

“There is no punishment forthcoming.”

“Okay.... Why is it you can't leave, then?”

“I was summoned. A wedding must take place.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Wen Qing.

“Will you make our guest some tea and explain that we're about to be fighting for our lives while I go whistle up some corpses?”

The look she gave him promised that he was going to pay for making her clean up his mess, and that he was just lucky now wasn't the time for it.

Pausing only to tell Wen Ning to stay with A-Yuan no matter what, Wei Wuxian scurried out of the cave, heading for the barrier around their little settlement. The moment he began hearing the sounds of a siege, his lips drew back, baring his fangs in a snarl. He called to the resentful energy of the Burial Mounds, gathering it close, making himself ready to fight. If the worst happened, he would send Wen Ning away with A-Yuan. Depending on how things went from there....

The sense of a strange power on the air had him nearly stumbling to a halt, tails swishing forward in their momentum to wrap him briefly in thick fur. He bristled all over, hair standing on end as a thrill danced over his skin. Whoever he was sensing was strong, yet there was no trace of ill-intent. If anything, the energy felt rather pleasant—like dipping his paws in chill water on a hot day.

It took him a moment to pinpoint exactly why the atmosphere was suddenly awash in power, and his discovery, while promising in the short term, did not inspire him to drop his guard entirely. His wards had been added to. A wall of unnatural mist had sprung up. Through it, he could see the silhouettes of the gathered army, and hear their growing confusion. It sounded like they could no longer even tell where his territory began. His tails lashed as he stepped up to the edge of his wards, examining the new layer of divine power strengthening them. Leaning in close enough to sniff, he was rewarded with a mild shock to the tip of his nose.

“Ow!” His hands flew to his face, and he stamped a foot, far more surprised than hurt. “All right,” he said, eyeing the newly-reinforced wards. “I guess I'll go talk to a god about a wedding.”

Back in the Demon Slaying Cave, he discovered that Wen Qing had been hiding real, actual tea leaves somewhere, and had used them to make tea for Lan Wangji. The betrayals never ceased.

“That didn't take long,” Wen Qing said.

“Our guest added a hefty layer of protection to the barrier. It seems we're safe for now.” He looked at Lan Wangji, who was watching him coolly, then took a seat across from him at the stone slab which served as his table. “Your wards bit me,” he accused.

Somehow, although Lan Wangji didn't appear to move at all, Wei Wuxian got the impression that he drew back. He left off staring with those pale eyes of his, looking instead to his tea as he took another sip.

“Wen Qiiiing....” Delicately, making sure his claws didn't catch in the cloth, Wei Wuxian kneaded at Wen Qing's sleeve. “Qing-jie...is there tea for me, too?”

She slapped his hand away lightly. “This is for important guests.”

Sighing, he slumped, stretching one arm across the stone, and nestling his chin in the crook of the other. “Yes, I'd forgotten how often we have those.”

Throughout the entire exchange, he hadn't taken his eyes off of Lan Wangji. The god really was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful person Wei Wuxian had ever seen—from the sweep of his hair past the rosy tops of his ears, down to his long fingers delicately cradling his cup. Every movement was elegant, making Wei Wuxian want to see more of how he carried himself. That serene expression of his had Wei Wuxian itching to tease a reaction out of him.

A grin spread across Wei Wuxian's face as his tails began to wag. He sat a bit straighter, setting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

“So, Lan Wangji,” he said as the god took a sip of his tea, “when did you want to get married?”

Lan Wangji choked. His perfect posture was gone in an instant as his shoulders rose nearly to his ears, and he hunched over the table, struggling to swallow and hold back a cough at the same time. It left Wei Wuxian slapping the stone as he laughed.

“Hahahaha! Not so keen on a wedding any more, are you? But I'm not entirely joking. You won't find a pair here willing to marry, and certainly not to fix a mistake I made. If there must be a wedding, it will have to be between you and me. But, really, you've only been gone from the heavens for a few minutes. Who's going to notice? I won't tell if you won't, so can't you just forget you were summoned?”

As Wei Wuxian spoke, Lan Wangji had regained his composure. He now knelt as perfectly as a statue, as if he had never had a moment of shock at all. He inclined his head gracefully.

“I accept your proposal.”

“Good, good. I'm glad you're an understanding sort.” He flapped his hands as Lan Wangji got to his feet. “Ah, don't rush on my account. Finish your tea. Let the sects wonder about your barrier for a little longer.”

The god did not finish his tea. Instead, he walked around the stone slab, then knelt next to Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Wangji? What are you—”

“You may call me Lan Zhan.” Did the tips of his ears look even redder than they had a moment ago?

“Ah, call me Wei Ying, then, if we're being informal. Hm? What are you doing?”

He watched as Lan Wangji carefully removed the red forehead ribbon.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji took one of Wei Wuxian's hands gently in his, and wrapped one end of the ribbon around and around his wrist, securing it with a knot.

“What's that for? A remembrance?” He was trying very hard to sound casual, but his ears were flattening, and he could feel his tails fluffing up.

Lan Wangji began wrapping the other end of the ribbon around his own wrist.

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” He looked back over his shoulder at Wen Qing. “What's he doing?”

“It's a mystery to me,” she said, in the dusty dry tone she used when she felt Wei Wuxian was missing something obvious.

Lan Wangji stood up once more. From where he still sprawled on the ground, Wei Wuxian looked up along the red line of the ribbon binding them by the wrists.

“Come,” Lan Wangji said. He took Wei Wuxian by the hand and drew him to his feet. As they walked together out of the cave, Wei Wuxian glanced back at the Wen siblings. Wen Qing watched him go, coldly unwilling to come to his aid. Wen Ning summoned up the ghost of a smile.

“Congratulations, Young Master.”

“Congratulations on what?” Wei Wuxian demanded, but he was led away without an answer.

“Lan Wangji,” he called, as they stepped out into the feeble daylight. “Lan Zhan,” he called, trying and failing to dig in his paws and halt their progress. “Gege!” he shouted, finally resorting to shifting his padded fox toes into fully human feet so he could dig his heels in. Lan Wangji stopped short, still facing forward, mere paces away from the start of the dreary wood that circled what they called a village.

“You aren't really planning to marry me, are you?” He lifted his arm, tugging at the ribbon that bound them. “I've given you plenty of chances to laugh and tell me to mind my words more carefully in the future. Haven't you taken the joke far enough?”

Turning just enough to catch him with one honey-gold eye, Lan Wangji said, somewhat severely: “I do not joke about marriage.” When he tried to begin walking once more, however, Wei Wuxian refused to budge.

“Come, be reasonable! A siege is no time for a wedding!” He stamped his foot. It was always so much more satisfying with human feet!

“As my betrothed, you and your home are under my protection.”

“Yes, for now, but— Lan Wangji, would you at least look at me? How can we discuss this if you won't even look at me?”

Obediently, Lan Wangji turned to face him. Somehow, it made Wei Wuxian want to pat his head and praise him for listening, but he held back.

“Isn't that better?” His ears pricked forward encouragingly. “Now, I'm guessing you're in a hurry to go announce our imminent marriage to the sects, and to officially un-invite them to the festivities, is that correct? It doesn't get much more inauspicious than having an invading army at one's wedding.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head. Wei Wuxian's tails lashed as he repressed the growing urge to pat him.

“All right, but think. The moment you leave and take your barrier with you, the sects are going to come charging right back here to finish what they've started today. How about instead of announcing the wedding, we tell them that you're here to bring heaven's punishment down upon me and mine, so they aren't needed and can go on home? That should buy us at least a little bit more time once we've gotten you married and sent along home.”

Although his expression had barely changed, the tension in Lan Wangji's jaw had increased as Wei Wuxian spoke. When he raised his eyes, they were blazing with emotion. He spoke quietly, but with cold precision, and said: “I do not lie about marriage, either.”

Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh. His ears drooped. Stepping fully into Lan Wangji's space, he took both the god's hands and held them between his own. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.... I summoned a god because we're in a tight spot here. Aren't I doing you a favor by agreeing to marry you so that you can go home? Maybe marriage isn't a big deal to the Marital God of Blissful Unions—I'm sure you've been married plenty of times!—but to this humble little fox, it is asking quite a bit. Can't you make some allowances?”

Watching closely, he could see the tension bleed from Lan Wangji's expression. Not wanting to let him waver too long, lest he decide not to give in, Wei Wuxian pressed on.

“What about a compromise? Here, quickly, help me untie this.” He began picking singlehandedly at the knot securing the ribbon around his wrist. After a moment, Lan Wangji gently urged his hand out of the way, and did it himself. Before he could pull the trailing end away, however, Wei Wuxian snatched it back and quickly looped it around his own neck.

“Wei Ying!”

“Hm? What?” Tying a bow, he looked at Lan Wangji, wondering why the god seemed so shocked.

“This.... Tying it so does not indicate an equal partnership.”

“Correct!” Wei Wuxian cheered, giving in to the urge to pat Lan Wangji on the head. “Good boy! Full marks! Maybe you won't lie about our wedding, but we can at least imply, can't we?” Sensing weakness in Lan Wangji's hesitation, Wei Wuxian struck. He tossed his hair, cocking his head to the side and looking up through his lashes. Behind him, his tails swayed, tips curling coquettishly. “Besides...don't I look pretty with your lovely ribbon around my throat?” Delicately, he drew the tip of a claw along it, then down the trailing end that fell over his chest.

Lan Wangji swallowed. The tips of his ears were very red. Grinning, Wei Wuxian scratched lightly beneath his chin.

“Let me do all the talking when we confront them, all right? You stand there looking serious and righteous. Maybe a little more heavenly, if you can manage it.”

Lan Wangji blinked at him. Then he started to shine. Divine light radiated from his core, as if he was a star fallen to earth. He'd be the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian had ever gazed upon, if it was possible to look directly at him.

“Perfect! Keep that up the whole time. I don't need them concocting stories about you being some dead thing I pulled up like a turnip.”

With a shake of his head, Wei Wuxian hid away his ears, and let the rich, yam-orange hue of his eyes drain away to a dull, human gray. He retracted his claws into stubby human nails, fluffed up his hair to look disheveled, and patted down his robes, leaving them dustier and more threadbare with every pass of his hands. Lastly he hid away his tails. Cringing, he gazed up at Lan Wangji.

“How do I look? Pitiful? Defeated?”

The pained look on Lan Wangji's face made him snicker. Reaching out, he patted the god's shoulder. “Bear with it. I'll be my handsome, charming self again in no time.”

They made their way through the sparse wood and down to the edge of the barrier. Lan Wangji's power still curled through the air like mist. Curious to see if he would get the same reaction twice, Wei Wuxian reached out a finger to touch it. The faintest shock ran through him, but, as before, it wasn't particularly painful. As when he'd first sensed Lan Wangji's power in the air, it soothed like cold water on heated paws. Direct contact simply made the impression stronger. Pressing his palm flat against the barrier further increased the sensation. With the initial surge passed, the thrum of power really was quite pleasant. He had a sudden, deep urge to shift fully into a fox and rub his body against the barrier. With a snort of laughter, he pulled his hand back. Such a display might send poor Lan Wangji running for the heavens, wedding or no.

Turning, he saw that Lan Wangji was very obviously not looking at him. The god's ears were as red as his ribbon, and even the corners of his eyes looked a bit bloodshot. He stood stiffly, arms folded behind his back, and shoulders so tense that Wei Wuxian's tails nearly fluffed themselves back out of hiding in alarm.

“Lan Zhan? Is something wrong?”

“No.” His voice was clipped. Perhaps their walk had finally given him enough time to think over the plan that Wei Wuxian had forced him into, and now he was loath to be part of it.

“Lan Zhan.” He waited for the god to meet his eyes, then smiled. “Thank you for humoring me. Just a bit longer. I know you must not like the idea of marrying me, especially after all this, but I appreciate your help. I promise, I won't accidentally summon you again.”

“Wei Ying....” He looked almost like he had something else to say, but as the seconds dragged on and the words didn't come, Wei Wuxian assumed that he must be imagining it.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands together, “let's disperse an army! Remember: don't say a word. Let me do all the talking.”

Hunching his shoulders, Wei Wuxian schooled his expression into one of defeat, and nodded at Lan Wangji to lower the barrier. He had to trust that the god would make sure the sects could see and hear them, but wouldn't be able to actually attack.

Slowly, the faint silhouettes that could just be seen through the mist gained definition and color, turning from shades to cultivators in sect robes. One, then two, then half a dozen, then scores of them shouted and pointed as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji seemed to appear out of thin air on the hill above them. Confusion and awe spread quickly. Lan Wangji was still glowing with celestial light, making his status as a god unquestionable. His purpose, however, was still a mystery to those gathered, although Wei Wuxian could see numerous fingers pointing to the ribbon that tied them together. Quickly, the sect leaders gathered, watching them all the while—Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, and a sour-faced Jin. Wei Wuxian could feel the phantom twitch of his ears. He was almost certain that this attack would have been orchestrated by Jin Guangshan, but the man hadn't bothered to actually show up in person. Typical. His lip curled before he could stop it.

A moment later, he spotted Jiang Cheng joining the other leaders, and his heart gave a sick lurch in his chest. Rather than dwell on his former shidi's presence, he drew in a deep breath and bellowed out over the assembled cultivators:

“WOE!”

A bit dramatic, perhaps, but if they'd all been foxes, their ears would have been perked. He had their full attention.

“My mistakes have reached the heavens!” he cried. One had, at any rate. “The virtuous Hanguang-jun himself has arrived, and I am bound as you see by this symbol of his will!”

As he spoke, he gestured at the ribbon, as if reluctant to actually touch it. Below, the crowd followed the shining red trail from his neck to the hand of Lan Wangji, who stood looking quite heavenly, indeed. There was a hesitant smattering of applause from those gathered, and a restless shuffling as people tried to press closer for a better look. Here and there, a lone cheer rose up.

So far, so good.

“My life is now spoken for by a heavenly official. As such, the Burial Mounds are under divine protection as I meet the fate that I have called down upon myself with my own words and actions! Return to your homes! You have no cause to fear me.”

There was a general stir and murmuring. The applause was more confident, the cheers louder and more numerous. A few cultivators laughed. No one actually moved to leave, however.

“Tell them to go,” Wei Wuxian muttered. Silence. “Lan Zhan?”

Glancing over, he saw that Lan Wangji was waiting to meet his stare with the flattest look he'd ever received. When the god raised an eyebrow, Wei Wuxian nearly dropped the poor, defeated fox act and burst into laughter. He bit the inside of his cheek, and mumbled. “You can speak. Please tell them to leave.”

The unrest from below was growing louder. It sounded distinctly triumphant. Did they plan to camp out on his doorstep and celebrate his supposed downfall? How rude!

“Hanguang-jun is not my title,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

“It is now,” Wei Wuxian retorted. “I just bestowed it on you.”

“Hm.” He took a step forward, and projected his voice over the crowd. “It is as he says. There is nothing to fight or to fear. Leave.”

“Well spoken. I'd clap if it wouldn't spoil the act.”

Lan Wangji didn't so much as glance at him. Instead, he murmured: “We require a matchmaker.”

“Do we really?”

“Unless you would like to attempt another summoning.”

Suppressing a sigh, Wei Wuxian lifted his chin and shouted out over the growing din.

“Hanguang-jun requires the services of the best fortune teller among the sects, for guidance in this matter! Have them sent here immediately!”

Out of the growing roar of a hundred excited conversations, one voice shouted back to him. “Why would a god require guidance from a mortal?”

The cheek! “Do you think the peerless Hanguang-jun has nothing better to do than tally up my deeds himself? He's being thorough!”

It seemed to Wei Wuxian that there was a mild shift in the tone below. His fox ears ached to perk up and listen in better.

“Do you think they're still buying it?” he asked under his breath.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji gazed out over the crowd a moment longer, then took another step forward. The divine glow around him flared, as bright as if he was a second sun fallen to earth. There were shouts and cries of surprise, which quickly turned to cheers. All eyes were upon him. The sects were rapt, faces eager, arms outstretched. Elated whoops and snatches of laughter could be heard.

“I expect the fortune teller to arrive within three days,” Lan Wangji told the crowd. Then he turned his back on them, raising his beribboned wrist as if to lead Wei Wuxian away. The mist of his barrier sprang up once more, hiding the cultivators from sight. Someone began playing a lively melody on a pipa. A xiao joined in moments later.

Shaking his head over the growing sounds of merriment, Wei Wuxian gave a full body shiver. The bones of his feet lengthened and shifted, his tails unfurled, and his ears sprang free. He blinked color back into his eyes, and laughed, slapping Lan Wangji on the back.

“Lan Zhan! Aren't you full of surprises! What did you do to them all at the end, there? They came for a war, but are staying for a celebration!”

“My presence at a gathering naturally encourages a festive atmosphere.” He looked mildly contrite. “I am not accustomed to purposefully amplifying the effect.”

“Haha! You really cut loose, huh? Let's just hope they clear out before they start thinking too hard about their 'victory,' eh?” He dug his claws into the knot at his throat, working it loose. “Come on. Let's get back to Wen Qing and Wen Ning. We've got a lot of plans to make.”

“For the wedding?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Yes, I suppose for that, too.”

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

Lan Wangji, Marital God of Blissful Unions, had cultivated to immortality and ascended into the heavenly court many, many, many human lifetimes ago. Back then, the story of his sect's founder—a monk who set out into the world to find his fated one—was still novel, and the association with such a romantic notion was enough for him to be assigned his current post. It was not one he would have chosen.

However, while he disliked crowds, noise, and excesses in general, was neither of a joyful or even terribly friendly nature, and could not handle so much as a cup of liquor despite his heavenly status, Lan Wangji was good at his job. Whenever his name was invoked for a wedding, he made sure that all relevant traditions were followed, that the weather was fair, that food and drink was plentiful, that moods were festive and feuds forgotten, and that everything went as planned. More, every couple he was called upon to bless received his most sincere, heartfelt wishes for a long, fruitful, and above all, happy marriage. Lan Wangji put his all into his blessings, and it showed. His track record was spotless, and thus he found himself locked out of promotion, or even a lateral shift in his duties as a heavenly official. Centuries after his ascension, he was still overseeing celebrations ranging from the intimate to the ostentatious, when his natural inclination leaned more toward scholarly, solitary pursuits.

It was only with this most recent summoning—a true summoning, rather than a mere invocation—that he was beginning to reconsider his preference for the latter.

The small child sitting pressed up against his side—scrubbed as clean as his caretakers could manage in a noxious, barren place like the Burial Mounds—squirmed in order to look up at him.

“Sweet?” A-Yuan asked.

Lan Wangji reached into the small parcel on the table, pulled out a date, and handed it to the child.

“Thank you!” The boy chirped. He took the date with both hands, and munched on it happily. He was startlingly endearing. Indulgently, Lan Wangji patted him once on the head, then went back to his writing.

Across the stone slab which served as a table, Lan Wangji's summoner, host, and soon-to-be husband snorted.

“Got you wrapped around his finger already, doesn't he? Just so you know, I'm his favorite. He's only using you for treats.” Wei Wuxian's eyes were twin autumn moons, shining merrily. His grin showed just a hint of fang, and behind him, his bushy tails waved with an easy contentment. He was drinking some sort of pungent wine, having failed to wheedle any of the poor but treasured tea from Wen Qing, even as she had brewed Lan Wangji a second cup.

Remembering that he must not let the courtesy shown to him go to waste, Lan Wangji took another sip between sentences.

It was difficult not to stare at Wei Wuxian. Aside from being quite handsome, he was friendly, constantly reaching out, be it with words or gestures. Although he joked at Lan Wangji's expense, and flirted as a means of getting his way, there seemed to be no malice in him—a small thing on its own, perhaps, but he was living in the Burial Mounds, manipulating the resentful energy to make it habitable. Somehow, he was managing such a feat without poisoning his own mind in the process. It was astonishing, somewhat concerning, and left Lan Wangji deeply curious about the details of his methods. There would be plenty of time to ask about it later, however, and to gaze at Wei Wuxian in the meanwhile. For the time being, however, Lan Wangji had marriage customs to see to.

He knew that Wei Wuxian did not understand his sincerity yet. The fox seemed to believe it simply an unfortunate rule that Lan Wangji refused to break. He didn't know that Lan Wangji had been captivated by him from that first, fateful glimpse. He didn't know that touching the divine barrier had allowed Lan Wangji to sense who he was at his core; that when he had pressed his hand to it to feel Lan Wangji's energy, the connection had gone both ways, and left Lan Wangji wishing to swim the currents of Wei Wuxian's soul for the rest of eternity.

Fated ones.

Lan Wangji had never pondered long on the subject as it pertained to himself. It had felt too unlikely, too fantastical. Besides, if he was to have a fated one, then surely fate would see to it that they met. And so it had. And so here he was, sitting in a dim cave near a pool of frankly alarming malevolence, composing a letter of betrothal, while a child sat nearly in his lap, eating dates. His fated one lounged across from him, robes gaping at his chest, drinking liquor and bantering with a doctor and a fierce corpse he had revived with the man's former consciousness intact. He was a fox, he cultivated the ghostly path, and the entire jianghu had come to kill him, ostensibly for the crime of doing the right thing for the wrong people. Wei Wuxian was a man who didn't do things by halves. It was Lan Wangji's sincerest hope that, once he realized it wasn't a joke or a meaningless obligation, he would bring that same enthusiasm to their marriage.

Lan Wangji was the Marital God of Blissful Unions, and he intended to make sure his husband was incandescently happy.

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

Wei Wuxian took a long, slow sip of his wine, using it as an excuse to stare at Lan Wangji over the rim of his cup. It was absurd and unfair how adorable someone with a face like that looked sitting there writing away with A-Yuan nestled in against him. Lan Wangji was about as expressive as Wen Ning. He'd seemed so stern and no-nonsense at first, but just look at him now—completely at the mercy of a child's whims! His fingers twitched, itching for a brush and paper so he could draw the scene in front of him. Wouldn't that make a lovely souvenir for when Lan Wangji went back to the heavens? A reminder of the mortals he'd helped out, even though no one was getting married for real.

On the way back to the Demon Slaying Cave, Wei Wuxian had quickly filled Lan Wangji in on the main points of the siege, and his life with the Wens in the Burial Mounds. He'd made up that flashy title for the god so that the sects couldn't simply look him up, but it was hardly fair to allow Lan Wangji to unknowingly tie himself to the reputation Wei Wuxian had earned. It hadn't put him off the idea of marriage. If anything, Wei Wuxian could have sworn that he looked somehow more eager.

It turned out to have been a good thing that he'd explained on the walk back. A-Yuan had woken up by the time they returned, and Wei Wuxian wasn't about to discuss such serious matters in front of him. The moment he stepped inside the cave, A-Yuan had run to him, clinging to his legs and peeking warily at Lan Wangji.

“What are you doing,” Wei Wuxian had asked, laughing. “Don't hide from our guest. This is Lan Wangji. He's here to help your Wei-gege with something.”

It had taken some urging for A-Yuan to venture closer, but eventually, his fascination with Lan Wangji's robes won out. To Wei Wuxian's surprise, the god allowed the boy to handle the silk, one small fist clenched around a handful, while he petted embroidered dragons with his other hand. His surprise had only grown when, after sitting down at the table and taking out a qiankun pouch, Lan Wangji not only allowed A-Yuan to sit pressed tight against his side, but pulled a parcel from his pouch and offered the boy a date to eat.

“So?” Wen Qing had asked. “How did it go?”

“We have a temporary reprieve, thanks to Lan Zhan's help.” He'd watched Wen Qing begin preparing another cup of tea for Lan Wangji, then fetched himself the last of the wine he'd squirreled away. “We'll need to come up with a more permanent solution soon, though.”

Both of them had glanced at A-Yuan. The need to shield him from worry and harm pecked like carrion crows at Wei Wuxian's innards. With a shake of his head, he'd turned his focus back to thoughts on what could be done, and put on a smile.

“We'll figure something out. Heaven has smiled upon us, after all.”

He'd looked at Lan Wangji, then, of course. That heavenly face could truly have been carved from jade for all the variance in his expressions. He'd chuckled, and poured himself a drink, and set about needling Wen Qing until she was scowling in irritation rather than wearing that awful look of barely repressed dread.

And eventually, he'd found himself watching Lan Wangji over the rim of his cup. It felt like he hadn't ever really looked away since the god had appeared. He was just so pretty, after all, and something about him made Wei Wuxian itch to tease. The urge to see what would happen when that serenity was shattered had his tails twitching. A restless energy consumed him, leaving him barely able to sit still. He hoped the sects would actually leave. He wanted a chance to play with Lan Wangji for a while before whatever plans he hatched with Wen Qing and Wen Ning upended their lives again.

“What are you writing?”

Laying his head down in the nest of his arms, he watched Lan Wangji. Everything about him was so elegant—from his posture to the way he held his brush to his calligraphy. It all made him look horribly out of place in the den Wei Wuxian had made for himself in the Burial Mounds. If he was uncomfortable, however, nothing of it showed in his expression or his bearing. He didn't answer the question, merely continuing to write as if he hadn't heard it.

“Lan Wangji.”

…

“Lan Zhan.”

…

“Gege, look at me!” Wei Wuxian whined. “How can you treat me like this when we're to be married?”

A-Yuan perked up at that. “What's married?”

“It means—” He broke off, suddenly, realizing that he wasn't actually sure what it would mean for them, beyond having Lan Wangji's protection against the sects for a time. They couldn't exactly put together a wedding feast here. There could only be a meager celebration. And Lan Wangji would have to return to the heavens sooner or later. It was a marriage in name only, really, but Wei Wuxian suddenly felt he'd put a collar around his own neck, and for precious little reason. Still, he put on a smile for A-Yuan.

“It means I'm going to become Lan Wangji's husband. The two of us will be family.”

A-Yuan looked up at Lan Wangji. “Red-gege will be family?”

Instead of answering, Lan Wangji looked questioningly at Wei Wuxian.

“Oh, didn't I tell you?” He grinned wide enough to show off his canines. “I birthed little A-Yuan from my own body!”

Lan Wangji's face went very, very blank, and his ears went very, very red. Causing that was fast becoming Wei Wuxian's favorite game.

He fell backwards laughing, slender fox feet kicking the air as his tails wagged merrily. “Hahaha!! Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan! You really believed me, didn't you? Why are your ears so red, hmmm? Not thinking naughty thoughts about putting a little Lan in me on our wedding night, are you?”

“Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snatched his ear, yanking him halfway to his feet. “Just what are you babbling about in front of A-Yuan?” she hissed.

“Ow, ow, Qing-jie! That hurts!”

Pulling free, he shrank back into his fox form and scrambled around the table to hide behind Lan Wangji. The god twisted to look down at him for a moment, then set aside his brush in order to rub the ear that Wen Qing had pinched.

Bliss!

It was a taste of heaven!

Lan Wangji's fingers were warm and gentle, applying just the right amount of pressure. Shamelessly, Wei Wuxian pressed his head up into his palm. Just as he'd hoped, the massage changed to scratches over the top of his skull and around the base of his ears. He wriggled his way onto Lan Wangji's lap, and licked traces of dates from A-Yuan's fingers when the boy stroked his muzzle. With a happy sigh, he let himself go boneless, only his tails stirring lazily across the dusty floor in reflexive contentment.

Well. There were certainly worse people he could have married in a bid to protect the remaining Wens. Maybe summoning Lan Wangji had been a stroke of good luck, after all.

Just as Wei Wuxian was thinking that he really needed to get up before he actually fell asleep, he sensed a change in the resentful energy outside his cave. His ears twitched, picking up the quiet rasp of dry earth being disturbed, and he heaved a sigh. Reaching out a foreleg, he began to shift, changing so that it was a human palm that hit the ground beside Lan Wangji's thigh. His nose followed, shrinking back into a human face as he went. Once he was entirely off Lan Wangji's lap, he rose to his feet, claws clicking softly over the packed earth on the way to the cave entrance where a hand beckoned where it had sprouted like a flower from the ground.

It was desiccated and in poor shape, tattered flesh discolored by rot and ground-in dirt, nails split, one finger broken, and another ending two joints too short with a jagged bone visible. Wei Wuxian crouched down next to it and reached out. Gently, gently, the pads of his fingertips and the very tips of his claws touched the dead flesh. Head cocked to one side, he listened to the report, then dismissed the corpse with his thanks. Straightening up, he returned to the others with a grin.

“Well!” he said, dropping to sit next to Lan Wangji. His tails wagged so energetically that one found its way across Lan Wangji's lap and set A-Yuan giggling as the tip tickled his face. “The sects are dispersing. It seems the battle has been postponed.”

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

The next three days were like a strange, but not unpleasant dream for Lan Wangji. It was already rare to be physically summoned, rather than simply to have his name invoked, but he certainly hadn't imagined when he'd been called down from the heavens that he would shortly be celebrating his own wedding. There was no doubt in his mind that Wei Wuxian would be a suitable partner. When the fox had touched his wards, there had been a transference of qi, giving Lan Wangji an intimate sense of who Wei Wuxian was as a person. He could sense it even now, sitting next to his intended, mending a basket while Wei Wuxian muttered over arcane notes on talisman crafting, occasionally sharing snatches of his thought process and intentions. There was a feeling of rightness about passing the time at Wei Wuxian's side, some long dormant seed in Lan Wangji's soul which was finally taking root and growing under the sunshine of Wei Wuxian's smiles and the downpour of his attention.

He liked being included in Wei Wuxian's reasoning over his inventions. He liked being teased, and being a source of glee simply for being himself, rather than for any blessings his presence might bring. He liked that Wei Wuxian found him funny, liked that his status and affect didn't automatically force him to remain at arm's length, as had been the case even before he had ascended. No one had treated him so casually in centuries, not since the time of his immediate family, and the warmth of it was startlingly blissful.

He liked Wei Wuxian. For the first time, marriage was no longer an unlikely possibility, but something he very much desired for himself.

Lan Wangji couldn't remember the last time he had felt anticipation strong enough to kindle impatience.

The situation was, of course, highly unorthodox. First and foremost, Lan Wangji was living with his intended, sharing the same sleeping cave, and, occasionally, when Wei Wuxian nestled in against his side as a sleepy and affectionate fox, sharing the same bed. Highly inappropriate in most cases, but as neither of them was about to sully the other's honor with so clear a distinction of species, Lan Wangji felt the arrangement was acceptable. The fact that Wei Wuxian was so warm and soft in his fox form, so eager to be petted and cradled, did not factor into Lan Wangji's decision to overlook any potential impropriety at all.

They spent those three days mostly in each other's company. Wei Wuxian happily showed Lan Wangji around the settlement, introducing him to the residents and explaining the situation. He was teasing and helpful by turns. He flirted with the women and joked with the men—all of whom were elderly and of such low cultivation that they could not possibly have presented a threat to the sects. Wei Wuxian explained that, too, muttering the gory details in a low, dark tone far from earshot of any of the Wen.

From the touch of his essence, Lan Wangji had known Wei Wuxian to be a match for his heart, but hearing of the sacrifice he had made for a handful of people unconnected to himself raised him even higher in Lan Wangji's estimation. This was a person determined to act with integrity, to do good, no matter the cost, and blessed also with the ability to bear his burdens cheerfully. His spirit burned like a flame against darkness, and Lan Wangji was helplessly drawn to him.

Sometimes, usually at Wen Qing's insistence and often under her supervision, Wei Wuxian would help out in the fields. The soil was poor and the crops were far from promising. It seemed to be a terrible imbalance of labor versus results, but Wei Wuxian went about his work with a smile, if with no small amount of theatrical whining. His antics brought a bit of cheer to the Wens who shared in the work, making it pass just a bit easier.

Of course, he did have other duties to attend to. Before Lan Wangji had been summoned, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning were the only lines of defense the settlement had from the restless dead from within the Burial Mounds and the resentful sects without. Even with Lan Wangji around, Wei Wuxian continued to spend time each day assessing the state of the protections he'd set up around the edge of the settlement. It was a practical consideration, Lan Wangji knew. There was no guarantee that he would not be called back to the heavens, or even indisposed for some reason. If so, the settlement would still require protection. Wei Wuxian's vigilance was admirable.

His work with the dead of the Burial Mounds was astonishing. Orthodox cultivation held that liberation, suppression, and obliteration were the only options for dealing with resentful energy. However, Wei Wuxian was creating an entirely new path. He was actually using the ambient resentful energy against itself, exhausting it so that the fierce corpses inhabiting the Burial Mounds could be freed from their painful ties to this world and allowed to move on. It was not a quick or easy process, but it avoided the suppression or destruction of the dead. The amount of empathy Wei Wuxian held for the vicious, resentful dead left Lan Wangji awe-struck.

-----------

-hair brushing and the toe bean massage

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

Oh, balls. Matchmaker first, THEN letter of betrothal. Lwj can still write it beforehand, tho. He knows wwx is a match.

After a few moments, Wen Qing asked: “What is it?”

“I am unsure who to present this to in this situation,” Lan Wangji said. His hand was slowly increasing its range, petting over Wei Wuxian's neck, and then his back in increasingly longer strokes.

“I'm as much in charge as he is. More, when he's like this. Give it here.”

There was the rustling of paper. Pleasant skritches down his spine. One of Wei Wuxian's ears flicked, curiosity preventing him from actually dozing off in Lan Wangji's lap.

Wen Qing hummed in consideration, then heaved a sigh. “You're going to want this done as properly as possible, I suppose. However, you must have noticed that we aren't exactly prepared for a wedding here. We count ourselves lucky if everyone has a full stomach at the end of the day.”

“I will loan you my pouch.” Lan Wangji murmured. He was even softer-spoken than before. Did he think Wei Wuxian had actually dozed off? “It will provide anything required for the ceremony.”

Generous. Then again, the god was the one pushing for the marriage. It was only fair that he make up for any lack.

Oh. Wei Wuxian's ears perked up. That meant they could have a proper feast, didn't it? That would be nice. A-Yuan would enjoy a real celebration.

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

-the pouch contains anything needed for a wedding. Lwj loans it to wq for the preparations. He also provides gifts which end up mostly going to the wens. Wwx isn't going to use it for a dowry, bc it's not like he'd have one anyways, but wq convinces him to at least get some nice bedding.

-do the Nie stick around after the other sects leave? The optimistic plan wwx and the others come up with is to ask the Lan to take in the Wens. Wwx believes that, of the four great sects, they'll be the easiest to convince, the least likely to hold on to grudges from the war, and the most likely to keep any promises regarding the wen's safety and fair treatment.

-lwj massaging oil into wwx's poor, torn-up toe beans

BRAINSTORMING

-maybe go back and re-write a bit. Wwx shouldn't be so wrong-footed. Maybe he catches on and agrees in order to keep the sects off his back. He doesn't think it means anything in particular to lwj, bc SURELY a marital god of joyful unions would have been married a time or two himself! He only finds out after the wedding that lwj basically got a taste of his soul when he touched the barrier and believes he is The One.

what's the order of operations for a marriage? They pick a partner, get the fortune told, exchange gifts...? I think the groom is supposed to come get the bride from her parents' home, and he has to play door games before he can take her. Then the wedding is held at his place. Each serves tea to the other's parents/family. Bows to the heavens, the parents/ancestors, and each other. (wangxian seems to manage with just the bows)

-lwj gifting wwx with stuff for the settlement—food, seeds and plants, sturdy, warm fabrics, thread and needles, medicines, tools, a chest of coins to use to buy things in town—but also fancy robes & jewelry for wwx for the wedding, at least. In return, wwx goes into town and buys lwj some chickens, a carved wooden rabbit, a pretty ribbon. He also paints a dream he's had for years—of a small house with a garden. The house is lwj's?

-the matchmaker says they're perfect for each other. Lwj is pleased about this. Wwx asks what he does when a spouse doesn't match up, and lwj blinks at him and says it has never been a problem. Wwx asks if it's part of being a marital god—only accepting proposals from people who will be a good match. Lwj stares at him, and wwx says that surely lwj's had many proposals over the years. Prolly can't even remember all the people he's wed. lwj reveals that he has never been wed before. Wwx thinks on how perhaps this is lwj's dream—he's always watched over the marriages of others, but never found someone for himself.

-wedding games are archery against wen ning (who is very clear that lwj must be worthy of wwx), chess or something against granny wen, and a drinking contest with uncle four. (wwx is watching all this and cheering on everyone involved? Informal would be good.) lwj gets drunk after one cup, and is drunk thru the ceremony. Conks out on top of wwx on the marriage bed? Wwx takes on his fox form & uses his tails to cover lwj so they both stay warm? Wakes to lwj petting him the next morning?

[alexcalder]

—blue eyes shifted to hers as she spoke. jaw clenched at the words. ’be careful, he is crazy’ she told him and he averted his gaze with the faintest nod; the thought of what she had been through for nearly three weeks ( surely her abductor hadn’t stuck to keeping her chained up and locked up in this disgusting dark basement, in the middle of fucking nowhere ) stuck in his head; harrowing, daunting. he won’t ask her, he can’t, and truthfully he needs not to know what Chon did to her, he will make him suffer for it either way. Chon hasn’t seen crazy —he will pay for ever touching a single hair of her head, a mistake he won’t be allowed to make twice.

the times when she had to bear witness to the raw, blinded, all-consuming violence that he is capable of, the vast display of it was far too often as of late. to deny this is part of who he is, would be useless; and what if she hates him for it? violent, destructive, that’s what he is. violence, he is comfortable with, the same way he is no stranger to rage, no matter how pernicious. when it comes to protecting her, he doesn’t think; can’t control the magnitude of it, and doesn’t see anything, not beyond the need to eliminate those who dare provoke such a reaction. and what if she is scared of him because of it? he approached her without looking at her, not when he carefully, gingerly, pulled her wrist to him. he is a lot of things, none of them good ( unsurprisingly ), but he would never hurt her.

the last lock came undone and she was finally free of her restraints after all this time. he barely got to look at her when she thanked him before throwing her arms around him. his arm wrapped around her, holding her tightly against him for a moment. “they are fine,” he said softly, reassuringly, looking at her as she pulled back. they had missed her; they were always asking after her. even when he could get them distracted for a while, it wouldn’t last for too long, soon they were inquiring about when she would be back once more. and soon, she would get to be back with them again after all this time. he reached out to help her stand up, slightly taken aback when she hugged him once again. his arms wrapped tightly around her, protectively, pulling her close. closer. holding her tightly. she spoke and his hold on her tightened once more. was there ever any doubt that he would? he would turn the whole fucking world upside down if he had to in order to find her.

they did need to get out of there, she was right, he heard her. he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb wiping away the tears that stained her face. “it’s fine,” he responded, lightly shook his head, words spoken half out of habit, half because it was the truth; he would deal with it later, this wasn’t a problem for now, definitely not the priority. he was just about to pull away, but he cupped her face in his hands instead, looked into her grey-blue eyes. she was here, safe; traumatized, abused, but safe now. and he just looked at her. by all the gods, the way he loves her; there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. against his better judgment, he pulled her closer, pressed his forehead hard against hers, holding her there for a long moment. and fuck him, he had missed her too. he kissed her forehead, the top of her head. “give me a moment, and then we’ll go,” voice soft as he spoke, hands sliding down the length of her arms as he did.

⸻ A big smile appeared on her face, so happy to see Alexander, but on the other hand… She wasn't sure if he was real or if she was delusional. After all, she spent days confined. His hand upon hers was so much hotter than hers. She shivered in the cold. Her gaze dropped as he meticulously tried to unlock her cage. ❛ You're real. ❜ She says after a moment, when the cage was opened, wanting nothing but to run away with him. There is only the chains that keep her stuck. His jacket was so warm, which was exactly what she needed at the moment. She wanted to hug him but before she was able to do it, she raised her face when he gingerly lifted her chin and waited for him to work on getting rid of these chains. ❛ Alex, be careful! He is crazy! ❜ She says as she watched him work on get to rid of the chains in her wrist now, finally her neck feels lighter without this goddamn metal on her.

Her gaze shifted from where Alex was to the source of the voice of Chon. She was watching behind the brunette so, if anything happens she warns him. Elizabeth trusts that he has a plan. ❛ WATCH OUT! ❜ Liz exclaimed when he threw the knife closed her eyes, and sighed in relief to see the knife stuck in the wall. As both males were fighting Liz watched the scene until Alex was stabbed she yelped a 'no' , nearly rushing to him, until the chains restrained her motions, unsure if she wanted to witness this fight or if she wanted to close her eyes. This wasn't the first time she saw someone being murdered.

She opted to watch the scene unfolding in front of her until she heard a bone crack, and she closed her own eyes and looked aside. The Aussie watched him get closer and help her to get rid of the chains. ❛ Thank you, Alex! ❜ She hugged him, giving him a strong hug, but her body remained trembling. ❛ I miss you, and the kids and Papa. How's them? I want my babies. ❜ Then she dressed better in the jacket now no chains are keeping her stuck. The blonde crawled outside of the cage and stood up, barefoot on this cold floor.

She is still in disbelief that she is going out for the first time in weeks. Out of this darkness, this confined place. Elizabeth was embarrassed because she was skinnier, and her long haircut, some injuries spread on her ivory skin, and she was dirty. And she is hugging him once more but now crying in relief and happiness. ❛ You found me. ❜ Then she pulled away from the hug. ❛ We have to get away from here before someone finds us. ❜ And a hand of hers flew to his injury where he was stabbed. ❛ And you need a hospital… ❜