#you’d want to be on this forever too no matter the consequences

[vaciena]

Like I know long term steroids are really bad for you and it’s bad that I’m on two versions of one daily forever now but this is the best medication I have ever taken in my life and I would take the max dose every day if I could instead of the lowest one I’m on

[adispit]

Hii! Do u write for xiao ?? If u do can u do with a amab reader who is extremely sensitive during sex and gets overstimulated really easily and cries??

A Hefty Price

Xiao x bttm m! thief reader

content warnings: slight dubcon, overstimulation, reader cries, Xiao is a little ooc bc he’s irritated and pissed here, mindbroken reader (fucked into oblivion), punishment sex (?)

note: hiya I didn’t know if u wanted plot with it so I just did it, hope you enjoy 😭🫶

You always thought you could get away with it. Xiao’s warnings, his sharp glares, the low growl in his voice whenever he caught you—it had become almost a routine, something predictable. You'd brush off his words, slip through his fingers, and disappear into the night with whatever prize you'd set your eyes on.

Maybe that’s why you kept going. Deep down, you believed Xiao would be lenient with you forever. That no matter how many times he cornered you, no matter how many times he said, “This is your last chance," there would always be one more.

But tonight was different.

The moment you saw him step out from the shadows, his figure illuminated by the pale moonlight, you knew something had shifted. His eyes weren’t just filled with the usual exasperation or annoyance. There was something darker, more primal, simmering beneath the surface.

You should’ve stopped.

But instead, you smirked, brushing off the unease creeping up your spine. "What, are you here to lecture me again, Xiao?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light. "You know how this goes. I’ll be gone before you even—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Xiao moved faster than you’d ever seen him before, closing the distance between you in an instant. One moment, you were standing, your usual bravado shielding you from the weight of his presence, and the next, you were pressed against the stone wall of Wangshu Inn, your wrists pinned above your head in a grip so tight it made you gasp.

"Xiao—" you choked, but the words were caught in your throat as you met his gaze. His golden eyes bore into yours, no longer just filled with warning, but with an animal like intensity that sent your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"You think I’ll let this slide again?" His voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable in its rawness. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "That I’ll keep letting you walk away like nothing happened?"

His grip tightened around your wrists, his body pressing you harder against the cold stone. The sudden, brutal force of it made your heart stutter, a flicker of panic mixing with something else you didn’t want to name. He wasn’t just angry—he was done. Done with your games, done with your teasing, and done with your refusal to take him seriously.

"You always brush off my warnings," Xiao growled, his voice so close, so filled with something dark and primal that it made your knees weak. "You think I’ll be lenient forever, that I won’t do anything to stop you."

You swallowed hard, the smirk that had once danced on your lips now completely gone. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to understand what was happening. Xiao had always been intense, but this—this was different. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

"You’ve pushed me too far," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. His hand left your wrist, sliding down to your throat in one swift, controlled motion, his thumb pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You think I’ll keep forgiving you? That you can keep stealing, keep defying me, without consequences?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "No more."

Your chest tightened at the finality in his tone, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had always played with fire, but now, you were burning. Xiao’s restraint, his patience—it was gone, replaced by something far more wild, far more dangerous.

"I… I didn’t think—" you stammered, trying to gather your wits, but Xiao wasn’t having it.

"That’s your problem," he interrupted, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you still. "You never think. You believe you’re untouchable, that you can keep running from your consequences."

His fingers pressed harder against your skin, his body trapping yours completely against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched the realization wash over you. For the first time, you truly understood—you had gone too far. You had pushed him too far.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing came out. His grip on you was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. The usual playfulness you had wielded against him was gone, shattered under the weight of his fury.

His other hand slid down your side, pinning you in place with a strength that left no room for argument. You gasped, the pressure making it clear that this time, there was no escape.

"You never took me seriously," he murmured darkly, his lips brushing against your neck, sending heat coursing through you. "But I’m going to show you exactly how serious I can be."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch, one that made it clear—he wasn’t playing around anymore. There was no teasing, no games. You had crossed the line, and Xiao was about to teach you the consequences of defying him.

"You’ll remember this," Xiao muttered, his voice filled with quiet dominance as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body leaving no space for resistance. "You’ll remember who you belong to."

Your heart raced, fear and something else—a darker, more dangerous thrill—mixing together as you realized just how far you had pushed him. Xiao wasn’t fucking around anymore.

And now, you were going to pay for it.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your heart thundering against your ribs as you stared up at him, completely at his mercy. Letting out a quiet whimper at his gaze, you could feel heat pool in your core, inwardly groaning as his body pushed against yours, giving you no space to retreat or run. “Quiet, (name). Take your punishment.” He shot you a silent glare of disapproval as he fumbled clumsily at your pants.

You weren’t stupid, despite haven’t done this kind of thing before, but you knew what the Yaksha was trying to do, and was clear to your eyes. There was a flash of thought that crossed your mind that if Xiao was the one standing before you, and you weren’t pinned against a wall, you might have considered sharing your first with him.

Your body, however, was much more honest. As he freed your cock, it was already erect, as pearls of precum slid down your length, the cold night air graced your naked lower abdomen. Teeth chattering as the cold wind blew, it didn’t stop your cheeky mouth teasing him much to your regret later on, “Seems like the yaksha is quite the inexperienced one— Ah!” He gripped your dick forcefully, sending a shock of mixed sensations of pain and pleasure through your body. “You never shut up do you, mortal?” Xiao rebuked unhappily as he gingerly jerked your cock up and down, bringing about an onslaught of sheer pleasure and ecstasy that seemed to intertwine with each other.

Being a virgin yourself, it didn’t take for you to release, splattering ropes of white cum into his hand as you let out a strangled gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt Xiao's teeth graze your sensitive skin, a shudder running through your body. The combination of pleasure and discomfort had your nerves alight, every touch sparking a new wave of sensation.

"Nnh...haaah..." You whined, hips bucking involuntarily as you grinded down against the firm muscle of Xiao's thigh. The friction provided some respite, but it wasn’t enough to quell the ache building in your core.

“Stay still.” He let out a growl of frustration before biting down on your collarbone, fangs glinting in the moonlight, sunken into your sinewy skin. The bruising pain and burning pleasure felt indistinguishable as your mouth hung open with inaudible gasps escaping.

“You don’t listen,” he murmured darkly, his breath warm against the raw skin of your collarbone. His teeth released your skin, leaving the bruised, throbbing mark of his claim, the sting lingering like a brand. “You never listen.” His tongue flicked out to trace the bite, sending another wave of heat through your body.

Not intending to give you a break, his fingers thrust into your waiting hole, making you squirm and writhe, insides clenching around his fingers. “Hhn!” A gasp left your lips as you felt the fingers prodding a certain bundle of nerves, nudging it repeatedly until you was moaning incoherently. A little sob even escaped you, as your cock twitched, spurting white all over your own pelvis again. Your whole body quivered, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the stimulation didn’t cease, your breath came out in ragged gasps, each one more shallow than the last as your body trembled under his control.

The Yaksha’s name left your lips in a stutter.

The pleasure left you reeling in its wake like a tidal wave engulfing your body in full force. Tears began to decorate your eyes as you let out small hiccups and chokes from the merciless sensations that seemed to plague your fatigued body endlessly.

Xiao’s hand shifted from your ass to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His golden eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding. For a moment, something flickered in them—a recognition of the tears that now streamed down your face, glistening in the moonlight.

But his grip didn’t soften.

“Are you crying?” Xiao’s voice was rough, his words cutting through the haze between you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, smearing the tear across your skin. “After everything, you still don’t understand.”

“I’ll make you understand.” You let out a scream as he impaled you on his cock, the girthy length bullying his way into your insides, searing his shape into your walls. There was pain, yet most of it became pleasure as Xiao started to thrust in and out of your tightness. Inaudible, slurred cries escaped you as you hung your head low, body rocked back and forth as Xiao fucked you deep and slow. The tears kept falling, but you were helpless to stop them. Everything about this moment felt too intense, too overwhelming.

Half-sober, you muttered pleas and apologies from your hoarse throat amidst the obscene squelches of his cock kissing your walls repeatedly. “Too late.” He huffed a noncommittal sigh as he put your arms over his shoulders and carried your limp legs with his arms before driving his hips against yours with full force.

Your brain was mush at this point, barely registering anything as your overstimulated hole rapidly twitched and clenched around Xiao’s disappearing cock into your hole. Your cock let out pitiful drops of cum, if that could even be called that, as you had truly lost count on how many times you had climaxed simply from the sensation of his cock scraping against your sensitive walls.

You had truly paid a hefty price.

note: might have made him a little too intense here sry 😢 but i ran w it he’s tired w readers shit lol 😹

Reblogs are appreciated!

[peppertoastuniverse]

something good – gojo satoru x reader

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru mention, ieri shoko mention, light angst with LOTS OF FLUFF, mentally strugging softboy!satoru gojo, lots of yearning, 2 pages of making out, slightly suggestive summary: gojo uncovers hidden memories and realises that all he needs is you wc: 3.6k a/n: thank you to the anon who sent this sweet request!

spring time, second year.  “.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.   even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you.

“satoru?” still concentrating on his nintendo DS, he sighs. he recognizes suguru’s tone, it either going to be a deep question or a fucking stupid one. he rolls over with a groan on suguru’s bed to face his best friend, his book that he was reading lay forgotten on his desk. “yeah?” satoru asks lazily, eyes darting back to his flashing screen. “who do you see yourself as in the future?” oh, here we go. satoru fights the need to roll his eyes. “what do you want for your life?”  “pff, I want to just fucking beat this level.” he says aggravatingly, groaning dramatically as his character dies again. suguru laughs seeing his flashing screen, previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked suguru’s laugh. 

“...don’t you ever think about it though? the future?” the future?

he blinks. blessed with great strength and power, he knew from a young age that that choice wasn’t something that he was lucky enough to have. satoru never had to worry about the future, he had his whole life planned out for him. the thought never saddened him, and why should it? he wasn’t a fool and believed that all things were equal in this world. he was the chosen one, the future of jujutsu society – that was just how life was –  another consequence of being the honoured he supposed. but glancing at suguru’s thoughtful expression, the flicker of hope and despair in his violet eyes, his rough hands winding through his dark hair, it was clear to see that this obviously mattered to suguru. satoru didn’t understand where suguru was going with this but it was just like him to worry about things that didn’t matter. satoru sighs, attention back to his game,  “i dunno, it’s hard to say when we’re already the strongest. what else could you want?” suguru scoffs, shaking his head “you won’t be a teenager forever – you’d better wake up sooner or later, satoru.” satoru jolts awake, moving his blindfold up to rub his eyes irritatedly. 

shit, for once he didnt mean to fall asleep.

still feeling slightly disoriented, he hastily slides off of the couch, moving quickly to his room down the hall. groaning as he glances at the clock in the hall, he sighs hoping to ignore his slightly teary eyes. he was going to be late – you were going to kill him. 

satoru hasn’t been sleeping well lately – not that it was from a lack of effort. he’s tried melatonin pills, exercising before bed, even those sleepy girlie time party mocktails – or whatever you called them – but nothing helped. it definitely wasn’t the endless missions that the irritating higher ups were making him go on, he was used to the workload. maybe he was worried about something. walking quickly through his room, satoru wondered if you were getting enough sleep. did you have dreams too? sleep never seemed to be there when he wanted it. rubbing his face, to fully pull himself into reality, satoru could still feel the remnants of the quiet comfort produced by his unexpected dream. he felt shame at the feeling. guilt in the comfort. 

satoru didnt get a lot of sleep to begin with, but there were times where the extra hours awake weren’t all bad. he might as well be useful, which is how satoru started learning how to cook in the early hours of the morning, proudly surprising tsumiki and megumi with cute bento boxes. he would binge watch a whole tv series at once, determined to tell nanami all about it at jujutsu tech. but he thinks the best use of his time awake was when he was simply seated on the couch with you, listening to you talk about your day until the drowsiness would overtake you and he could just hold you for a little bit. he liked when you came over, tsumiki and megumi liked it too. just last week, when he saw your expression melt when tsumiki begged you to stay for dinner, giving into her like you always have. satoru remembers your grin as you sat next to silently pleased megumi, picking out the tender pieces of chicken from your plate to give him more of his favourite. when you were around satoru noticed that fushiguros were more at ease, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it would be better if you moved in. but this was uncharted territory – a necessary boundary– protecting you from the rise and fall of his storm. his greed would have to lay dormant in his dreams. 

but the lines were getting blurrier throughout the years. satoru couldnt deny how his face would light up when you’d call him while he was on a lengthy overnight mission. concern smothering the delight in your voice that he was still awake (“satoru! what the fuck, did you even sleep today?”), he’d easy dodge your concerns, covering the fatigue in his voice with teasing remarks and crude jokes to your obvious frown.  “tell me something good, satoru” you’d say, seeing right through him like you always did, voice still laced with sweetness, wanting nothing more than to listen to him talk. 

taking wide strides across his room to throw something on, satoru rustles quickly into his closet grabbing whatever looked clean and appropriate. if he showed up in his crinkled pajamas again to a meeting again, you’d surely cuss him out. his eyebrows crease at the thought of disappointing you, he was supposed to make you smile not stress you out – he made a promise to himself to always look out for you and there you go again worrying about him. 

hastily grabbing the folded dark blue sweater at the back of his closet, blue eyes widen at a box toppling to the floor. its contents dramatically spilling across the cold hardwood floors. 

great. he didn’t have time for this. groaning, he quickly kneels down to right the box, his breathing hitches. 

strewn across his floor, he sees scenes of his missing dreams. photographs of his time at jujutsu tech as a student, his eyes taking in the many photographs that shoko had taken, moments of a simpler past. gathering the pile of photos, he slowly rifles through them – a photo of shoko and him with matching peace signs, a photo of you doing shoko’s hair, blurry photos of suguru chasing after you when you’d steal his cigarettes, snickering photos of him trying to climb suguru like a tree, a photo of you and kento sharing sandwiches. 

another lifetime ago. he picks up the slightly faded photo of himself and you, a reminder of a well loved memory. satoru shakes his head softly at the way you sat on his back while he was sprawled out on the gym mats, his glasses perched at the top of your head acting as a crown on your shit eating face.  satoru cant help but grin at his own small pout in the grainy photo. shoko always had the best timing. you had a bet with suguru that if you could get gojo’s glasses, he would treat you to unlimited free ramen from that nice place in shibuya with the fresh noodles for two months. 

satoru remembered how you’d excitedly roll off him ignoring his grumbling, “toru, you know i had to win! it’s suguru! have you seen how much sugu eats? that fucker would run me dry! but don’t worry, i’ll get him to pay for you too.” 

he never told you that he had let you win of course, not putting up much of a fight, distracted by the smile on your face – so bright that he couldn’t bear to diminish it. you must have had some sort of curse in your smile, even convincing a begrudging suguru into paying for satoru everytime, “sugu, you have to! he’s going to whine and cry, do you really want to deal with that?” 

after that month, satoru never went to back that ramen place again– too sick of it to go back. he could hear the creaking floors when the three of you would arrive,  the smell of the rich broth and the sound of suguru’s laughter when he teased you.   satoru knows you havent had shio ramen since then – you insisted on have ramen for every meal for a month to suguru’s annoyance. perhaps he’d invite you to go eat there again if it was still there. 

somewhere in his mind he thinks he hears the warm sound of your arrival, the jingling of the key that he gave you when the fushiguros first moved in. your usual light steps, heavy now with annoyance. 

“really, satoru?” you yell, annoyance dripping from your sharp tongue. “i’ve been calling you a billion times, this is an important meeting – we can’t be late again. you fucking said you’d be ready by the time i –” you see his still figure hunched at his closet. your eyes narrow in confusion, your tightened fist unclenching at the sight of his still broad back. 

“... satoru?” you call, voice softening as you notice the tension in his shoulders and the unnatural stillness of his too tall body. curiously you creep up behind him, your  slow hands feel his shoulders, the tension cold and heavy in his muscles, your hesitant hands leaving a trail of fire behind them. arms weaving their way around his slender neck, a place that you’ve been before. your eyes take in the photos strewn on the floor, visions of a past life swirling in his cluttered mind. your eyes widen. 

“..’toru?” you try again – more gently – calling him from the abyss, a light in a rough storm. eventually, you feel his large cold hand reach up to gently hold your right hand in response, his blue eyes tear away from the photographs, tousled white hair leaning against your abdomen, his tired eyes looking up at your concerned face. 

“hey.” he greets you, trying to mask his fallen expression with a hollow smile, a carefully practiced defense, something that he developed in childhood but perfected in suguru’s absence. but you knew him well. you knew how his eyebrows would crease or how his lip twitched when he was on the verge of crying.  

the dark rings around his eyes echoes you concern – were they darker than usual? you sigh as you take into account his far away stare, his icy watery eyes. crouching down, all anger forgotten, you look over his shoulder to take a closer look at the photo he’s holding. apologetically you let go of his hand in exchange for the photograph, sitting down beside him instead. you miss his eyebrows furrow slightly missing the comforting squeeze of your hand. a bittersweet smile dancing on your face, you stare at the photo, all words dying on your suddenly too heavy tongue. a photo of a past life, a happier time:  suguru’s exasperated expression contrasting his bright amethyst eyes, face fashioned in a pout as he was sandwiched obnoxiously in between you and satoru. a wild grin decorating your face, mischievous eyes closed in mid laughter at suguru’s grumbling, while satoru pulled bunny ears behind suguru.

“oh god, look at him.” you whisper pointing out suguru’s dark shorter hair when he first arrived at jujutsu tech. you almost forgot what he looked like before he – 

your eyes blink, you didn’t want to think about it. 

satoru scoffs, “i know, doesn’t he look like an idiot?” 

“remember how you’d make fun of him all the time? you were such a bully to him – he really hated you when we started.” you laugh sadly.  

“that’s not my fault, he was fucking asking for it! he kept calling me q-tip! or nepobaby!” he counters, betraying tenderness in his tone. “shut up, i know you liked it when he called you anything close to baby!” you quip back, face denouncing you in a soft grin. a heavy silence invades the intimate space between you two, his absence sitting in between you, his rightful spot now vacant.  suguru. you lean your head on satoru’s shoulder, his arm moving around you to settle at your waist instinctively. you look into his eyes reading him easily: i miss him too. 

suguru’s defection was still a sore spot in your mind. satoru still hasnt been able to say his name out loud, suguru’s name carrying too much weight. you suspected that satoru wanted to carry his best friend with him despite the heaviness, a sense of masochistic comfort. you hoped that he knew that you were always there for him when the time came, you still felt the hurt too. 

but there was a strange sort of solace that still lingered in his name. suguru’s memory was still soft if you focused but the pain caused by his name was still sharp and rough around the edges. when was the last time you and satoru spoke this openly about him?

the memory still hurt. a wound that would reopen at any given movement, unable to heal, cutting deeper as time went by. 

mercifully sensing the pounding of your heavy heart, satoru clears his throat and fishes out another photo in the messy pile. a photo of shoko and himself, a cigarette dancing on shoko’s lips, gojo looking at her in mid conversation. 

“ewww – look at you here.” you point out, wrinkling your nose, “this really wasnt your best haircut...” 

he scoffs, the twinkle in his eyes showing you his amusement.  “you’re the one who did it – ”

“oh fuck, right!” you laugh, thinking about the very first time satoru begged you to cut his hair – shoko was away on a rare mission–  yelping at you when you closed your eyes in nervousness, resulting in an uneven cut. you both remembered how shoko laughed so hard she cried when she saw him. you definitely didn’t cut his hair this time, admiring his soft locks and even trim. you move your generous hands to comb through his soft hair gently, enjoying the feeling of his undercut under your slow hands. he closes his eyes, a please sigh escaping his lips, tension immediately easing from his body.

“it’s better now though, hey? makes me even more handsome,” he teases, his eyes still closed. 

“nah, still ugly. brings out your buggy eyes. ‘m so glad you started wearing the blind fold.” you mutter, still playing with his hair absentmindedly. 

ignoring his whine, you laugh, “wow, shoko still looks amazing though.. look at her cute little cheeks! I forgot how she used to put pins in her hair like that.” previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked your laugh. 

he watches while a strange far away expression infiltrates your face, picking up a photo, edges creased contrasting the vividness of his memory. shoko and suguru smiling at the camera, while you and satoru were in mid conversation smiling at each other. spring time, second year. 

“.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.  

even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you. your presence somehow simultaneously exciting him and putting him at ease. maybe it started when you stole his glasses in first year, or the countless detentions you both got in. surely, it must have been the night that suguru left. in the darkness he wasn’t sure who was holding who, your tears mixing with his as you clung to him in your sleep.

maybe it was when you showed up at megumi’s school when he first got into a fight even though you were in the middle of a mission last month, a fire in your eyes. or maybe it was when you comforted tsumiki when she came home upset over a fight with one of her friends. maybe it was in the way you talked her through it, rubbing her back gently while you listened to her through her teary words. or when you ate all his mochi yesterday, cheekily claiming “you said you’d share, satoru!” whenever it started, he knew that something different was blossoming into maturity in the past few months – something that he never knew could be a possibility –  let alone for someone like him. 

“we should take an updated photo, we never have photos of just us,” you decide, turning to face him fully. “my phone or yours?” he asks, eyes still the photo, breathing in the way you smiled at him all those years ago. unchanged. 

“mhm, yours.” you say as he digs his phone out of his back pocket. “i want a good one, ‘kay toru?? i dont need any more photos of you sticking your tongue out..” you mutter, scooching closer to him. “oy, come closer – you’re so far,” you whine, grabbing his forearm urging him to get closer for a better photo. 

“c’mere then..” he mutters, gently shuffling you so that you’re sitting in his lap, as you hum in content at the warmth of his skin against yours. he easily drowned you, this familiar place, his familiar embrace. yet this time you felt the tide shift, something softer, vulnerable – the calm waters after a storm.  you lean your head to his as you both smile for the camera as the shutter echoes through the room. 

moving impossibly closer to you, he turns his head towards you, his phone lay forgotten on the floor. sensing his stare you turn your head to his, eyes questioning his soft gaze. as the air grows thicker bursting with the weight of years of fondness and poorly hidden desires, your eyes flicker to the curve of his lips. breathing the same air as him, you feel light headed, drunk off the very presence of him.   

inching closer he feels his soft lips meet yours, a fluttering feeling, hesitant and foreign but firm and sure. you easily wind your arms around his neck, sighing as you pull him closer, jumping into the deep end when you’ve been wading in the shallows for years. he effortlessly maneuvers you to straddle his lap, large hands pressing against your back, pulling you closer to meld his heart to yours, his hands begging to memorize the feeling of you. 

too preoccupied drowning in him, you hesitantly break away from him to breathe, only to rest your forehead on his. grounding yourself in the feeling of his warm breath on your cheek, uneven and heavy, your erratic heartbeat threatens to break the fragile silence. the air grew hot and heavy, buzzing with anticipation and nerves.  satoru bumps his slender nose with your playfully, causing you to grin. a relieved smile dancing on his face in reply, a silent conversation dancing in his eyes, a celebration of his love, a proclamation of his devotion to you, an apology for waiting this long, an admission of forever. 

needing to feel more of him, you move your hand to cup his flushed cheek, the sweetness in his skin grounds you once more – satoru was always the question and the solution wound tightly into one. confessions of the past and future swirling in his blue, you meet the weight of his tender gaze like you were carrying the strongest’s life in your very hands. his skin burning with your touch, you greedily move to kiss him to soothe the ache, swallowing his smile in your greed. 

melting with the reassurance of his lips to yours like a signature on a previously forgotten love letter, you wonder how you lasted this long without his lips on yours. you bite back a pleased smile as he reciprocates eagerly, deepening the kiss, tongues dancing, his soft lips moving in tandem with a bruising promise to always be yours if you let him. when your hands weave through his hair, a dark purr escaping his throat, reverberating through your core. his arm grips you tightly as his other hand moves to settle at the nape of your neck, feeling your heart beat in sync through his flushed skin. 

breathlessly, with great effort two magnets part, your hands loosening your grip on his soft t shirt. breaths tangling together, drinking in each other. 

still intoxicated by the feeling of you, satoru can’t help but nuzzle into your warmth, his forehead finding yours once more. his eyes still on your swollen lips, evidence of his want, his mind already on the thought of kissing you again, like he would die without the feeling. “y’okay?” you mumble, heaving chest enjoying his touch. 

he chuckles at the absurdity of your question, you should know by now that he was always okay as long as you were with him – the only time that he feels he would get better is when you were there. 

“hey – don’t laugh…” you mutter suddenly embarrassed by his stare, a deeper blush finding a way onto your cheeks emphasizing your growing pout. laughing fully now, his strong arms bring you closer as they wind around your waist sweetly.

unable to resist, you lightly kiss his jawline as his wandering hands brush some hair out of your face. “hmph, you’re such a dick and after everything i do for you too…” you playfully whisper without malice, leaning into his broad chest, rolling your eyes.

“mm.. how should i make it up to you?” he mumbles, slender hand tilting your chin up to force your gaze to look at him. as you bravely meet his tender gaze, you notice that something different was in his eyes.

“damn, i gotta help you with that one too?” you tease, giggle blooming in your throat as he kisses your nose gently. “well… i have a few ideas.” he hums, moving to kiss you fully, slow and sweet savouring you. “you always do…” you mutter, eyes on his grinning lips. 

perhaps now he could answer suguru’s question he thought as you move to rest your head on his shoulder. satoru knew he wanted you. holding you in his arms now, feeling your shy smile on his neck –  he knew that you were something good.

requests are open a/n: they did not make it to the meeting lol ngl this request was tough, but i loved the challenge of writing my first smoochie smoochie scene. reposting this as a stand alone piece for maintenance.

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[newluvrs]

Wonbin ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: WE ARE MAKING OUT - YEULE, MURA MASA word count: 2.5k bb note: literally just wrote this bc I had the urge to kiss a man

Your fingers nervously fidget with Wonbin’s in the small space between you, too scared to look up at him.  The hints you’ve been sending him all night bold and obvious, a stark contrast to the way you’re behaving right now.  Your lip is pulled between your teeth, and you wish you could watch the expression on his face as you use your tongue to soothe the area you chewed on.  He thinks its funny how you can never just say what it is that you want.  Instead you throw him blatantly obvious gazes and touches.  

Like tonight as the two of you were out with friends you insisted you get SomiSomi, then when he wasn’t looking you purposefully made sure to get the SoftServe on the corner of your mouth, turning to him with a pout to help you wipe it off.  When his thumb slid over your bottom lip you puckered your lips to press a kiss to it.  And from there the hints only got more extreme.  Huffing when you saw the couple on screen kiss during the movie, constantly reapplying more gloss to your lips then asking Karina if you looked good, chewing on the straw of your drink until it was nothing but a shredded piece of plastic. 

Of course Wonbin got the hint ages ago, but he thinks its funnier to see the ways in which you’ll make a fool of yourself just to get him to kiss you.  He pretends not to get the hints, nonchalant as ever.  He likes how you react to him, how when he leans in too close you freeze up in anticipation.  He pressed his face close to yours earlier, he almost felt bad when you closed your eyes thinking he was gonna kiss you and instead he pulled an eyelash away from your cheek.  Life would be so easy for you if you would just ask for what you want, because he would always give it to you, no hesitation.  But he doesn’t mind doing this with you, he’d do it forever if you’d let him.

When you stepped through your apartment door and threw yourself on the couch he thought you might be upset, like maybe he took his private joke too far.  Your baggy shirt rides up your hips a little as you stare at the ceiling.  You think about just caving and asking him point blank, at a loss with how he can’t take a hint.  And you would just ask if you weren’t so nervous, this aspect of your relationship still very fresh.  You cover your face as you’re deep in thought, it should not be this hard to ask your boyfriend to make out with you.  You feel the couch dip next to you and you sit up, pulling your hands away from your face as you flex your fingers.  He hasn’t said anything since you got home, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him after your many failed attempts this evening.  Instead you choose to resign yourself to just playing with his hands as you pointedly try and not make eye contact with him.  

He leans forward, ducking his head down to try and get a look at your face, and you just turn it further away from him, sucking on your lip out of nervousness.  You’re not trying to pout, matter of fact you’re not even mad, he just makes you so nervous.  Every time you’re with him it feels like it’s hard to breathe.  Even when you were just friends, he always had a certain way of making you feel like it was easiest thing in the world to love him.  The air starts to feel a little charged as Wonbin gently pulls his hand away from yours.  You’re about to turn to him and tell him you’re not upset when he grabs you by your waist to pull you closer to him on the couch, the action catching you off guard.  Now it’s your turn to pretend like you don’t understand, playing coy as you continue to not look at him.  Wonbin wants to laugh now at how the roles have reversed, you always seem to switch up when you come face to face with the consequences of your actions.  A beat of silence passes and you think maybe that was it, that nothing else is going to come of this.  

“y/n..”

The way he softly calls your name makes you feel like you were dropped in ice water, making you feel wide awake.  His voice sweet with the way he calls it, you think your name fits perfectly in his mouth.  The letters and intonations coming together to make it your name but somehow sweeter.  When the initial shock wears off you bring yourself to look at him.  

Your first thought is that he’s closer than you thought he was, stomach doing cartwheels as your eyes travel down his features.  When your eyes reach his lips he notices how they linger there a little longer before you bring your gaze up to match his.  He can’t wipe the knowing smile off his face as he speaks. 

“hey”

“hi”

You want to cringe when you hear the way your voice shakes, but right now you’re too distracted, lost in the deep gaze of Wonbin’s pretty eyes.  He just looks at you so fondly it makes you feel like your chest is going to crack open.  An invisible string pulls the two of you closer to each other, until you might as well be on his lap.  He keeps doing the glance from your eyes back down to your lips, but each time he lingers a little longer, pulls himself a little closer.  The tension in the air burns your lungs with every inhale, anticipation and tenderness making your skin warm.  You’ve only been with him like this a handful of times, but already you’ve come to memorize the moves he makes before he gives in.  You suck your bottom lip between your teeth again, just out of habit.  Wonbin brings a hand to your face, using his thumb to pull on your bottom lip to get you to stop.  Your lips part at the action, quick and quiet breaths leaving you.  

Instead of removing his hand, Wonbin chooses to slide it to rest at your jaw, gently caressing your face.  When he leans forward, you close your eyes, remaining as still as possible.  He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away again.  You pray that he doesn’t notice the way you try and follow him, the hand still cupping your face preventing you from doing so.  A furrow finds its way on your brow, impatience beginning to overpower you.  When you’re the first one to lean forward this time, Wonbin obliges, but this time all he gives you is a quick peck before he’s pulling away again.  Before you can complain he’s pulling you to be seated in his lap, legs resting comfortably on either side of him.  He smooths a hand up your leg, fingers brushing against the exposed skin.  As your caught off guard by the sudden motion, he feels like now’s the perfect time.  

You’re practically trembling by the time he finally leans in, the only thing heard being the sound of each other’s heavy breaths.  It kills you because you think maybe this is another one of his jokes.  Thinking that maybe this time he’s just gonna kiss the tip of your nose, or something infuriating like that.  So when he’s pressing his lips to yours, it takes you a moment to fully register it.  It doesn’t click until both of his hands are holding the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.  When you finally realize, you practically melt against him, pouring every ounce of your yearning into returning the heat of his kisses.   

Nothing about the situation is rushed, you revel in the slow press of his lips against yours, the feeling of his thumb stroking your jaw as he leans into you.  The contrast of the gentle brushes of his lips that quickly turn into deeper presses sends you reeling.  Your breathing speeding up when he starts to tilt his head to work into his kisses.  He always knows when something is too little or too much, knows when to pull away to leave you wanting or when to kiss you so intently it overwhelms your senses.  

His moves become more teasing the longer you spend like this.  He pulls back occasionally to nip at your bottom lip, gently sucking on it as you try and catch your breath.  When your breathing starts to even out slightly he begins pressing little kisses along your jaw.  He doesn’t let you rest for too long before he’s kissing you again, hands sliding from your face to rest in the back pockets of your shorts.  As he cups a handful of your ass, your breath hitches, the feeling of his hands on you making you part your lips in a silent exhale.  He uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, your hands coming up to rest against his chest in an effort to give yourself some stability.  

You’re starting to get greedy now, your hands trailing down his body, just touching and pressing against the muscle.  You notice a change in his kisses, slowly they’re starting to feel hungrier, hands kneading against the soft flesh of your ass.  When your hands reach the bottom of his shirt, you slide your cold fingers under the fabric, feeling the toned skin there.  His waist is so sensitive, your nails dragging along it making him shiver below you.  When you start to feel him harden beneath you it becomes harder to focus, falling out of rhythm with his kisses as your legs tighten around him.  

He grabs your ass again and you unintentionally push your hips forward at the action, grinding against him.  Feeling him groan into the kiss sets something off within you, rocking your hips forward again.  This time he matches the action with a roll of his own hips as his hands hold you steady.  The feeling of it has you pulling away from him, panting into the air as he starts to build a rhythm against you.  He pulls his hands out of your pockets and rest them low on your hips instead, encouraging you to rock against him. 

You risk a glance at him and when you do you see his heavy eyes, his pretty lips swollen and shiny with your combined spit.  A part of you feels cocky, heat burning within you at the thought of that being the result of you.  It makes you feel good enough that you initiate the next kiss, pulling him into you by his shirt collar.  The kisses are sloppy and slightly uncoordinated, both of you struggling to keep up when your focus is clearly elsewhere.  At one particularly good grind you gently lean your head back, staring up at the ceiling as you bask in the feeling.  Wonbin follows you, leaving wet kisses on your throat as he tries to copy the movements.  When you let out a whine he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven.  

He pushes a hand up your shirt, quickly slipping it under your bra and toying with your nipple.  He rolls it between lithe fingers as he watches your reaction, addicted to the way you arch your back to press your chest further into him.  It draws more sounds out of you too, your soft moans now permeating the once quiet atmosphere.  As he tugs on your nipple your movement starts to become more desperate.  You’re starting to become fueled by the achy feeling in your cunt, the wetness becoming uncomfortable as you try and chase the pleasure the best you can.  

Wonbin’s not faring much better either, movements speeding up beneath you in an effort to make the two of you feel good, practically trying to fuck you through your clothes.  When it’s just not enough, he flips your position on the couch, strong arms laying you beneath him as he settles between your legs.  He kisses you again briefly as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you.  When he resumes grinding against you the angle makes your brain go numb from the pleasure.  Something about doing everything with clothes on makes this feel so much filthier.  Especially when Wonbin is pushing your shirt up your chest and your bra along with it, your bare chest pressed against his clothed one as he grabs hold of your hips.  

At this angle you’re not gonna last very long, and he can tell.  He sees it in the way you can’t stop tipping your head back, your moans turning into whimpers.  The thought of making you cum in your pants drives him crazy.  He presses a hand by your head to steady himself, grinding as deeply as he can as he bites at your jaw and neck.  

“feels.. good..” 

The way your voice comes out sounds so broken.  If it were another time Wonbin would tease you for it, but in this moment all he can do is gasp against your skin as he nears his high.  He tucks his head into the crevice of your neck as you hold him close, hands tangling in his hair.  His movements start to grow uncoordinated, you doing your best to try and meet him with your own.  You’re almost there when he sinks his teeth into the right side of your neck, shuddering as he lets out a groan.  He fucks his hips against yours as he cums, trying to sink deeper into you despite the fabric barrier.  His hips become twitchy the longer he goes, stuttering against you as you pull at his hair.

The stimulation is starting to be too much for him, making him whine with each push of his hips but he needs to get you there.  He needs to feel you cum against him, despite all the clothes the two of you have on.  When he feels you finally tense up beneath him he doesn’t stop, rolling his hips as deeply as he can as you shake beneath him.  You bring his face up from the crook of your neck, lips desperately trying to find his and when they do, the kiss tastes sweeter than any of the previous ones you’ve shared tonight.  You can barely kiss back but you do the best you can, desperate to have him in every aspect.  

When you finally stop shaking he collapses on top of you, breathing in steady breaths to get yourself to calm down, your orgasm making your mind feel hazy.  His lips find the exposed skin of your neck, leaving small gentle kisses as you play with his hair.  He presses his cheek against you, eyes closing as he decides to speak up, teasing laced in his tone.  

“You could just ask for a kiss next time you know.” 

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

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[melobin]

first of all congratulations on hitting 2k !! i’ve never met anyone more deserving <3 love you lots 🫶🏼 can i rq “i missed you” with roommate jungwon please 🫧🪼

i love you forever !!!

જ⁀➴ roommate!jungwon x female reader

cw. smut, unprotected sex, clothed sex, no real power play involved, jungwon cums inside of the reader. wc. 2k

17. "i missed you"

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the air that surrounded you and jungwon felt tense, you hated it. if there was one thing you always enjoyed, it was your positive relationship with your roommate, but the two of you seemed to throw that down the drain a month ago when you found yourself laying under him in his bed. nails raking down his back as he fucked your senses away.

both of you tried your hardest to avoid bumping into the other, both too afraid to have the conversation or even acknowledge what happened that night. at first jungwon was hurt when he realised you were avoiding him, but he soon realised it was for the best and found himself doing the same back to you.

it was inevitable that your avoidance would be forced to end at some point, it was impossible to avoid someone you lived with for that long. most of your encounters had one of you coughing and looking away whilst the other quickly done whatever it was they needed to do before leaving the room.

the tension between the two of you didn't go unnoticed by friends who visited, you often found yourself being questioned by your friends to why it felt so tense when jungwon entered the room you were in, you'd play it off, trying to convince them they're making things up but you knew the truth.

yet, avoidance or not, you both found yourselves stealing glances at one another when you thought the other wasn't looking. even if you weren’t looking, you could still feel his eyes on you, every second that he was in your vicinity you found yourself craving the feeling of his eyes on you. the way jungwon looked at you made your skin crawl, goosebumps trailing from your wrist to your shoulder. you wanted nothing more than for him to touch you again, take you the same way he did that night, but you worried things were too far gone between the two of you now. 

so as you sat beside him on a friday evening, you tried to suppress your thoughts. usually the two of you would try and have a movie night on friday nights, just something small to relax after a hectic week, having food laid out and whatever movie you could find on netflix playing on the tv. the last time the two of you had a movie night was a month ago, consequently it was the same night the two of you ended up in bed together. it didn’t help to quiet down the thoughts that were in your head as you remembered the way his fingers trailed along your skin on the very couch you were sat on, how his lips gently pressed against your neck as he told you how bad he wanted to fuck you.

you couldn’t help but wonder if he still wanted to, if his true motives for asking you to join him for a movie night was so he could fuck you again. truth be told, you wouldn’t be against it, in fact you’d be all for it. you wanted him, bad. you knew you weren’t going to focus on whatever film he decided to pick, so you let your eyes wander over to jungwon, only to find him already looking at you.

“you okay?” he let his head lean to the left a little as he asked.

“i’m okay”

“you sure? you seem distracted” you gave him a small smile, this was the most engaging conversation the two of you had had in weeks.

“just thinking”

“what about?”

“does it matter?” he narrowed his eyes at your question, an almost small, playful smile tugging at his lips.

“yes” he moved closer to you, thigh pressing against yours “talk to me” you sighed and looked down at where his sweats touched your skin, maybe wearing shorts wasn’t your best idea.

“it’s nothing important”

“will you tell me if i guess?” you watched him carefully as he spoke, only lightly nodding your head at his question “you’re thinking about what happened last time we ended up like this” jungwon leaned closer to you, lips barely touching the skin of your neck “because i am”

you almost folded right away, almost leant completely into his touch and let him have his way with you all over again. almost. you were going to let him have you, but you didn’t want to make it that easy for him.

“avoided me for a month just to try and fuck me again?” he laughed against your neck, lips parting as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your skin.

“you avoided me, i was just giving you space” you let out a shaky breath, finding yourself sinking backwards in the sofa as he nipped at your skin “i’ve spent the past month thinking about how pretty you sounded under me, i needed to be close to you again” you’d never heard jungwon sound so desperate for something before, the last few words he spoke came out as a whine almost. there was no way you were going to be able to keep your guard up. 

“jungwon” your voice was quiet, your fingers found themself in his hair.

“shh” he paused for a second, fingers finding place on the skin of your thigh below your shorts “you don’t know how bad i just want to press you down and fuck you every time you say my name” you were speechless at his words, his teeth dug a little deeper into your neck, you knew there’d be a bruise there tomorrow.

“so do it” it was all he needed, you caved quicker than you wanted to but you couldn’t help it, nothing felt better than the way he lifted his head from your neck and kissed you. the kiss was full of tongue, saliva and desperation. he pushed you further down against the sofa, your head resting against the arm of it. 

the kiss didn’t break as his fingers trailed along the skin of your thighs, he groaned once he settled himself between your legs, cock hanging lose in his sweats, pressing against your covered cunt. he ground himself down against you, hands finding place on your hips as your legs wrapped around his waist. both of you found yourselves wanting to be as close as possible to the other, any space was too much space. if you could crawl into his skin and live in there, at this point you would. his fingers snuck under the fabric of your shirt, digging into your skin as he ground himself down against you. he broke the kiss, letting his lips pretty open mouthed kisses along your skin, his mouth felt hot against you.

“need you” he panted just below your ear, there was a slight whiny tone to his voice as he spoke “need you so bad. been too long” 

“take me wonnie, please” he groaned, nails pressing into your skin. neither of you had the patience to get undressed, instead he found himself shoving down his sweats until his cock was out, fingers pushing aside the material of your shorts so he could press himself against you. 

jungwon felt painfully hard, he’d spent the first twenty minutes of the movie working himself up, thinking about you. there had been countless nights in the past few weeks where jungwon found himself wide awake late at night, laying in his bed with his hand closed around his cock, pumping it as he desperately tried to mimic the way your warm cunt felt around him. nothing compared to how you felt, nothing compared to you. you brought jungwon a feeling he had never felt with anyone else and he wanted more.

and now he was finally getting more. he felt his head spin when he pressed the tip of his cock against your clit, dragging it down to your sopping hole. you were so inviting, it felt almost as if you were sucking him inside of you. the head of his cock broke into you, pushing into your warmth slowly. jungwon paced himself, fearing that if he moved too quickly he’d spill himself inside of you right away. he didn’t want that, he wanted to savour the feeling of you, wanted to keep you wrapped around him for as long as possible, not being sure when he’d finally get you to himself again.

jungwon moaned when he pressed the rest of himself inside of you, cock twitching as your walls tightened around him. he lifted his head from your neck to look at you, eyes shaking as he watched the way your lips parted and you whimpered at the intrusion of his cock. your arm wrapped around his shoulder, gripping his shirt as your other hand went to his hair. 

“god” he groaned as you pulled on his hair “i missed you” at his words, you pulled him down to kiss you, moving your own hips up in order to get him to move. you couldn’t stand him being inside of you without fucking you into the sofa beneath you, too desperate to feel him come undone inside of you again.

“wonnie” your voice broke against his lips, tone filled with a whined as he rolled his hips against yours, cock leaving you just to enter you again. he filled you up so well, thick cock stretching you out, leaving you aching to feel him fill you up all over again each time he pulled out.

you tried to keep the kiss going but it felt impossible, as his pace increased, so did the frequency of your moans. it wasn’t long before jungwon found himself burying his head in your neck, whining against the flesh as he fucked you. each time he withdrew his cock from you and pushed it back it he felt the lace of your panties drag against the side of his cock, it only made things more intense for him. jungwon was absolutely not going to last, especially not when he heard you say his name.

“jungwon” his name left you in a whine “fill me up, please” it was all he really needed to hear. jungwon found himself kneeling up between your legs, holding your thighs apart as he fucked you harder. hair falling over his eyes and bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he let his eyes focus on the way your cunt swallowed his cock. you left him glistening in your slick with each thrust, a gentle but filthy sound came from where the two of you were connecting. he wanted to fill you with him cum so bad, claim you as he fucked you. 

he dropped one hand to your clit, thumb pressing against the drenched, swollen bud as he fucked you closer to your orgasm. he didn’t want to finish first but he knew he was going to. with that way you were clamping around his cock and moaning so sweetly for him, he knew he was done for. he was too drained to hold it back, he needed you to feel what you done to him, needed you to feel his cum spill deep inside of you.

jungwon let out one of the prettiest moans you had ever heard when he came, hips still moving against yours, thumb still rubbing careless circles against your clit as he tried to drive you towards your own orgasm. your name fell from him as he released inside of you, the overstimulation only causing him to whine after.

“cum around my cock” he let his eyes flick to your face. your eyes were closed, lips swollen and parted, he was sure you had never looked so pretty “come on baby” you let out a noise that fell somewhere between the line of a moan and a whine as you felt your orgasm hit you, body shaking as you gripped the seat of the sofa under you, probably leaving deep scratch marks behind.

“jungwon, jungw-oh my god” was all that left you, your voice breaking as he fucked you through your orgasm, hips finally stilling once he was sure you were finished. your eyes struggled to adjust to the light in the room when you opened them, yet you still found jungwon looking down at you, cock still resting inside of you. he leaned over you, hands pressing against the sofa either side of your head before leaning down to kiss you softly.

“you’re not going to avoid me this time, right?” you shook your head “good, we should do this more often”.

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[tragedybunny]

I Should Tell You - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 1888

Astarion was, well, he was loath to admit it, but he was brooding. He’d taken up a private room at the Elfsong now that everything was over, one where he could keep protected from the sun while the rest of his companions, yourself included, lived their lives in the light of day. Slowly, condemned back to the shadows, locked in his room with drapes drawn tight against the burning daylight, he’d drifted further and further away from the group. Culminating in tonight, where he had one perfunctory drink at the farewell party and slipped off away from the group to hide out amongst his books and the shadows of his mind. 

For the last several weeks, everyone had put their all into assisting Baldur’s Gate in starting to rebuild. Those who were left anyway, Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus, and Lae’zel was off to wage war on Vlaakith. Now those who were left would be parting ways as well, Shadowheart to see the world, Gale back to Waterdeep, Jaheira and Minsc to rebuild the Baldur’s Gate Harpers, and you and Halsin…hells, he didn’t want to know. 

If he were being honest with himself, which felt like it was to be avoided these days, there was more to his self-imposed exile than returning to a nocturnal life. Seeing the two of you together made it feel like a dagger was shoved between his ribs and playing around with his insides. 

And the worst part was, it was all his fault. He couldn’t be mad at you or the infuriatingly perfect Druid. Well, he shouldn’t anyway, he still found himself wanting to shred Halsin’s throat with his teeth every time he pulled you close and kissed you like you were a goddess he was paying worship to. He’d done it to himself though, weaving a web of lies and manipulations so dense he’d trapped himself while you slipped through, unscathed. 

That web became too entangled with the way you’d stood firm against that Drow, for him. You’d seen him as a person, and he’d repaid that by seeing you as a pawn. At least at first. By the time you shouted at that vile creature on his behalf, he’d become so hopelessly lost in the strands of feeling that had grown and wrapped around his heart, he knew he had to give up the plan, and give you the truth, even if you hated him for it.  

As soon as your group had made camp that night, not far enough from the shadows of Moonrise Towers for anyone's comfort, he'd made his way over to you. “I want to thank you,” he’d started, sure of his course. “For what you said whilst in front of that vile Drow…

“...You made me realize I never stopped thinking like his slave.” He drew in a breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need it, and froze. Patiently, you stared up at him with that affectionate look you always had, giving him space to collect his thoughts. You, the fount of warmth and sweetness he didn’t deserve, the love he couldn’t hope to keep. Frantically, he willed himself to speak, to tell you what you needed to know, no matter the consequences.

“And I realize I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.” The words had spilled out of his lips before he could think them through and he watched as your eyes widened in hurt. 

“Gods no, what the fuck are you doing,” he cursed himself, but still the words came. 

“Being with someone still feels tainted, I need to figure out who I am, what I want.” Finally, he’d bitten down on his own tongue to stop the tide, but the damage was done. 

Those loving eyes of yours sparkled with tears, but that composure he’d begrudgingly come to admire since he met you held firm. “Is this really what you want, Astarion?” 

“No, no, no. I want you, I want it to be real.” If he gave you the truth and you sent him away, he couldn’t bear it. At least this way he could salvage your friendship, still bask in your light from time to time. The excuse was flimsy, even to himself, but he’d been a liar from the start. 

“I think it's for the best, I'm sorry.” Twice, he’d lied to you, twice, there would never be any coming back from this. “Please don't be mad at me.”

You stepped forward and he instinctively came close to cowering away. But you weren’t intent on harming him, instead wrapping your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “I think I understand. I’m not mad if this is what you need.” 

Your arms felt as though they were crushing him, their touch burning his skin. The urge to pull away and flee was almost overwhelming. But you deserved this one last bit of comfort. “Thank you,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder, breathing you in, and resigning himself to a life without this.

After you finally pulled away, you went to his tent and packed your things, leaving to set up on your own and let him endure the night without you at his side. There was a time when he’d never believe his own space could feel so empty. Back in the spawn dormitory, he would have given anything for this solitude. Now it was wretched. And so his first night alone was passed in miserable resolution, and when the day dawned, he went on as though all was right. 

It wasn’t lost on him that you would eventually find other companionship, you were attractive, witty, brave, and immensely caring. And from what he’d seen, you certainly weren’t interested in a celibate lifestyle. That line of reasoning still didn't prepare him for the night the group camped outside Rivington. 

Astarion had just returned from a hunt, the blood of a rabbit fresh on his tongue. It wasn’t you but he hadn’t dared ask to touch your neck after everything, electing to spend his trance hours dreaming of those moments between you instead. It was better than the nightmares of Cazador and his tortures at least. As he’d crept into the circle of ruined buildings that camp had been set up in, he stopped short, the world feeling as though it was closing in around him. 

You were talking to Halsin, who held one of your hands in his, and somehow, even with his ridiculously large hands, delicately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with the otherl. Time slowed and Astarion felt as though the blood in his stomach might make its way back out of his mouth. 

In the dim firelight, the stars gleaming without a cloud to obscure them, Halsin kissed you. Softly, slowly at first, and then his hands wandered to your hips to pull you in as he deepened it. Your hands came to rest on those broad shoulders and instead of pulling away as Astarion desperately hoped you would, you leaned into it, eager and wanting. He wasn’t close enough, but Astarion could swear he heard the little moan you probably made. The same sound you used to make for him. 

Halsin stared down at you after breaking the kiss, no doubt with naked lust written on his face, and offered you his hand again. And that was the that, the two of you began to quietly walk away from camp while Astarion fled to his tent, crawling into his bedroll and desperately choking down the sobs that threatened. 

It had been bound to happen, but how soon, was what burned from the inside out. Just like that, you’d forgotten all about him, as though he hadn’t mattered in the first place.  How dare you. He tried to summon anger with you, to wash away the pain. It was a betrayal, he had every right to be angry. You waited for no time at all, you moved on so easily, you…you just forgot he loved you. 

Not that he’d ever said it, but you must have known. The bedroll was even colder than usual as Astarion clung to the one object he found comfort in. Kept secreted away amongst his things, a shirt of yours he managed to pilfer before his botched confession. By day, it was tucked in his pack, and at night it filled his bedroll beside him. Pulling it into his arms, he inhaled what was left of your scent on it, and buried his face in the pillow to weep bitter tears. 

He emerged the next morning into daylight that no longer held the promise it had so recently. Almost immediately you ran to him, taking your arm in his, giving him a moment of foolish hope. If things had gone badly between you and Halsin, he would rectify his mistake and tell you everything, he privately swore. 

All it took was one look in your eyes to know that hope was in vain. “Astarion, I need to tell you something, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” You led him away from the rest of the group, almost to the spot where he’d seen you with Halsin. The rest of your companions pretended not to notice the obvious personal moment occurring a stone's throw away from them.

It was a good thing he'd cried every tear he had last night. “Well go on Darling, don't keep me in suspense,” he plastered on a grin. 

“The thing is,” you look everywhere but at him, “Halsin and I, well, things happened between us last night, and I think I'd like to pursue whatever this is. It just felt right to tell you first.”

Astarion laughed, a hollow sound to his own ears, but convincing enough for you, it seemed. “My Dear, you were worrying yourself about this? Don't vex your pretty little head like that, I don't begrudge your need for intimacy. Even if I fail to understand the appeal of a man who's always going on about enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts.”

“Astarion,” you scolded, but a subtle smile told him you were relieved. “Behave yourself.”

“Let me have a little fun at your expense.” He disentangled his arm from yours, its warmth suddenly smothering. Taking your hand, he kissed it gently. “I'm glad, you deserve to be happy.” That part he did mean, even as he reviled how it was happening. “And I'm sure you and Halsin will be. Don't worry about me.”

“Please worry about me. Can't you see how I'm bleeding?”

Leaning up, you kissed his cheek, with all the gentleness in the world. “Thank you, Astarion, I'm glad you understand, I'd never want to hurt you.”

From that moment on, you were Halsin's and Astarion had to grin and pretend to be happy for you. That's what friends were for and you insisted you two were friends. The two of you seemed so disgustingly infatuated with each other, he wanted to scream at times. So naturally he'd assumed you'd be happily headed out on some grand, romantic journey together. 

Which was why it startled him to nearly a second death when you burst into his claimed sanctuary, clearly distraught and slamming the door behind you. “I'm sorry… I can't be in there,” you gasped out between sobs.

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[siren-141]

shame on me ✤ final

sorry it took so long, I've been busy with vacation and school. I probably would not have made this into a four-part miniseries without all of the support and requests, so I thank each and every one of you 🥰 here's the final part/epilogue! I hope you all enjoy 🖤

It had been two years.

Paris, Athens, Morocco. You had gone everywhere. Hell, even New York City.

That was maybe the hardest location you had stayed since your disappearance from the Avengers Tower all those years ago – what had been your home for the past few years. Where all of your friends had been, where Bucky had been. Where the two of you had built a home together.

Walking the streets, memories flooding back in every corner you looked…it was rough. It was rough when you’d sit on your fire escape and watch Bucky down below, look in back alleys and knock on doors asking if anyone had seen you. It was rough when you’d look out the window of the coffee shop you were sitting in, sipping on hot tea in the middle of a cold February, and watch Bucky across the street sit in the bar the two of you would frequent when you wanted a night out. It was funny though, watching him look for you in all your frequent places.

He looked for a couple of months, apparently. You hadn’t stayed in NYC for long after you had left the Tower, only staying long enough for your connections to make you a new passport and secure you a house in some other country that was far, far away. But you had kept tabs for the first three months of your escape. Bucky looked and looked, going from state to state and country to country to check out all of the safe houses. Following your normal patterns. But he never came close to finding you.

After a while, he had given up. He had sat slumped in a conference chair with this dead look in his eyes, everything that had ever mattered to him completely gone. His friends tried to console, but it never helped. He blamed himself for your disappearance – and he was right to do so. He finally came to understand that his actions bore the consequence of you leaving not only him, but everyone you loved, probably forever.

He went on missions and acted erratically, got drunk on Asgardian Ale every night that he could. His hair had grown back out, he had become more violent on his missions. Turning into a shell of himself, any reason he had to exercise self-restraint and maintain his humanity now gone. He thought he had healed from the decades of torture, trauma, and brainwashing, and he had: there was no turning back into the Winter Soldier. But he didn’t like who had become without you. Nobody liked who he had become. He was still a damn good agent, but too hot-headed for his own good. Too willing to sacrifice himself. He was on a path of self-destruction, and it seemed like nothing would help except for groveling at your feet if you had ever come back.

You, on the other hand, had it better. You had your horrible nights, of course – nights where you cried and screamed and regretted that you had ever left your friends and only family behind. You just wanted to go home on those nights, but you realized that your home wasn’t in that apartment with Bucky laying next to you anymore: your home would be on that 16th floor of the Tower, waking up every morning and going down the elevator to fix a cup of coffee or tea, never really leaving work since you lived there again. Back to the beginning. You couldn’t do that to yourself – you owed it to yourself to have a fresh start.

But those horrible nights ended about six months into your disappearance. You let yourself grieve a life once lived, but you also realized that you could be anywhere, do anything you wanted now. A true fresh start. You still had all of your aliases with you, but you only went by one now – one that nobody knew of. You supposed that keeping connections outside of the Avengers was one of the smartest things you had done, in the event that you needed to run. In events like these.

So here you were, two years later, sitting outside at a table in Barcelona. You sipped on your coffee, watching over the crowds in the streets. Teenagers out from school during the summertime, walking arm in arm with their friends, laughing and smiling. Couples with their babies, walking down the cobblestone roads with strollers. There was a time that it would have triggered something in you: thoughts of that should have been me. Those thoughts were long gone, though. They had been for a while.

You had moved on. You had moved on from fighting the powers of the world and living life as a civilian. Of course you couldn’t help yourself if you were walking late at night and a thief tried to rob a group of young women – that had happened a year ago, and you had casually walked past and brought the thief down with a few swift moves, before casually walking off in the direction of your flat. But for the most part – you had moved on. You stopped looking for trouble. You stopped being self-destructive and allowed yourself to let the happiness and the joy in of traveling the world under better circumstances than normal. Sure, you had left your old life behind, but you had also begun a new one. You had left and said goodbye to everyone who mattered, effectively bringing everything to a close and not leaving anyone hanging with much more than speculations of how you had disappeared.

Basking in the soft sunlight, you sighed to yourself, content with life. You brought the mug up to your lips, taking a small sip. Setting the mug down, you spoke.

“I was waiting for you to speak, but I was about to ask for the check. Didn’t want you to miss your opportunity.”

Natasha smiled behind her newspaper, having missed the sound of your voice. Putting the paper down, she got up from her seat at the small table behind you and instead sat across from you.

You smiled, having missed your best friend.

“It’s been a while,” she said, small smile still playing on her lips.

“It has,” you smiled back. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’ve missed you, Nat.”

“I missed you too. We all have,” she replied. “I know you told me not to come and find you, and trust me – I didn’t. I never came to look for you before these past three months. You deserved that kind of peace – you still do.”

“But..?”

She sighed, taking off her sunglasses and setting them gently down on the table.

“We need you. This isn’t a personal visit, unfortunately. Only Tony knows that I’ve come to find you…it was actually his idea.”

You looked at her, almost in shock. A million thoughts flooded your mind. You had made so much progress, lived such a nice life ever since leaving…did you really want to go back?

“You don’t have to. It’s optional – we can find a way to do this without you. I’ll tell Tony that I just ran into a dead-end. Never found you – and I can leave, and we can pretend that this never happened.”

“What’s the mission?”

Natasha paused, hesitating to continue. When you met her eyes, she knew you were serious. “Our files. Our aliases, our covers…everything is in the hands of a man who goes by Typhon. He’s selling it to the highest bidder, which is every single enemy we’ve ever had and everyone who plans to be one. It’s all compromised.”

You thought about it. You didn’t have much time to think about it, though. You had a nice life here – nice and peaceful. But a part of you would always miss the chaos.

Raising your hand, you grabbed the attention of the waiter. “Señor – la cuenta, por favor?”

“Thanks, everyone, for coming. I mean, it wasn’t optional, but you get the gist,” Tony spoke, voice tired and stressed. The room was dark – not the same Tower that they were used to meeting in. Since everything had been compromised, the new meeting point was an underground cave that was unknown to most – old railways that used to be for smuggling in alcohol during the Prohibition Era, now covered up with skyscrapers on top of them.

Everyone stood around, listening intently.

Natasha walked in, joining the rest of the group. “Sorry we’re late, the air was rough.”

There were murmurs, people sharing confused glances.

“Oh my god,” Bucky breathed out, the shakes coming back to his body. His breathing got heavier, his hands coming to the back of his head to alleviate the pressure. Some looked back at him, confused at his realization.

You stepped out from the shadowed corner, just a few seconds behind Natasha, fully suited and ready to get started.

“It’s about time,” Tony said, looking at you before focusing his attention back on the group. “You almost missed the most important part.”

[tetsutits]

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 — kakucho x fem!reader.

# kantou manji kaku, three deities aftermath, established relationship, relationship angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive (making out), injury/blood. (wc. ~2k) barely edited im sorry :(

In the quiet streets of late-night Kanto, Japan, where the bars are closing down, and the harsh winds speak hushed whispers into cold skin, you sit on a worn out couch in a worn out building with a first-aid kit in your lap.

Even with the box being as little as a jewelry one, it almost feels like a bag of bricks with how your worry adds to the weight.

“kaku’...” you whisper, scared to break the little bubble of tension in the room, a little furrow in your brow, “I’m worried about you.”

his eyes flicker between the wooden floors and his hands in his lap, pinned in hyperfocus as he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

“you don’t need to,” he says, voice low, “I don't want you to carry any extra weight… especially if it's me.”

as soon as the words leave his mouth, your eyes can’t help but well up in tears, threatening to fall and wet your cheeks.

you suck in a harsh breath, as if it would do anything to calm the surge of emotions in your heart, “h-how can I not?”

kakucho furrows his brows, squeezing and unsqueezing his fist, watching the blood on his knuckles ooze out from the deep cuts. It doesn’t hurt him anymore, he thinks nothing could at this point. If you break a finger, you can heal it, if you break a leg, you can heal that too, if you get shot, chances are you will survive.

he throws his entire body in fights with no regard to his physical health — he knows the consequences wouldn’t hurt him much anyway.

but you?

It hurts you to see him like this. It hurts you more than it hurts him. the type of hurt that can’t just heal overnight. the type of hurt that will bleed over and over no matter how many times it's healed and scarred over. and he thinks he could never get over the look of pure agony in your eyes at first glance – which is why he sits here, in this dark room, with you by his side aiding his wounds and his eyes glued to the floor, trying to tell you that he’s not worth your tears or your worry.

he can’t meet your eyes.

he feels a warm palm against his cheek, a little wet from what he assumes are your tears.

“please, just look at me,” you voice breaks. at this point the lump in his throat feels like he’s swallowed an entire rock. he doesn’t dare say another word, but he complies, moving his head to the side to look at your achingly beautiful face.

his heart squeezes in his chest. it hurts him to see you like this — more than you’d ever know. he doesn’t know how to handle being genuinely cared for, being loved, but you? you’ve loved him like it was breathing. you’ve cared for him like it was second nature.

and he doesn’t know how to handle it, how could he? when he’s been raised with no parents, no siblings, no family and no friends and no one to look after him, even after izana died. If anything, the guilt he feels inside him could consume him. he doesn’t deserve you. and you shouldn’t be here, staying up late at night, just so you could patch him up.

It's always fight after fight, after fight.

and it’s all the same. and you’re always there. as stubborn as you are, nothing he says to you will get you to leave him. and he just can’t understand why you’re still here.

“i… don’t want you to cry.” he manages, “you don’t deserve this. you deserve so much better.”

—than what I'm giving, he wants to say. but the words never make it across to you.

you stroke his bruised cheek so softly, so calmly, he thinks he could stay here with you forever. just savoring the way your fingertips leak love into his damaged skin. and sometimes, he thinks it’s a problem. that you have too much love. so much that it overflows inside you and seeps from your soft fingers.

and he soaks it up as if he can never get enough of it — enough of you. there’s love in everything you do, and he finds himself being swept up with the way you leave your love everywhere you go. when you touch him, he can feel it deep within his soul. like the damage inside him can only be ever healed by you, like you’re the only remedy to the deep cuts he has inside him.

“I'm here because I love you.” you whisper. “there’s no ‘better’, kaku. there’s only you.”

you set the kit down on the coffee table, and make your way back to him, now holding his face in both your palms so you could look straight at him.

“I don't want anyone else, but you.”

he feels a thick thump in his throat, blocking and sealing it shut so that he doesn’t dare speak. no matter how much he swallows down the guilt and pain, it resurfaces ten times stronger. tilting his head, he leans into your touch and closes his eyes, savoring the way you hold him like delicate glass.

“i don’t understand why you’re doing this…” he says, voice sullen. “you keep hurting yourself by being here and…. i keep hurting you.”

the atmosphere surrounding you both is soft, melancholy; but you don’t comment about it. he feels you breathe in, sniffing back your tears and trying yourself to keep yourself together before your tears start to fall once more.

“well you’re not trying to hurt me, are you?”

he snaps his head up, furrowing his brows, “i, no, of course not, i would nev-“

“kakucho,” you say, wiping your eyes with a little smile on your lips, “i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again,”

he watches as you move while you speak, settling over his thighs and on his lap, the little skirt you wear rides up and he quickly pins his gaze back to you.

“i’m here because i want to be here.” you whisper, still cradling his face in your hands. “you don’t have to do this alone... let me carry your pain with you.”

he looks up at you like a lost puppy, and then hurriedly buries his face into your chest to hide the watering of his eyes. his heart burns in his chest, and he has no idea what to do with himself anymore. he thanks the gods above for the blessing that is you, for he doesn’t know what he’s ever done in his life to earn something as gentle and caring as you are.

“i don’ know what i did t’deserve you.” he speaks, but the words are muffled by your shirt. “a fuckin’ angel on earth, god.”

you giggle, sniffing away the last of your tears. you hold him like this, for who knows how long. just stroking the back of his head and letting him rest against your chest. you feel his strong arms wrap around you like a cage, like he wants to keep you safe from all the evil and harm in the world. he pins you to him and you let him, just sitting in silence and finding comfort in each others hold.

the two of you don’t speak for a while. just soaking in the warmth of each other, and you feel him tilt his head up so he can breathe deep into the crook of your neck, skimming his nose over the soft skin like a prized cat showering their owner in love.

“kaku,” you whisper, lifting his face with two fingers.

“yes, baby?” he hums, a deep sound resonating within, looking up at you with half lidded eyes. you lean closer to him, nudging the tip of his nose with yours and massaging the firm muscles of his shoulders.

you plant one, two, three soft kisses on his lips. another on the dark bruise forming over his cheekbone, one more on his eyebrow, and lastly one on his forehead like it would heal the open wound.

you giggle, “you look like you’re enjoying this too much.”

he smiles and his eyes fall shut, “‘cant get enough.”

“yeah?” you kiss him once more on the lips, this time deeper and with more passion, “good thing we have all night.”

he groans into your mouth, chasing your sweet lips every time you pull away. you loop your arms around his neck while he grips your behind to yank you even closer to him, letting his thighs spread apart further.

and he really means it when he says he can’t get enough, greedily sucking your lower lip and swiping his tongue over it. one hand comes up to hold you softly by the jaw, a small command, yet leaves you lightheaded at the fact that he always craves control with you.

moving his thumb to your chin, he lightly pulls down so your plush lips drop open, giving his tongue better access to tangle with yours. his other arm is rooted in place, wrapped around you so he could keep you near him at all times.

“fuck,” he groans, “you drive me insane.”

the ache in your core is undeniable, and you feel him just as needy as you are with the tent forming in his pants. it’s all too much — your whimpers are swallowed up by his mouth, all while his hips cant up into yours. if he pushes up just a little more, with a little more force, and grips you a tiny bit harder you think you’ll—

“god, get a fucking room.”

you pull away from him with a gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth.

“what the fuck are you —“

“you didn’t hear the door open, dumbass,” ran rolls his eyes, “too busy sucking face.”

kakucho lowers you down on the couch next to him and stands up, anger building behind his eyes. “who the fuck said you could come in?”

“i told you i was coming,”

“a-and you don’t knock?!” you pipe up, heat crawling up your face all the way to your ears.

ran pushes the door fully open and walks in like he owns the damn place. “sorry, sweetheart. didn’t know you were here,” he winks at you.

“yeah? well she is. you can leave now, by the way. don’t forget to close the door on your way out, too.”

you hide your embarrassed smile behind your hand, seeing that the older haitani scans your form up and down with a smirk on his face gets your boyfriend heated like nothing else. they always manage to get on his nerves, especially when it comes to you.

“alright, alright! i’m leaving, damn,” ran says as soon as kakucho starts to push him out of the room, “you treat your guests like shit, kakucho.”

“when they barge in like you.”

ran stops right at the door to peek his head in one last time, “you enjoy your night, darling.”

his words have you looking away in embarrassment, finding the double-meaning behind his words. you hide your face in your hands.

“we will. now get out.”

[psychedelic-ink]

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part V

series summary: After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: Dieter and Everett are in disagreement about what Dieter should do when it comes to his relationship with you. Tension between you and Dieter raises during the masked ball.

word count: 4.7k

chapter warnings: piv, possesive!dieter, rough/angry sex, bathroom sex, dirty talking, a hint of degradation, misunderstandings, mutual pining, mirror sex, hair pulling, biting, angst towards the end

a/n: WELCOME TO THE BRIDGERTON EPISODE! 🤣 this chapter was inspired by @fuckyeahdindjarin 's amazing fic Anachronisms which is Bridgerton themed and I highly encourage everyone to go and read it ❤️ at his point this is just me putting every cliche I like into one series, enjoy!

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

Dieter isn’t a fan of the situation he’s found himself in. 

First of all, there’s the matter of you. You confuse him endlessly, your words the complete opposite of what your body is telling him. You behave one way, but speak another. Last night after the phone call, you had no issue with kissing him—Sure, it could be argued that you’d done it due to the mistletoe rules, but Dieter knows you, and if you didn’t want to kiss him you wouldn’t have. But at the same time, you keep acting as if all of this is going to end sometime soon, and that scares the ever-living shit out of him. 

He doesn’t want it to end. He’s extremely happy being a part of your personal life; he’s a huge fan of the way you look at him with those big doe eyes, always looking so confused, yet enamored with him at the same time. 

Dieter’s not sure how all of this is supposed to work when you go back. It’s easy for him; he’s been living this chaotic lifestyle for a while now, but he knows it’s an issue for you. He’s happy you’ve been distancing yourself from social media because he checked and it’s safe to say you would freak if you saw what people are saying. Most of his fanbase loved you, but an equal number of people didn’t. He knows he really shouldn’t be looking at what people are saying either, but he can’t help himself. 

And now, among all this emotional wreckage, he has to wrestle Everett. 

He’s been saying no to a match for years, he would’ve said no again if it wasn’t for you and your determination. He still feels the ghost of your body pressed against his when he managed to knock you to the ground; all the blood had rushed to his cock, and you luckily didn’t seem to notice. 

“You’re distracted,” Everett says, putting another mat down on the ground. Dieter isn’t sure why they had to do it outside, his mom said it would be easier for all of them. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” 

Dieter snorts, “As if I need luck,” 

Briefly, he sees your silhouette alongside his dad’s through the window. Warmth blossoms in his chest, a soft smile tugging at his heartstrings as his gaze grows soft. 

“You seem confident, it’s a good look on you,” he grins. “I guess you’re planning on defeating me with the power of love,” 

Dieter’s head snaps back to meet his cousin’s gaze, Everett wiggles his eyebrows and in return, Dieter rolls his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” 

“Please, I see the way you look at her,” Everett gestures to the window ben when Dieter turns back to look you’re not there anymore. “She’s totally into you too, don’t worry,” 

“You think so?” 

“I wish I had taken a video of the two of you singing, literal sparks were flying in the air. It was magical,” 

“Oh, shut up,” he grunts, laying down another mat. “I’m never singing again.” 

“So you’re telling me the two of you aren’t dating?” 

“Nope.” Dieter hates the way bitterness is heavy in his voice but he can’t just help it. “She’s acting as if everything is going to go back to normal and I don’t think I can do that,” 

“Have you tried talking to her about it?” 

“She’s not into me that way. It’s just…physical.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Dieter sighs and shakes his head, “No, I have not tried talking to her about it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Just drop it, Everett. I don’t want to talk about it. She’s just not into me.” Without thinking he adds. “Not everyone is like you,” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Just forget it.” 

“Forget it?” he shakes his head and crowds Dieter’s space. He’s taller, always has been. “You can’t just say shit and then throw a pity party for yourself. If you have a problem, speak up,” 

“Fine,” Dieter hisses out. “Not all of us are perfect like you, okay? Not everyone falls for us in a minute as soon as we open out mouths—” 

“God, this again,” Everett steps back, which makes Dieter realize he’d been holding his breath. “Dieter, you’re one of the most famous actors in Hollywood. People love you.” 

“The issue isn’t that people don’t love me. The issue is that no one actually cares,” 

“We do—I do. Maybe if you’d called more, or at least return my calls, we could’ve talked it out,” 

“I have enough people feeling sorry for me. I don’t need you to do the same,” 

“Is this why you didn’t come here last year?” 

“I was working! Why is that so hard to understand!” 

“Is everything alright?”

Both their heads snap towards the voice. It’s you, his mom and dad trailing behind you. You don’t even know what’s happening but you’re eyeing Everett suspiciously as if you’ve already decided that he’s in the wrong. The urge to wrap his arm around you overwhelms him and blood pools underneath his fingernails. He exhales from his mouth and steam curls from between his lips as if he’s inhaled smoke. 

“Everything’s fine,” Dieter says, looking away. “We can start the match now.” 

Everett and Dieter grapple, their muscles straining as they fight for dominance on the wrestling mat. Beads of sweat drip down their brows, blending with the snowflakes that dance around them.

Dieter's mom and dad sit on the sidelines, their cheers ringing out into the frosty air. Not wanting to pick favorites, they cheer for both of them—Dieter isn’t sure what he feels about that. But at least you have a clear favorite, which makes his heart soar. 

You stand at the edge of the mat, your voice joining the chorus of support. "Don't give up, Dieter! You can do it!"

Despite his best efforts, Dieter can't seem to best his cousin. Everett towers over him, his build more muscular and imposing. Dieter struggles to keep up, the snow and sweat-slick beneath his feet. Everett puts Dieter in a headlock, his arms tight around Dieter's neck. Dieter struggles against him, trying to break free.

"You always let opportunities pass you by, Dieter," Everett says, his lips close to Dieter's ear. "You always let the good ones slip through your fingers."

Dieter's body reacts instantly to the anger that flares up inside him. His muscles tense, his heart pounding in his chest. He can feel the heat rising to his face. 

“Shut up,” he grunts, drops of sweat falling to the mat. “Shutupshutupshutup—”

Everett’s arms tighten around Dieter’s throat, blocking his air, “You can’t keep running away from yourself. You’re not a kid anymore,” 

His words strike a nerve but Dieter feels completely helpless. His chest feels tight, and he can barely breathe as he grips Everett's forearms, trying to break free.

But then Dieter catches a glimpse of you—You’re worried, mouthing ‘you can do it’ even though he’s on the brink of passing out. 

Something in your eyes gives him strength, and he finds renewed energy in his limbs. He pushes against Everett with a grunt, flips them both over, laying his weight heavy on top of Everett as he pins his cousin to the mat. 

Everett struggles beneath him, but Dieter's training kicks in. He remembers what you taught him and mimics it to his best capability. 

He locks Everett's arm in place and applies pressure, using all his strength to hold him down. Everett grunts in pain, his face contorting with the effort to break free. It's no use. Dieter has him pinned, and he knows it. Dieter grins when he speaks. 

“Come on, give up,”

“Fine, fine,” he coughs out and slams his hand against the mat. “You win.” 

As soon as Everett utters his defeat, Dieter collapses onto the snow-covered ground, his chest heaving with the exertion of the match. He doesn't even feel the chill seeping into his back as he lies there, staring up at the crystal blue sky above.

But then, your face comes into view, and the world becomes more beautiful. Your eyes are bright with concern as you kneel beside him, your hand gentle on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Dieter nods, still trying to catch his breath. "I'm fine," he manages to gasp. "Just a little winded."

You smile, and the sight fills Dieter with warmth. He reaches up and takes your hand, holding onto it tightly. He feels his entire family staring at the both and he sees the urge you have to turn to face them. But Dieter squeezes your hand, keeping your gaze focused on him. 

“So,” he says. “Do you see me going through a career change? Do I have what it takes to become a bodyguard?” 

A chuckle escapes your lips and you grin from ear to ear, “We would need to work on your stance, but I don’t see why not.” you extend your hand and help him up. “Jokes aside, I’m proud of you. You were great,” 

“I’ll just lay here then,” Everett groans, raising his hand to the sky. “All alone left to die.” 

Dieter swallows down his laughter, “Always the dramatic one,” he says, knowing that he’s usually the dramatic one. “Here, take my hand,” 

With a smile Everett takes Dieter's hand and stands up, dusting the snow off his clothes. "Such a good sport," he coos. 

"Well, I can't have my favorite cousin laid out in the snow, now can I?"

Adaline and Claus come over and pat Everett on the back. "Don't feel too bad, Everett," Adaline says with a sympathetic smile. "You did your best out there."

"Yeah, and Dieter's just a little bit better," Claus adds with a wink. “I’m impressed!”

“The fact that you’re so shocked worries me a little,” Dieter mutters. “Have a little faith,” 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was sure from the start,” you cut in, stepping between them. “I’m always on your side.” 

"Come on, let's go get some hot cocoa," Adaline says, linking her arm through Everett's. "Besides, we need to get ready for tonight,"

Dieter sees your confusion when you briefly turn to glance at him. He shrugs and watches as you follow the rest of his family inside. 

The infamous masked ball. 

His mother dragged him to it every year, promising it would be fun— It never was. He already attends similar events left and right, and the last thing that he wants to do on vacation is be forced to smile all night. 

But…this time might be different. 

He has you now. 

You’re sitting on the bed in Dieter’s parent's bedroom. You watch as she rummages through her closet, finally pulling out a garment bag. She unzips it with a flourish, revealing a stunning ball gown.

“Really?” you ask, confusion crossing your face. “You bought this for me?” 

“Well, we knew you wouldn’t come here prepared to attend a ball,” she answers with a smile. “I asked Dieter for your measurements and when we went into town yesterday, I went and bought this. Think of it as an early Christmas present,” 

The dress is made of soft, lustrous satin in a rich shade of navy blue. The bodice is fitted, with a sweetheart neckline and delicate cap sleeves. The skirt is full and flowing, with layers of tulle and organza that create a sense of volume and movement. The back of the dress is low, with a row of tiny, sparkling buttons running down the center. Your fingertips dance along the fabric, it’s cold to the touch but also incredibly soft. 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” you lift your gaze and you see her staring down at you with a softened gaze, she looks so much like Dieter at that moment. “I wish Dieter told me. I didn’t get you guys anything,” 

The bed dips as she sits next to you, she places her hand over yours and squeezes. 

“You’ve done enough, honey. For the first time, I’m seeing Dieter genuinely happy,” she sighs and shakes her head, her voice cracks when she continues. “Ever since he was a boy, Dieter has carried a bit of sadness in him. I’m not sure what caused it—Maybe we did something wrong, I don’t know. But I’m happy to see that he finally found someone who sees the brilliance in him as we do. He’s a kind boy, probably a bit too kind for the world he lives in currently—It’s good to see that he’s not completely alone,” 

“Adaline…” 

She raises her hand, her smile everlasting. “You don’t need to say anything, dear. Or explain yourself. I just wanted you to know that we trust you.” 

You’re overwhelmed. Your cheeks are warm and you can feel sweat building right above your tailbone. A weight has been placed upon your shoulders and you have no idea how to move —or be you —with this newly added weight. You part your lips to say something, anything to remove the sudden burden but before you can, Adaline rises to her feet and heads for the closet. 

“One more thing,” she coos. “And this might be a bit extra, but it’s a masked ball so…” She places a box on your lap, right above the dress, and you stare at her with confusion. “Open it. There are two masks in there, one for Dieter and one for you. We bought them in Venice during our honeymoon,” 

“I…I can’t accept this,” 

She snorts, and you blink with surprise. “I’m not gifting it to you,” she says, crossing her arms. “You don’t need to get all flustered. It’s a loan, don’t let anything happen to it,” 

The humor in her tone forces your stiff body to relax slightly, your head falls forward as you look back down at the box with a smile. 

As you lift the lid of the box, you are immediately struck by the beauty of the masks inside. The first mask is black, with a sleek, refined design. The base of the mask is made of shimmering black satin, and there are long, black feathers sticking out from the top. The crown of the mask is adorned with a golden lyre, a musical instrument with a beautiful, ethereal sound. On either side of the lyre, there are two koala bears, holding the neck of the lyre like they would a piece of bamboo. The overall effect is elegant and sophisticated. And adorable.

The second mask is white and gold, with a more simple, yet still elegant design. The base of the mask is made of shimmering white satin, and there are delicate gold filigree patterns etched into the surface. The mask is adorned with sparkling crystal-like stones, which seem to be forming a halo around the edges. The overall effect is like a crystal forest, with trees and branches of light and sparkle. This mask is more romantic than the other. 

“Beautiful aren’t they?” Adaline grins. “Don’t get attached,” 

You laugh at her words; a wild, curt sound that manages to surprise you. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll be sure to give this to Dieter, thank you.” 

You stand outside in the snow, huddled together with Dieter's parents and cousin. You are all dressed in your finest attire, with Dieter's mom wearing a lavish ball gown in a rich shade of red, and his dad looking dapper in a tailored black suit. You’re wearing the dress Adeline had gifted you, and while you’re not used to wearing such fancy clothing, you’re certainly not opposed to it. You feel good, which convinces you that you look good. 

The snow is falling gently around you, dusting the ground with a blanket of white. It is beautiful, yet also a bit eerie, with the flakes swirling in the air and the trees creaking in the wind. You shiver a little, despite your warm coat, and you wish that Dieter would hurry up. You smile as you click your tongue; always late, this one. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Dieter emerges from the house, looking resplendent in a long dress jacket that goes all the way to his knees. He’s wearing nice shoes and a white button-up shirt with a bowtie, but despite his polished appearance, his hair is still a mess— which you adore, especially when you remember how those soft locks felt between your fingers, while he was between your legs.

As he approaches, you can't help but feel your heart drop. Your lips part, a soft gasp making its way out in the form of warm steam. Dieter catches your gaze and gives you a small smile that makes you want to topple over and bury your head in the snow. You’re being burned from the inside out, the heat making you completely forget where you are. 

“Finally, we can go now,” Everett says, turning smoothly on one heel. 

You and Dieter both stand still under the snow, your gazes at each other calculating, assessing what to do next. His eyes move across your body, taking in every detail of your form. A violent shudder overcomes you. Then, without prompting, he offers you his arm.

“You look beautiful,” he says in one exhaled breath. 

“So do you.” 

The pair of you are suspended in time, your chests heaving breaths in unison. You see white snow decorating his hair and you lean forward to brush the cold away, before you can he touches your fingers and brings your hand to his mouth, lips brushing your skin. 

The moment is broken by the loud honk of the car. 

You and Dieter enter the luxurious cabin-like venue, and you are struck by its cozy, yet opulent atmosphere. The ballroom is spacious and bright, with walls made entirely of windows that offer breathtaking views of the snowy landscape outside. The decor is a blend of rustic charm and delicate lace, with plush white furnishings, floral patterns, and warm candlelight flickering about.

You look around and see that everyone is dressed in their finest attire. The men are handsome in tailored suits in shades of black and navy, while the women are gracefully adorned in elegant ball gowns of pastel pinks and blues, deep purples and reds, and other rich hues. Everyone with a matching elegant mask. Many of the gowns are adorned with intricate details, adding to the vintage, romantic atmosphere of the ball.

The music is provided by a live orchestra, which plays a harmonious blend of classical pieces and modern hits. As you and Dieter make your way to the bar, Adaline and Claus go to greet friends and Everett seems to be flirting with a charmingly dressed man with brown eyes and hair. 

Dieter offers you a glass of wine and you take it with gratitude, the two of you observing the crowd. 

“This is a bit more glamorous than I expected,” 

“It would be awkward wearing such fancy things if it wasn’t,” Dieter answers, leaning against the wall behind you. “This is why I don’t really like coming to these. They host it every year,” 

“Your mom forces you to come, huh?” 

“Exactly,” he says with a low chuckle, his eyes dropping down to his glass. “This year is a bit better though. I have you,” 

“Oh?” you coo, a smirk stretching across your face. “Are you saying you enjoy my company, Mr. Bravo?” 

“Always have,” 

As you stand with Dieter, watching the crowd dance and twirl before you, you feel a strange sensation wash over you. Your pinky extends towards him, almost of its own accord, and you feel his own pinky inch closer in response. The warmth of his skin seems to radiate through you, and you can't help but feel a sense of intimacy in this small, unspoken gesture.

You stand there, pinkies curled around each other, not acknowledging the moment but feeling a warmth at the tips of your fingers that spread throughout your bodies. The crowd swirls around you, a blur of color and movement, but all you can focus on is the quiet connection between you and Dieter. The music and laughter fade into the background as you stand there, little fingers entwined, feeling a deep and inexplicable bond with the man by your side. It's a moment that seems to stretch on forever, suspended in time, and you can't help but feel that everything else in the world has melted away, leaving only the two of you in this little bubble of intimacy.

Suddenly, Dieter asks you to dance with him, his voice breathy and heavy, his pupils dilated. You hesitate, feeling a sudden surge of panic. You're not a good dancer, you want to say, but the words get caught in your throat. But when you see his eyes locked to your from under the mask, you simply can't deny him.

"Come on," Dieter says, taking your hand and leading you toward the dance floor. "It'll be fun. I'll lead, you just follow my steps."

You follow him out onto the dance floor, your heart pounding in your chest. You feel awkward and out of place, but Dieter's hand on your waist is warm and reassuring. 

The music swells around you, a lively waltz that fills the ballroom with its energetic beat. You place your hand on Dieter's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket, and he takes your other hand in his own, his grip strong and sure.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, voice barely audible due to the music. “Honestly, it’s kind of stupid but Everett got into my head with it and now I feel like if I don’t say something I’ll miss out on something great,” 

You begin to dance, following Dieter's lead as he guides you around the floor. The other couples swirl around you, a blur of color and movement, but you are focused solely on Dieter, on the way he moves with such grace and confidence.

“You can tell me,” you prompt, despite the fact you feel like you probably shouldn’t. Your mouth goes dry when he twirls you. 

“It’s…about us.” He’s breathless as he speaks. “I want— I think— Fuck, this is hard..I think we should maybe…try this out,” 

“What out?” 

“You, me…the devil’s tango?” 

“Are you trying to say that we should try being in a relationship?” you ask, bewildered. “No, we can’t. I—I don’t think that’s a good idea,” 

“Why not?” 

As the music crescendos, Dieter twirls you out and then pulls you back in, your skirts on the floor and your dress swirling around you. 

“Because,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Because we work together. Everything is already so complicated, Dieter. This stops when we return home,” 

“Fine.” 

Dieter dips you low, your dress fanning out around you as you hold the pose. You look up at him but he’s not looking at you. To be honest, you’re surprised he doesn’t drop you. You know that his anger will pass eventually; it has to. You convince yourself that he’s just caught up in the moment—and the sex. And the kissing. You have no idea what Everett told him, but clearly this isn’t Dieter talking. 

The music fades away, and he brings you back up, pulling you close as the song ends. You stand there, panting, not knowing what to do. He’s still scowling. Then, out of no where, he takes your hand and drags you out of the ballroom.

You find yourself in the overly lit bathroom, and he locks the door. Your hands are braced against the marble of the sink, the mirror wide and crystal clear in front of you. Before you can say anything, you feel the flush of his body. Dieter traces your neck with his lips, tongue tasting the salt of your skin as his hands roam your body. 

“You just want to fuck, don’t you,” he murmurs, his voice eerily emotionless. “I can give you something to fuck. You want me to?” 

You see his reflection in the mirror, his lips hovering an inch away from your neck, eyes staring directly into yours. You swallow. You’ve never seen him like this before, the calm before the storm. Your legs are trembling. You’re highly aware of the fact that you need to say no. 

But your words betray you. 

Dieter consumes you as soon as you give him the okay. He doesn't bother removing the masks, using them as a way to shield what he's feeling. His hands push up your skirt, your ass in full display. He leans down and sinks his teeth into the meat, a growl rattling his throat as you hiss at the sting of his teeth. His tongue doesn’t soothe the pain; instead, he moves his mouth to the other cheek, giving it a similarly harsh bite. 

“Gonna fuck you nice and hard,” he grunts, tugging down your panties. “You’re never going to be satisfied after me. Fucking never.” 

His fingers move between your folds, a whimper falls from your lips. 

“Already wet,” he groans, teeth sinking into the skin between your neck and shoulder. “So, this is really what you want. Not much time to get laid when you’re working all the time, huh?” 

Oh god, you’re spiraling. Falling into the depths of his fear and loneliness. His words are coming from a place of pain and weirdly so, his mother’s words echo in your head. But for the life of you, you can’t tell him to stop and talk it out. He feels too good, too much, all at once, but still not enough. You’re his. That’s always been the case in a way, but he doesn’t know that. You can tell what he’s thinking, what he’s trying to convince himself of. It’s your fault. You never should’ve let everything come to this. 

The rough drag of his fingers is replaced with his cock. Your back arches, your head falling to his shoulder as he grinds himself against you, the head of his cock brushing against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure washing over you.

"D-Dieter- oh god," you gasp, your mouth filling with saliva. You swallow again and again, trying to form words that die on the tip of your tongue.

There's a sharp tug at your hair, forcing your face towards the mirror. You see Dieter's reflection, hauntingly beautiful, and it’s all you can think about. Your pussy throbs at the promise he makes, and as he keeps your head in place with one hand, the other sneaks up your torso and pulls down the front of your dress. Your breasts spill out from the edges, and he eagerly squeezes the flesh, his fingers pinching your nipples.

He pushes himself deep inside of you, the sound echoing within the bathroom. You moan at the sensation, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Dieter's hands are rough and possessive as he touches you, and you can���t help but respond to it. You're lost in pleasure, completely at his mercy. Your body sings for him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. Tension coils inside you, your orgasm builds as he thrusts into you, harder and faster. 

He breathes heavily into your skin, kissing the back of your neck. 

And then, with a cry, you come, your body shaking as Dieter holds you close. It’s quick and sudden. Neither of your expecting for you to come so quick. You're panting and sweating. When you look at him through the reflection, he doesn’t look happy; it almost looks like you’ve proven something he’s always thought to be true. 

He pulls out — briefly, you see hunger crossing his face — and he moans, the slick sounds of him fucking his fist reaching your warm ears. You watch, entranced, as his eyes flutter close, his jaw tense. He bites into his bottom lips when he comes, the feeling of something warm and sticky splashing across the small of your back. 

Dieter opens his eyes and you meet his gaze through the mirror. 

“Dieter—” 

“Sorry,” he groans, quickly waving his hand underneath the paper towel dispenser. It feels like sandpaper against your skin. “I’ll go. You don’t need to say anything.” 

He throws the balled-up paper towel as he makes his way out. You feel empty — satisfied, but lost. You think whether or not you’ve done the right thing, it feels like you’re on the wrong path. 

And all you can think of Adaline’s words: 

I’m happy to see that he finally found someone who sees the brilliance in him as we do.

He’s a kind boy, probably a bit too kind for the world he lives in currently.

It’s good to see that he’s not completely alone.

I just wanted you to know that we trust you.

[cloudninetonine]

I will get on my knees and beg for a yandere!Mecha drabble.ლ⁠(⁠・⁠﹏⁠・⁠ლ⁠)

"I would do anything for you."

The following pause was almost thunderous despite the complete lack of noise. 

You eyes had moved from your fishing pole slowly, similar to your usual comedic effect but lacking the actual comedy from the real confusion shown as you stared up at Mecha. His own artificial eyes stared back, company made plastic that shone an aquatic blue as they studied your rigid form with not an ounce of emotion behind them.

"...What have you done?"

Your tone held an accusation but not the angered kind. No, the feelings behind it felt more similar to the tone you’d address a pet, waiting patiently at the front door awaiting the arrival of it’s owner when they finally walked through the door and realised their furry roommate seemed a little too nice that day. What had he done? What had he left behind? And would you be the one cleaning up the mess after it all?

“Nothing, nothing, I swear.” He chuckled, turning back to his own fishing pole- a gift from you, so he wouldn’t have to sit stagnant alongside you. Something that made him feel a little more human. “I just…I thought you should know.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, lips pulled in an overly mocking pout before you kissed you teeth with a growing goofy smile, turning back to the slow stream. “I would do anything for you too.”

“You don’t need to, I am perfectly fine with doing anything.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Ya-huh.”

“Are you calling me incompetent?”

Even with a forever permanent smile, he stilled seemed to he smirking. “What if I am?”

“Then you better put those hands up to fight.”

You really were adorable. Did you really think you stood a chance against him? Your shorter, meat filled arms that could so easily snap under the pressure of even an inch of his strength? Something he knew too well, when he had killed those monsters that got too close or that odd Hylian who thought being in your presence didn’t have such dastardly consequences- bugs. The whole lot of them. Bugs beneath his feet, just like he was compared to your radiance, a mere bug that you could so easily step on but chose to spare from the depths of your love filled heart.

You playfully punched his arm, cringing and shaking off the pain that came with beating hardened plastic when he caught your wrist, fingers gently running over your knuckles.

Such delicate skin. So soft and so warm- not that he could feel it of course. But he knew. Mecha knew deep down in his soul, so broken and decayed, that your whole being was perfect. One of these days, no matter what, he would feel it. He would do anything, would kneel before the goddess and beg, would detach himself from this wretched prison- would steal a body of one of those stupid heroes if it meant he could feel the warmth of your skin against his.

Mecha longed for humanity, longed to be with you- he craved it. Craved it like the bees craved pollen, craved it like the fish craved water. Mecha didn’t just want you, he needed you. Screw those heroes who bore the same name as he, Mecha loved you more than they ever could. The animatronic was simply the best, even with this disgusting body of metal he could protect you with no sweat on his brow and that was what he was made for. His true purpose wasn’t to be just a hero but your hero.

Carefully, Mecha brushed your knuckles against his plastic lips. He may have not had the assets but the intention was there and to see you giggle, flustered before returning the sentiment, your lips presumingly gently kissing his mechanical knuckles was worth it.

Mecha would bleed this land dry if it meant he would be the one you would hold dear.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies about recent posts!

Anonymous asked:

Hello Ryu!!  I hope you're having a great...whatever time it is for you!  And I hope you're taking care of yourself!  Your posts are one of the highlights of my day!  No matter if they're art or replies.

And um, if it's ok, idk how we ask this, but would you put  that recent-ish Skully fanart on your Ko-fi please?  The one with the pumpkin?  I hope I'm not being rude.  I adore your fanart.  And Skully.  And Skully in your art style. 

Anyway you're one of my fave fanartists!  Have a great rest of the day!

Anon, this is so incredibly sweet, thank you so much! I am very happy to hear that you enjoy this blog and that it makes your day a little better. It truly means a lot.

To answer your question: YES, ABSOLUTELY, I just added it to the shop!! I am extremely happy to hear that you liked that drawing!

Also just in case: you are not being rude! I don’t update the shop very often because I am not sure if people are interested in new high-res pngs, so you expressing that you’d like to have it is super helpful. So if you ever want me to put anything else there, just let me know in any way you want – an ask, a DM, anything.

Anonymous asked:

OOh LOVE the new theme and pfp! 💚

I really adore how you do colors and lighting! So pretty~

Anonymous asked:

OH GOD! A LAYOUT CHANGE!

How Shocking, How Scandalizing... I fear I may never recover!

Hehe thank youuuu~ I’m glad to hear you like it! >:3c It’s Sebastian 2.0!

Katsu suddenly suggested to redraw the pfp, so I did it, and we updated the layout a little bit to match it. I don’t recognise myself in our feed anymore lol

Anonymous asked:

Thank you for answering my ask! For me personally it’s that past experiences has made my relationship with anything nsfw or sexual very very confusing and emotional, but I don’t wanna be like this forever. I think maybe art could be a good way to try and sort through it but it feels hard to start. I think part of what you said could be the start though, that it doesn’t have to be anything big or even show genitalia.

Thank you very much! -💜🌹

(this is related to this post)

No problem, Anon!

I understand what you mean; your past experiences could make you very hesitant to do things even if you really want to do them and they are not harmful to anyone, or to have bad associations and even triggers. Figuring out your level of comfort also could be more difficult if you are still influenced by the consequences of those past experiences… Still, I think it’s wonderful that you want to work on that and to make yourself feel better and more comfortable, to clear things up for yourself – I don’t doubt for a moment that you will be able to handle it, even if it takes time.

Starting with little steps is great I think, it’s like dipping your toes before diving in.

I wish you all the luck and patience in the world.

Anonymous asked:

Fem Azul is having a stroke at beach basketball Jamil.

(related to this Jamil drawing)

Yeah… a regular stroke and a heatstroke! That’s too much for a poor mermaid’s heart :”(

Anonymous asked:

I need Che'nya to screw Riddle til he's drooling and whining. A little fun to de-stress. I wish there was more stuff about them ;-;

Anon you are so right, there really is almost no stuff with these two!! Such a shame!!

Like you said, Che’nya would be great for Riddle in terms of de-stress. Sometimes this boy needs to get fucked until he can’t even stand and speak properly anymore…

I should draw them at some point, sigh.

Anonymous asked:

I read your most recent set of replies and got curious as to how Unsweetened Lemonade applies to Malleus and Lilia. Could you go into more depth about that, if you don't mind?

To be honest, Anon, I don’t really have a lot to say about it, I’m basing it off vibes for the most part lol

Bittersweetness + disappointment, the feeling of tiredness, of cheating death, “a winner but at what cost” type of feeling. I could be completely wrong, of course.

Once again, I am not the best person to tie songs with characters, or at least I never dive too deep into it and don’t usually analyse lyrics, just do the “well if you squint” thing.

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Ryoga with red chrys., sweet pea, marigold, hydrangea, and purple hyacinth?

Ryoga Tosa:

🌻hydrangea: how often do they get into fights with their s/o? who usually apologizes first?

Not often. If he has a point to make he’ll make it, but he doesn’t let fights hang around because he’d rather admit wrong-doing than be given the cold-shoulder. He could normally pinpoint moments where he stepped over a line and needed to offer a genuine apology, but he wanted that same respect from you. He trusted that you wouldn’t just steamroll over his feelings even if he tried to keep the peace in his own way.

🌻marigold: how jealous do they get? how do they react when they get jealous?

Ryoga has to fight the jealousy he feels, biting his tongue and hoping he doesn’t have to chew it off to keep his cool. Controlling his anger matters greatly when it comes to improving himself as a person and he doesn’t want to give you a reason to run into another mans arms, but it’s hard when this person has more freedom to make moves on you. It’s easy to see his jealousy by the scowl on his face and the direct eye contact he makes with the person inspiring the jealous feelings inside him. It sends a clear message that they better back off or they’d be facing the consequences.

🌻purple hyacinth: how would they react if their s/o died?

Having two people he loved more than anything else in the world gone before he could show what he could offer, show that he was capable of growth and that he was turning his life around for the better, was almost too much for him to bare. He felt lost, his anger festering just beneath the surface as he wanted to lash out on even his allies, the fight to keep himself together harder than it had ever been. It’s like having a limb cut off, the phantom pain incurable, but he knew you’d be disappointed in him if he went back on his progress now. He convinced himself that he had to live for you, and that first step would be continuing his path of change and channeling his emotion into his music.

🌻red chrysanthemums: how long does it take for them to say ‘i love you’?

When he knows, he knows, but Ryoga struggled to say it the same moment he knew he felt it. He thought there was a delicate balance that most relationships required and he was clumsy at best, even when he was trying extra hard. Ryoga’s wary about revealing his position too soon, his actions speaking for him long before he managed to confess. It probably slipped out of him after about half a year together, admitting he already considered marriage as a possibility for your relationship if you would have him. After that embarrassing confession it’s easier to say those three little words as he had made it clear he considered you his ‘forever’ and you hadn’t run away yet.

🌻sweet pea: are they big on cuddling? what is their favorite position to cuddle their s/o in?

Ryoga enjoyed being close to you and the contact with you, especially at night when it was time to finally let your guard down and rest. You think it’s cute how he always managed to curl up close to you even if you started off on opposite sides of the bed, his body drawn to yours like a magnet. He always ran hot at night so you loved when he clung close on cold nights, wrapping yourself around him as much as you could and absorbing all the love that you could.

It depends on his feelings at the moment but he normally preferred being big spoon, which normally helped since he was broad-shouldered and large. He could take up a lot of space on the bed so he didn’t mind when you pressed yourself against him, arms enclosed around you in a protective gesture so any would-be attackers would have to get through him before laying a hand on you. Other nights he liked to just rest his head on your chest, falling asleep within moments as you ran your fingers through his hair and gave him the most restful sleep he’s ever had.  

[peppertoastuniverse]

Hi pepper!

I have a request for a one shot Gojo x reader. that’s fluffy based off of this song called “memory lane” by aqualina

I do have a scene based off of it but do whatever you’d like. Imagine this, either reader or Gojo finds some old footage of Him, reader, Shoko and Geto hanging out in their high school years. Reader and Gojo reminisce on old memories.

omg thank you for your sweet request ! hope this one was worth the wait ✨

something good – gojo satoru x reader

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru mention, ieri shoko mention, light angst with LOTS OF FLUFF, mentally strugging softboy!satoru gojo, lots of yearning, 2 pages of making out, slightly suggestive summary: gojo uncovers hidden memories and realises that all he needs is you wc: 3.6k

spring time, second year.  “.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.   even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you.

“satoru?” still concentrating on his nintendo DS, he sighs. he recognizes suguru’s tone, it either going to be a deep question or a fucking stupid one. he rolls over with a groan on suguru’s bed to face his best friend, his book that he was reading lay forgotten on his desk. “yeah?” satoru asks lazily, eyes darting back to his flashing screen. “who do you see yourself as in the future?” oh, here we go. satoru fights the need to roll his eyes. “what do you want for your life?”  “pff, I want to just fucking beat this level.” he says aggravatingly, groaning dramatically as his character dies again. suguru laughs seeing his flashing screen, previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked suguru’s laugh. 

“...don’t you ever think about it though? the future?” the future?

he blinks. blessed with great strength and power, he knew from a young age that that choice wasn’t something that he was lucky enough to have. satoru never had to worry about the future, he had his whole life planned out for him. the thought never saddened him, and why should it? he wasn’t a fool and believed that all things were equal in this world. he was the chosen one, the future of jujutsu society – that was just how life was –  another consequence of being the honoured he supposed. but glancing at suguru’s thoughtful expression, the flicker of hope and despair in his violet eyes, his rough hands winding through his dark hair, it was clear to see that this obviously mattered to suguru. satoru didn’t understand where suguru was going with this but it was just like him to worry about things that didn’t matter. satoru sighs, attention back to his game,  “i dunno, it’s hard to say when we’re already the strongest. what else could you want?” suguru scoffs, shaking his head “you won’t be a teenager forever – you’d better wake up sooner or later, satoru.” satoru jolts awake, moving his blindfold up to rub his eyes irritatedly. 

shit, for once he didnt mean to fall asleep. still feeling slightly disoriented, he hastily slides off of the couch, moving quickly to his room down the hall. groaning as he glances at the clock in the hall, he sighs hoping to ignore his slightly teary eyes. he was going to be late – you were going to kill him. 

satoru hasn’t been sleeping well lately – not that it was from a lack of effort. he’s tried melatonin pills, exercising before bed, even those sleepy girlie time party mocktails – or whatever you called them – but nothing helped. it definitely wasn’t the endless missions that the irritating higher ups were making him go on, he was used to the workload. maybe he was worried about something. walking quickly through his room, satoru wondered if you were getting enough sleep. did you have dreams too? sleep never seemed to be there when he wanted it. rubbing his face, to fully pull himself into reality, satoru could still feel the remnants of the quiet comfort produced by his unexpected dream. he felt shame at the feeling. guilt in the comfort. 

satoru didnt get a lot of sleep to begin with, but there were times where the extra hours awake weren’t all bad. he might as well be useful, which is how satoru started learning how to cook in the early hours of the morning, proudly surprising tsumiki and megumi with cute bento boxes. he would binge watch a whole tv series at once, determined to tell nanami all about it at jujutsu tech. but he thinks the best use of his time awake was when he was simply seated on the couch with you, listening to you talk about your day until the drowsiness would overtake you and he could just hold you for a little bit. he liked when you came over, tsumiki and megumi liked it too. just last week, when he saw your expression melt when tsumiki begged you to stay for dinner, giving into her like you always have. satoru remembers your grin as you sat next to silently pleased megumi, picking out the tender pieces of chicken from your plate to give him more of his favourite. when you were around satoru noticed that fushiguros were more at ease, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it would be better if you moved in. but this was uncharted territory – a necessary boundary– protecting you from the rise and fall of his storm. his greed would have to lay dormant in his dreams. 

but the lines were getting blurrier throughout the years. satoru couldnt deny how his face would light up when you’d call him while he was on a lengthy overnight mission. concern smothering the delight in your voice that he was still awake (“satoru! what the fuck, did you even sleep today?”), he’d easy dodge your concerns, covering the fatigue in his voice with teasing remarks and crude jokes to your obvious frown.  “tell me something good, satoru” you’d say, seeing right through him like you always did, voice still laced with sweetness, wanting nothing more than to listen to him talk. 

taking wide strides across his room to throw something on, satoru rustles quickly into his closet grabbing whatever looked clean and appropriate. if he showed up in his crinkled pajamas again to a meeting again, you’d surely cuss him out. his eyebrows crease at the thought of disappointing you, he was supposed to make you smile not stress you out – he made a promise to himself to always look out for you and there you go again worrying about him. 

hastily grabbing the folded dark blue sweater at the back of his closet, blue eyes widen at a box toppling to the floor. its contents dramatically spilling across the cold hardwood floors. 

great. he didn’t have time for this. groaning, he quickly kneels down to right the box, his breathing hitches. 

strewn across his floor, he sees scenes of his missing dreams. photographs of his time at jujutsu tech as a student, his eyes taking in the many photographs that shoko had taken, moments of a simpler past. gathering the pile of photos, he slowly rifles through them – a photo of shoko and him with matching peace signs, a photo of you doing shoko’s hair, blurry photos of suguru chasing after you when you’d steal his cigarettes, snickering photos of him trying to climb suguru like a tree, a photo of you and kento sharing sandwiches. 

another lifetime ago. he picks up the slightly faded photo of himself and you, a reminder of a well loved memory. satoru shakes his head softly at the way you sat on his back while he was sprawled out on the gym mats, his glasses perched at the top of your head acting as a crown on your shit eating face.  satoru cant help but grin at his own small pout in the grainy photo. shoko always had the best timing. you had a bet with suguru that if you could get gojo’s glasses, he would treat you to unlimited free ramen from that nice place in shibuya with the fresh noodles for two months. 

satoru remembered how you’d excitedly roll off him ignoring his grumbling, “toru, you know i had to win! it’s suguru! have you seen how much sugu eats? that fucker would run me dry! but don’t worry, i’ll get him to pay for you too.” 

he never told you that he had let you win of course, not putting up much of a fight, distracted by the smile on your face – so bright that he couldn’t bear to diminish it. you must have had some sort of curse in your smile, even convincing a begrudging suguru into paying for satoru everytime, “sugu, you have to! he’s going to whine and cry, do you really want to deal with that?” 

after that month, satoru never went to back that ramen place again– too sick of it to go back. he could hear the creaking floors when the three of you would arrive,  the smell of the rich broth and the sound of suguru’s laughter when he teased you.   satoru knows you havent had shio ramen since then – you insisted on have ramen for every meal for a month to suguru’s annoyance. perhaps he’d invite you to go eat there again if it was still there. 

somewhere in his mind he thinks he hears the warm sound of your arrival, the jingling of the key that he gave you when the fushiguros first moved in. your usual light steps, heavy now with annoyance. 

“really, satoru?” you yell, annoyance dripping from your sharp tongue. “i’ve been calling you a billion times, this is an important meeting – we can’t be late again. you fucking said you’d be ready by the time i –” you see his still figure hunched at his closet. your eyes narrow in confusion, your tightened fist unclenching at the sight of his still broad back. 

“... satoru?” you call, voice softening as you notice the tension in his shoulders and the unnatural stillness of his too tall body. curiously you creep up behind him, your  slow hands feel his shoulders, the tension cold and heavy in his muscles, your hesitant hands leaving a trail of fire behind them. arms weaving their way around his slender neck, a place that you’ve been before. your eyes take in the photos strewn on the floor, visions of a past life swirling in his cluttered mind. your eyes widen. 

“..’toru?” you try again – more gently – calling him from the abyss, a light in a rough storm. eventually, you feel his large cold hand reach up to gently hold your right hand in response, his blue eyes tear away from the photographs, tousled white hair leaning against your abdomen, his tired eyes looking up at your concerned face. 

“hey.” he greets you, trying to mask his fallen expression with a hollow smile, a carefully practiced defense, something that he developed in childhood but perfected in suguru’s absence. but you knew him well. you knew how his eyebrows would crease or how his lip twitched when he was on the verge of crying.  

the dark rings around his eyes echoes you concern – were they darker than usual? you sigh as you take into account his far away stare, his icy watery eyes. crouching down, all anger forgotten, you look over his shoulder to take a closer look at the photo he’s holding. apologetically you let go of his hand in exchange for the photograph, sitting down beside him instead. you miss his eyebrows furrow slightly missing the comforting squeeze of your hand. a bittersweet smile dancing on your face, you stare at the photo, all words dying on your suddenly too heavy tongue. a photo of a past life, a happier time:  suguru’s exasperated expression contrasting his bright amethyst eyes, face fashioned in a pout as he was sandwiched obnoxiously in between you and satoru. a wild grin decorating your face, mischievous eyes closed in mid laughter at suguru’s grumbling, while satoru pulled bunny ears behind suguru.

“oh god, look at him.” you whisper pointing out suguru’s dark shorter hair when he first arrived at jujutsu tech. you almost forgot what he looked like before he – 

your eyes blink, you didn’t want to think about it. 

satoru scoffs, “i know, doesn’t he look like an idiot?” 

“remember how you’d make fun of him all the time? you were such a bully to him – he really hated you when we started.” you laugh sadly.  

“that’s not my fault, he was fucking asking for it! he kept calling me q-tip! or nepobaby!” he counters, betraying tenderness in his tone. “shut up, i know you liked it when he called you anything close to baby!” you quip back, face denouncing you in a soft grin. a heavy silence invades the intimate space between you two, his absence sitting in between you, his rightful spot now vacant.  suguru. you lean your head on satoru’s shoulder, his arm moving around you to settle at your waist instinctively. you look into his eyes reading him easily: i miss him too. 

suguru’s defection was still a sore spot in your mind. satoru still hasnt been able to say his name out loud, suguru’s name carrying too much weight. you suspected that satoru wanted to carry his best friend with him despite the heaviness, a sense of masochistic comfort. you hoped that he knew that you were always there for him when the time came, you still felt the hurt too. 

but there was a strange sort of solace that still lingered in his name. suguru’s memory was still soft if you focused but the pain caused by his name was still sharp and rough around the edges. when was the last time you and satoru spoke this openly about him?

the memory still hurt. a wound that would reopen at any given movement, unable to heal, cutting deeper as time went by. 

mercifully sensing the pounding of your heavy heart, satoru clears his throat and fishes out another photo in the messy pile. a photo of shoko and himself, a cigarette dancing on shoko’s lips, gojo looking at her in mid conversation. 

“ewww – look at you here.” you point out, wrinkling your nose, “this really wasnt your best haircut...” 

he scoffs, the twinkle in his eyes showing you his amusement.  “you’re the one who did it – ”

“oh fuck, right!” you laugh, thinking about the very first time satoru begged you to cut his hair – shoko was away on a rare mission–  yelping at you when you closed your eyes in nervousness, resulting in an uneven cut. you both remembered how shoko laughed so hard she cried when she saw him. you definitely didn’t cut his hair this time, admiring his soft locks and even trim. you move your generous hands to comb through his soft hair gently, enjoying the feeling of his undercut under your slow hands. he closes his eyes, a please sigh escaping his lips, tension immediately easing from his body.

“it’s better now though, hey? makes me even more handsome,” he teases, his eyes still closed. 

“nah, still ugly. brings out your buggy eyes. ‘m so glad you started wearing the blind fold.” you mutter, still playing with his hair absentmindedly. 

ignoring his whine, you laugh, “wow, shoko still looks amazing though.. look at her cute little cheeks! I forgot how she used to put pins in her hair like that.” previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked your laugh. 

he watches while a strange far away expression infiltrates your face, picking up a photo, edges creased contrasting the vividness of his memory. shoko and suguru smiling at the camera, while you and satoru were in mid conversation smiling at each other. spring time, second year. 

“.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.  

even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you. your presence somehow simultaneously exciting him and putting him at ease. maybe it started when you stole his glasses in first year, or the countless detentions you both got in. surely, it must have been the night that suguru left. in the darkness he wasn’t sure who was holding who, your tears mixing with his as you clung to him in your sleep.

maybe it was when you showed up at megumi’s school when he first got into a fight even though you were in the middle of a mission last month, a fire in your eyes. or maybe it was when you comforted tsumiki when she came home upset over a fight with one of her friends. maybe it was in the way you talked her through it, rubbing her back gently while you listened to her through her teary words. or when you ate all his mochi yesterday, cheekily claiming “you said you’d share, satoru!” whenever it started, he knew that something different was blossoming into maturity in the past few months – something that he never knew could be a possibility –  let alone for someone like him. 

“we should take an updated photo, we never have photos of just us,” you decide, turning to face him fully. “my phone or yours?” he asks, eyes still the photo, breathing in the way you smiled at him all those years ago. unchanged. 

“mhm, yours.” you say as he digs his phone out of his back pocket. “i want a good one, ‘kay toru?? i dont need any more photos of you sticking your tongue out..” you mutter, scooching closer to him. “oy, come closer – you’re so far,” you whine, grabbing his forearm urging him to get closer for a better photo. 

“c’mere then..” he mutters, gently shuffling you so that you’re sitting in his lap, as you hum in content at the warmth of his skin against yours. he easily drowned you, this familiar place, his familiar embrace. yet this time you felt the tide shift, something softer, vulnerable – the calm waters after a storm.  you lean your head to his as you both smile for the camera as the shutter echoes through the room. 

moving impossibly closer to you, he turns his head towards you, his phone lay forgotten on the floor. sensing his stare you turn your head to his, eyes questioning his soft gaze. as the air grows thicker bursting with the weight of years of fondness and poorly hidden desires, your eyes flicker to the curve of his lips. breathing the same air as him, you feel light headed, drunk off the very presence of him.   

inching closer he feels his soft lips meet yours, a fluttering feeling, hesitant and foreign but firm and sure. you easily wind your arms around his neck, sighing as you pull him closer, jumping into the deep end when you’ve been wading in the shallows for years. he effortlessly maneuvers you to straddle his lap, large hands pressing against your back, pulling you closer to meld his heart to yours, his hands begging to memorize the feeling of you. 

too preoccupied drowning in him, you hesitantly break away from him to breathe, only to rest your forehead on his. grounding yourself in the feeling of his warm breath on your cheek, uneven and heavy, your erratic heartbeat threatens to break the fragile silence. the air grew hot and heavy, buzzing with anticipation and nerves.  satoru bumps his slender nose with your playfully, causing you to grin. a relieved smile dancing on his face in reply, a silent conversation dancing in his eyes, a celebration of his love, a proclamation of his devotion to you, an apology for waiting this long, an admission of forever. 

needing to feel more of him, you move your hand to cup his flushed cheek, the sweetness in his skin grounds you once more – satoru was always the question and the solution wound tightly into one. confessions of the past and future swirling in his blue, you meet the weight of his tender gaze like you were carrying the strongest’s life in your very hands. his skin burning with your touch, you greedily move to kiss him to soothe the ache, swallowing his smile in your greed. 

melting with the reassurance of his lips to yours like a signature on a previously forgotten love letter, you wonder how you lasted this long without his lips on yours. you bite back a pleased smile as he reciprocates eagerly, deepening the kiss, tongues dancing, his soft lips moving in tandem with a bruising promise to always be yours if you let him. when your hands weave through his hair, a dark purr escaping his throat, reverberating through your core. his arm grips you tightly as his other hand moves to settle at the nape of your neck, feeling your heart beat in sync through his flushed skin. 

breathlessly, with great effort two magnets part, your hands loosening your grip on his soft t shirt. breaths tangling together, drinking in each other. 

still intoxicated by the feeling of you, satoru can’t help but nuzzle into your warmth, his forehead finding yours once more. his eyes still on your swollen lips, evidence of his want, his mind already on the thought of kissing you again, like he would die without the feeling. “y’okay?” you mumble, heaving chest enjoying his touch. 

he chuckles at the absurdity of your question, you should know by now that he was always okay as long as you were with him – the only time that he feels he would get better is when you were there. 

“hey – don’t laugh…” you mutter suddenly embarrassed by his stare, a deeper blush finding a way onto your cheeks emphasizing your growing pout. laughing fully now, his strong arms bring you closer as they wind around your waist sweetly.

unable to resist, you lightly kiss his jawline as his wandering hands brush some hair out of your face. “hmph, you’re such a dick and after everything i do for you too…” you playfully whisper without malice, leaning into his broad chest, rolling your eyes.

“mm.. how should i make it up to you?” he mumbles, slender hand tilting your chin up to force your gaze to look at him. as you bravely meet his tender gaze, you notice that something different was in his eyes.

“damn, i gotta help you with that one too?” you tease, giggle blooming in your throat as he kisses our nose gently. “well… i have a few ideas.” he hums, moving to kiss you fully, slow and sweet savouring you. “you always do…” you mutter, eyes on his grinning lips. 

perhaps now he could answer suguru’s question he thought as you move to rest your head on his shoulder. satoru knew he wanted you. holding you in his arms now, feeling your shy smile on his neck –  he knew that you were something good.

requests are open a/n: they did not make it to the meeting lol ngl this request was tough, but i loved the challenge of writing my first smoochie smoochie scene.

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 7

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

Lan Qiren woke up embarrassed.

Well, to be strictly correct, he woke up with pain all over his body, particularly in his right hand, and a considerable amount of confusion, but at that point the memory of previous events returned to him, and then he was embarrassed.

He’d known a meltdown was coming, of course. Lan Qiren had always hated changes to his routine, even small ones, and now he’d been sent out to live far away from home, forever – it was inevitable that the truth of the matter would sink in eventually, at which point it was equally inevitable that he would be completely overwhelmed. If he’d been smarter, perhaps he would have tried to isolate himself in a dimly lit room with minimal objects that could be destroyed or used to hurt himself and tried to just get it over with, but after the horror of his seclusion, he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to do it.

He probably should have forced himself to endure. It would have been better than melting down in such a spectacular fashion in front of Wen Ruohan.

Lan Qiren didn’t even want to think about the possible consequences of that.

Either way, it was too late to regret it now.

Besides, seeking to avert it probably wouldn’t have worked. Everything had all just piled up, becoming too much: his brother’s hatred, his seclusion, losing his nephews, his exile, his marriage, the danger of dealing with Wen Ruohan, even having sex for the first time – it had certainly been an interesting experience, and not an unenjoyable one, but it had been yet another change, yet another new thing, and he hated change.

And then, when he’d seen it – the note – his nephews –

It had been Lan Xichen’s handwriting, of course. It was unmistakable: still weak, his brush firmer than when he was younger but still lacking a little in confidence, yet still clearly signifying what a beautiful script he’d have when he finally grew into it. Lan Wangji had signed his name at the bottom as well, the characters still thick and blocky…it just reminded Lan Qiren that he was so young.

They were both so young.

They missed him, which he had known to his regret that they would. They loved him, which he had never once doubted.

They still…thought he was going to come back.

Lan Qiren swallowed down his grief once more. There was nothing else he could do.

He opened his eyes.

“Senior Lan, you’re awake!” A man in Wen sect clothing was peering down at him with the squinty-eyed evaluating look Lan Qiren generally associated with doctors. “Good, good. I’ll tell the Sect Leader, he’s been waiting.”

The man scurried off without introducing himself.

Lan Qiren blinked. Surely the man hadn’t really meant that Wen Ruohan was actually waiting, he reasoned, since that seemed just implausible. Perhaps he just meant that Wen Ruohan had asked to be informed of any updates once they were available –

A moment later, though, his expectations were overturned: to his surprise, Wen Ruohan himself swept through the door.

“What is your state?” he asked, frowning down at Lan Qiren, who struggled a little but managed to sit up. “Xianbo said that they wouldn’t be able to tell until you’d woken up.”

That must be the name of the presumed doctor from earlier.

“I am fine, although greatly ashamed,” Lan Qiren said, bringing his hands together to salute. His right hand really hurt – his fingers were splintered together, the two smallest ones having been broken and then reset. “I’ve made a fool of myself, Sect Leader Wen. I trust there wasn’t too much damage – ”

Wen Ruohan sat down on the bed next to him, which made Lan Qiren stop talking and stare.

Was Wen Ruohan…concerned about him? That seemed – out of character.

“Interesting,” Wen Ruohan said, leaning forward until their faces were relatively close. From this distance, it was impossible not to look into his eyes, which were very red. “Xianbo was right. I can’t detect any damage at all.”

Lan Qiren glanced down at his hand.

“Not that,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding amused. “I know what caused that.” He paused, then clarified: “I caused that. Do you remember?”

“I – have not suffered any memory loss, no,” Lan Qiren said with a wince. He almost wished he had, as it would be a tremendously good excuse to get out of this conversation. Sadly, do not tell lies – he had done this to himself, and now he had to face the music. “I assure you, I am primarily suffering from embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment. Is that all?” Wen Ruohan leaned back, looking thoughtful. “Qi deviations are rarely so kind.”

…ah. So this was all a misunderstanding.

Lan Qiren felt his face burning. “That was not a qi deviation.”

“No?”

Lan Qiren offered up his wrist mutely.

Wen Ruohan didn’t bother to politely decline or to call back his sect doctor to come and look at it, but instead took his arm and inspected his pulse himself. That confirmed Lan Qiren’s long-held suspicions that the leader of the Wen sect was just as much a master of his clan’s famed medical skills as he was a fearsome warrior and even more terrifying array master, even if no one currently alive had ever seen him use them. It would have been a victory of information gathering, if only there was anyone that still cared to hear what he had to say.

“You possess a remarkably bright golden core,” Wen Ruohan observed, though he didn’t remove his hand from Lan Qiren’s wrist. “An exceptionally solid foundation. And you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with the flow of your qi. What sort of disorder is it, then?”

“It is – not a disorder,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, wishing he could snatch his hand away. “I merely…dislike change. When faced with too much of it, I can, at times, grow – overwhelmed.”

Wen Ruohan had something of a skeptical expression, which Lan Qiren could understand. It had been a rather dramatic version of a meltdown this time. Lan Qiren had gone completely non-verbal and very nearly feral, wholly unable to control himself or keep himself from lashing out, the fit going on and on until Wen Ruohan had put an abrupt end to it – he could see why Wen Ruohan had thought it was a qi deviation. If Lan Qiren’s spiritual foundation were less solid, it very well could have been, and then he would have done himself very serious damage.

“You did the right thing in restraining me, under the circumstances,” Lan Qiren added after a moment. “Although knocking me out was unnecessary. It passes by itself, in time.”

There were things that could help – a closed door, low light, calming music (not silence) – but Lan Qiren could procure those for himself in the future, along with developing a new settled routine that would help soothe his strained nerves. He’d found a way to manage himself in the Cloud Recesses once he’d realized it was his duty to do so, in order not to reflect badly upon his sect, and it was equally his duty to do so now in the Nightless City.

Besides, if the changes hadn’t been so bad, or so extreme, he would not have reacted so badly, and he could not see how it would be possible for something as bad as all this to happen again.

Surely from this point, it could only get better. Right?

Wen Ruohan still did not seem convinced.

“You say this happens recurrently, but that it’s not a disorder, and not a problem, and that restraining you is an acceptable solution,” he said, voice dry as dust and deeply disapproving. “That sounds familiar. Have you been exchanging notes with Lao Nie?”

“It is not a qi deviation,” Lan Qiren stressed. “If it were, I would not leave it unattended. I am neither suicidal nor a Nie.”

The Qinghe Nie sect’s issue with their sect leaders dying from qi deviations was – well, Lan Qiren could not say it was an open secret, when in fact the Nie guarded it very closely, but it was certainly known to the leaders of the other Great Sects. Lao Nie had been more open with it than most, probably because of his sociable nature; he was friendly with everyone, winning over even Lan Qiren despite his reserve. Wen Ruohan, naturally, had even more reason to know about it, given his close relationship with Lao Nie, and as a result particular reason to resent it, too. In fact, Lan Qiren suspected that that was the real source of his apparent concern, rather than genuine worry for Lan Qiren himself.

Wen Ruohan snorted disdainfully, though he didn’t disagree with Lan Qiren’s assessment. “Well then,” he said. “If it’s not a qi deviation…”

Without so much as another word of warning, he made a seal with his free hand and pointed it at Lan Qiren’s forehead, passing along qi in such a torrent that Lan Qiren, who’d opened his mouth to protest, choked on his words and had to settle into meditation at once to circulate it properly, lest he really did end up in a qi deviation. Wen Ruohan’s spiritual energy was hot, which was unsurprising given his sect’s famously yang-oriented cultivation style, but it was not unpleasant, more like the heat of a warm summer afternoon, and it was ridiculously plentiful. If it had been anyone else, Lan Qiren would have worried that Wen Ruohan was emptying his reserves for him, but given who it was, he knew it was just a measure of how powerful the other man really was.

Contrary to some of the cultivation world’s wildest rumors, there was no taint of demonic cultivation in Wen Ruohan’s spiritual energy. Rather reckless, perhaps, but wholly orthodox. Another bit of useful information he wouldn’t be able to pass along to anyone, Lan Qiren supposed, and felt a distinct burst of irritation and bitterness.

He pulled away both his wrist and his head, and snapped the connection between them by force of will.

“Your assistance, while appreciated, is unnecessary,” he said firmly. “Also, next time, you can ask. I am no longer in distress.”

“Really,” Wen Ruohan drawled. “And here I thought your precious rules said do not tell lies?”

Lan Qiren gritted his teeth. Wen Ruohan was right about his ongoing distress, he supposed, and so he begrudgingly amended, “There is no longer a medical emergency, at any rate.”

“Perhaps we can agree to disagree,” Wen Ruohan said, though Lan Qiren wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the existence of a medical emergency or simply the need to ask for permission before shoving a gigantic amount of qi into another person. “It would not do for you to be injured so soon after our marriage.”

Lan Qiren looked at him suspiciously. “I wasn’t aware that that was a concern of yours.”

Wen Ruohan’s face suddenly stilled, smoothing out into his usual expression of bored indolence. Lan Qiren hadn’t even realized Wen Ruohan had been being more expressive than usual before he saw it disappear under a mask of disinterest. “Oh? Were you expecting something different from me?”

Lan Qiren had the distinct feeling he’d said something wrong, but he had no idea what, or how to make up for his error. He hated the feeling, common as it was.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, unable to keep his irritation fully suppressed. “I expected nothing. I’m only speaking based on the existing evidence provided to me since my recent arrival.”

“That I broke your fingers?”

“I was thinking more about my back, actually,” Lan Qiren said with a faint sigh – he could feel it itching now, in fact, the scabs both forming and fading as his body processed the tremendous amount of spiritual energy and channeled it into helping heal his wounds. “Though I can hardly say that it was unexpected. It would be very foolish to be married to a sadist and not expect some degree of related injury.”

For some reason, that seemed to please Wen Ruohan, his expression relaxing back to what it had been earlier, though now more amused than disdainful.

“That is very true,” he said, starting to faintly smirk. “Perhaps I meant visible injuries.”

That actually made sense, so Lan Qiren nodded. “A reasonable limitation. Given the cultivation world’s predilection for gossip and exaggeration, it would be better to avoid giving them something to talk about. I would appreciate you keeping such injuries under my clothing in the future – my fingers excluded, of course.”

“Mm, I bet you would. You know, I find that I rather like your fingers.”

Lan Qiren stared at him blankly, wondering where in the world that statement had come from. “I’m…glad?”

“Among other parts of you,” Wen Ruohan continued, and now the smirk was becoming more pronounced. “You have a number of body parts that can be said to have merit. As you so ably demonstrated last night.”

Lan Qiren puzzled through that extremely bizarre statement, compared it with other strange comments he’d had explained to him in the past, then hazarded a wild guess: “Are you flirting with me?”

Wen Ruohan seemed to be choking down a laugh. “After a certain level of bluntness, it is no longer considered flirting,” he said dryly, “but rather a proposition.”

“You want to have sex now?”

“Why not? As you so ably pointed out, I am a sadist. Or is sex medically contraindicated after your little – bout of being overwhelmed?”

“I have no idea,” Lan Qiren said blankly. “It never came up before. Are you serious?”

“It seems only right that I have a chance to make you cry,” Wen Ruohan said. He was actually smiling now, which made it even harder to tell if he was being serious – he almost never smiled, except when he was doing something awful, and that smile was a different one than this. This was closer to how he looked when watching Lao Nie’s more ridiculous antics. “We should each get the opportunity to indulge in our own, hm, shall we call them ‘particular interests’? After all, didn’t I let you tie me up?”

“That is not a particular interest,” Lan Qiren protested. “Restraining someone who is having difficulty with their self-control is perfectly normal and ordinary. Stop making it sound strange.”

“Perfectly normal and ordinary?” Wen Ruohan’s shoulders had started shaking with suppressed amusement. “Given that yesterday was your first time, I can only assume that you are basing your assertion on books you have read…what type of spring books do you Lan have?”

“Normal ones!”

Wen Ruohan burst out laughing.

“I am being serious!” Lan Qiren had the feeling he was being ignored. “Stop laughing. I will not be having sex with you if you are laughing at me.”

“Does that mean you will if I stop?”

Lan Qiren examined himself. He was still embarrassed and a little emotionally exhausted, but with the infusion of spiritual energy, the physical pain was much reduced, his body healing at an unusually fast clip. Normally after a meltdown he would prefer to meditate quietly to restore his internal balance, rather than engage in a stressful activity, but on the other hand he had noticed a distinct sense of physical relief, even relaxation, after they’d finished their exertions last night – he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after the second time and slept deeply, without dreams or nightmares. Even in the morning, he had felt unusually energetic when getting up to do his usual morning routine, energized rather than tired out by the morning activity.

Moreover, a distraction would likely keep him from dwelling on the issue of his nephews.

Hmm. Lan Qiren might not have the emotional wherewithal to be particularly flexible or creative at the moment, but he could ask Wen Ruohan to assist with that. Provided that Wen Ruohan cooperated, it wasn’t necessarily the worst idea in the world…

“I retract the request,” Wen Ruohan said before Lan Qiren could reach a conclusion. “I imagine it’d be quite dull if you were distracted the entire time.”

Lan Qiren shook his head. “Give me some time to stabilize my qi first,” he decided. Even if he didn’t strictly need to meditate, it wouldn’t do him any harm. “Also, would you be willing to come up with a list of specific activities you would like me to do that I could use as instruction? Removing the guesswork would reduce the difficulty of the exercise.”

Wen Ruohan’s face was doing something strange. “I can certainly do that,” he said. “Do you enjoy following instructions?”

“…I am, as you so aptly pointed out, a Lan,” Lan Qiren said, mimicking Wen Ruohan’s earlier statement. “Naturally I enjoy following rules. I also enjoy seeing them followed by others, if that helps clarify anything.”

“Surprisingly enough, I think it does,” Wen Ruohan remarked. He looked thoughtful. “A question, then, rather than an immediate request: would you be willing to fuck somewhere other than the bedroom?”

“Not somewhere other people have to eat, no,” Lan Qiren said firmly, because that should be made absolutely clear. “Otherwise, I have no objection on grounds of principle. You ought to see what my Lan sect’s junior disciples get up to in the Cloud Recesses’ gardens.”

“The same thing that my Wen sect’s junior disciples get up to in the Nightless City’s, I expect. What about other locations? My office, for instance?”

“That seems somewhat unsanitary, but if you do not have any concerns about disturbing your paperwork, I see no reason why not.”

“Mm. My Fire Palace?”

Lan Qiren felt a moment of horror. “After it was thoroughly cleansed, I should hope? There were dried bloodstains there. Not to mention who knows how much resentful energy – ”

“The resentment is expunged on a regular basis,” Wen Ruohan said. “We’re still cultivators here, you know. But I suspect I take your point.”

Presumably he really did, too, because the list of instructions he produced later that afternoon was both perfectly reasonable and sufficiently specific that Lan Qiren could relax and simply devote himself to carrying them out, though he did have to scold Wen Ruohan once or twice when he sought to deviate from his own list – the other man had apparently underestimated his own enthusiasm, or possibly Lan Qiren’s arm strength.

“I really do not understand why you are acting so surprised,” he said afterwards. “I gave you an estimate of how long I could continue to hold you up provided a wall was involved.”

“I’d assumed you were exaggerating,” Wen Ruohan said. He looked cheerful despite the earlier scolding Lan Qiren had subjected him to. Possibly because of? He seemed to be oddly amenable to scolding as long as it took place during their marital relations…Lan Qiren had heard of stranger things in his time, he supposed. “Most people do, but not you, it seems. Tell me, do you have anything you’ve been wanting to try out?”

“Not especially, no. Sex was never a great preoccupation of mine.” It occurred to Lan Qiren that that statement might come across as tactless or even rude, given what they’d just finished doing. “Not that it has not been enjoyable so far.”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. It was a gesture Lan Qiren had found, upon closer acquaintance, that he favored, though unlike many of Wen Ruohan’s other gestures, he didn’t make much of a production out of it; it was a mere flicker of the eyes, easy to miss if you weren’t observant.

Lan Qiren wondered if he should try to explain.

He didn’t get a chance. Wen Ruohan chose not to respond directly, and instead said, rather off-handedly, “Some years ago I was gifted with a guqin made of ironwood from the far south. It is said to have a unique tone, though I’ve never had a chance to hear it. You said you would play music for me – come to my office and keep me company.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t been looking forward to returning to his ravaged courtyard, so he happily assented, even though he suspected Wen Ruohan just wanted him close by to more efficiently ask him to repeat the exercise later. He had mentioned his office earlier, after all…

It turned out that Lan Qiren was right about his suspicions, and not just for that afternoon, either.

In fact, the next few days settled into a rather peculiar sort of cadence, in which Lan Qiren successfully avoided his courtyard completely by spending his nights in Wen Ruohan’s bed and his days in his office. He did little other than keep him company, often either playing music or reading the myriad of fascinating texts that Wen Ruohan kept there, punctuated by Wen Ruohan’s occasional requests to pass time together in a more active manner.

For someone like Lan Qiren, falling into a routine was easy enough – what was surprising was the nature of the routine. When left to his own devices, Lan Qiren was inclined to work too hard, regularly growing restless when he did not feel as though he had enough to do, but he had always respected the implicit rules of other sects when he visited them. The Wen sect, following the example of their sect leader, was rather inclined towards indolence, rising late and retiring late and taking their days at their leisure, as if they were already masters of the world. When Lan Qiren had been sect leader, this tendency had driven him up the wall, with matters that in the Lan sect would have been resolved with a solid afternoon’s worth of hard work tending to instead get stretched out over three days of sporadic effort, but he’d forced himself to adapt to their habits whenever he was visiting the Nightless City, filling the spare hours by picking up leisure activities that he normally lacked the time for.

He now had reason to be grateful to his past self for that. It felt positively normal to be wasting time in the Nightless City, in a way it very much had not been back at the Cloud Recesses.

And – keeping busy helped him not think.

The rules mandated being strict on oneself, but Lan Qiren knew himself to need the reprieve, however temporary. The rules also clearly stated Do not be unreasonable. The strain he had suffered ever since He Kexin’s death was simply too much – the loss of everything he had known, even contact with his beloved nephews, was so enormous that he could barely even think of it, much less face it. Trying to tackle it now, before he was ready, would cause him tremendous harm, and the rules…Lan Qiren could not believe the rules would require it of him.

Perhaps that made Lan Qiren a coward, violating the rules on having courage.

Avoiding confrontation as he was could certainly be interpreted as a sign of weakness, indicating a lack of resoluteness that was unbecoming in a cultivator, though notably even Wen Ruohan, who was normally the first to criticize someone, did not say a word about it. Still, Lan Qiren knew what he was doing. He refused to return to his courtyard to face the mess he had made, even though the servants would have undoubtedly tidied it up already, and the reason was that if he did, he would need to confront the fact that somewhere in his courtyard was that crumpled and torn piece of paper, which his nephews had written to him with love.

Eventually, he would need to think about what that meant.

Eventually, Lan Qiren would need to confront all over again his grief at having had his role in his nephew’s lives taken away from him, the demotion from virtual father to uncle having hurt far worse than his demotion from sect leadership. He would need to think of the way that the message had confirmed his worst fears, because he knew Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, both incredibly stubborn in their own ways. Lan Qiren knew that if they missed him – and he had so hated to have to hope that they didn’t – then they would misbehave, and if they misbehaved, they would be punished.

He could only hope that his brother did not extend his dislike of Lan Qiren to those he had taught.

He hoped his brother did not punish his nephews simply for loving the man who had raised them, but if he let himself linger on it too long, he couldn’t stop imagining it: Wangji submitting a request every morning to see Lan Qiren, or insistently kneeling outside his door regardless of the weather as he had done with his mother, refusing to stop no matter how many refusals he received or how long he was kneeling, or Xichen, less blunt but no less determined, canvassing the Cloud Recesses for assistance, asking question after question that no one would answer. And then, eventually, his brother would find out. He would know he had been defied, and on Lan Qiren’s behalf, and then…

Lan Qiren cut off that line of thinking.

Eventually, he promised himself. But not now.

For now, he contented himself with simple things.

He practiced his swordsmanship in the mornings, before Wen Ruohan willed himself out of bed – the other man actually didn’t sleep that much, but he was amazingly slothful, having once stated to Lan Qiren that after a hundred years he had had sufficient fill of sunrises to last an eternity – and meditated at the height of the afternoon, the best time for it. He spent time cultivating both his mind and body diligently, making up for all the times he’d had no choice but to skip it in favor of work. On occasion, he engaged in spirited conversations with Wen Ruohan that were always at least halfway filled with hidden daggers, which at least made them interesting. Whenever the mood struck him, he picked out new texts to entertain himself with from the shelves of Wen Ruohan’s office and read them for as long as he cared to, without needing to pull himself away to deal with some unexpected emergency. He played music to his heart’s content, with an audience that was, if not actively appreciative, then at least willing.

And there was the sex, of course.

He and Wen Ruohan were certainly having a great deal more of it than Lan Qiren had anticipated when he’d written down the rule, but that was fine. Lan Qiren still didn’t feel any intrinsic urge to have sex, and certainly not at the frequency Wen Ruohan clearly did, but he had always been diligent in fulfilling his duties, never objecting or complaining, and it wasn’t as if this were a particularly unpleasant one. On the contrary, after three months of strict seclusion preceded by years of relative isolation from all but his nephews, Lan Qiren found that he had a certain degree of skin-hunger, which the intimacy of sex seemed to satisfy. When he’d expressed a mild concern about how much of Wen Ruohan’s time he was taking up, Wen Ruohan had reminded him that his own father had disappeared for two solid months following his marriage, undoubtedly doing little else.

It had probably been a statement meant to disturb him, but instead it had given Lan Qiren considerable comfort. Following tradition always did.

“Most people consider such constancy a show of favor,” Wen Ruohan remarked, leaning his face on his hand as he watched Lan Qiren tune the new guqin he’d presented him with that morning – it was a lovely delicate little thing, made of rosewood and clearly crafted by the Lan sect, though the cut suggested it was from at least the time of Lan Qiren’s grandfather, if not further back. It would be an excellent counterpoint to try against the deeper, more aggressive sound of the ironwood one. “Are you grateful?”

“I think you may have that backwards. Is it not me that is the one doing all the work..? And to your specifications, no less…” Lan Qiren tried one of the strings. It wasn’t quite right yet. “Why do you even have this? Though you do not cultivate with music, you at least appreciate it; surely you should know better. To let such a good instrument get so far out of tune is an appalling waste.”

He did not allow himself to think of his old one. Neither the one he’d brought with him and left back in his abandoned courtyard, nor the one he had used for so many years, broken and left behind in the Cloud Recesses.

They weren’t relevant right now.

“It was in the treasury, so I assume I got it as a gift at some point.” Wen Ruohan shrugged, indifferent. “Or possibly it was in the treasure room of some sect I conquered. Who knows?”

“You should know. Provenance is important. What if it was some sort of magical treasure?”

“Is it?”

“Well, no…”

“Probably for the best.” Wen Ruohan smirked. “If either of those instruments had the sentience of a magical treasure, I’m certain that they would be screaming for mercy after the fortieth iteration of Cleansing in a row.”

Lan Qiren glared at him. “You said you would not be disturbed if I repeated myself.”

“And I’m not. Who would have realized how calming it could be to hear the same song over and over again with only minimal variations for an entire afternoon…? It puts me into a surprisingly good mood.”

Lan Qiren snorted. He was pretty sure Wen Ruohan’s good mood had less to do with Lan Qiren’s playing than it did his diligent efforts to satisfy the other man’s seemingly insatiable libido, though listening to spirit-calming songs all day certainly wasn’t doing him any harm.

“Such a good mood, in fact, that I am inclined to rethink the matter with the Yueyang Chang sect that you were making faces about yesterday…”

Lan Qiren was well aware that he was not naturally talented at politics. He’d only escaped being widely judged too straightforward on account of being very reserved, but amongst the leaders of the Great Sects, whose company he had not been able to avoid, he had a reputation for being notoriously tactless and even occasionally oblivious, regularly stepping into certain subjects he shouldn’t and missing the underlying implications in others, no matter how obvious everyone else thought they were being. His success as a sect leader had come primarily by virtue of what Lan Qiren considered to be brute force: reviewing everything he could and memorizing as much of it as he could stand, then using his expansive knowledge base to reason out what was going on around him, even as the exact social nuances passed him by.

It had always been hard work that had seen him through – hard work, observation, deduction, and perhaps most importantly pattern recognition.

Applying that pattern recognition now, for instance, led him to observe that this was not the first time in the past few days that Wen Ruohan had brought up some aspect of inter-sect politics while speaking with Lan Qiren. He had composed letters of significance with Lan Qiren sitting just across the desk, able to clearly see what he was writing. He had voluntarily allowed his subordinates to report to him without sending Lan Qiren out of the room, though Lan Qiren was well aware that there were others who came by only when he was absent.

At first, Lan Qiren had thought that this was merely a matter of convenience. After all, Wen Ruohan was quite politely allowing Lan Qiren to monopolize quite so much of his time and personal space, never complaining about his presence, and where else was he supposed to do his work if not in his office? Lan Qiren had responded with what he thought was equal politeness in trying not to listen, see, or perceive anything that was going on. But it seemed more and more than he might be wrong: the conversations were quite loud, without even the slightest attempts at discretion, and then Wen Ruohan would sometimes bring up the matter again a little later when speaking to Lan Qiren, casually dropping in references to things that had been said as if he expected Lan Qiren to know what he was talking about.

The matter with the Yueyang Chang sect was an excellent example of that. It had come up in the course of the reports from one of Wen Ruohan’s trusted lieutenants, and again in the official correspondence, which Wen Ruohan had read at least in part out loud. The Yueyang Chang sect had gotten into a nasty little fight with two of their neighboring sects and immediately sought to employ a rather nasty little method of winning, namely reaching out to Wen Ruohan to offer him benefits and the opportunity to take over their rivals. It was the sort of offer that Wen Ruohan had historically been quite interested in, and one which Lan Qiren had privately (or so he’d thought) disapproved of.

Though…he supposed that now that he was part of the Wen sect, not the Lan sect, he really ought to be less squeamish on matters of conquest. Or at least, if he was going to be squeamish, he ought not do it where Wen Ruohan could catch him at it!

Not that Wen Ruohan seemed upset about it. On the contrary…

“Are you seeking my opinion on what you plan to do?” Lan Qiren asked.

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. “Am I?”

I see, he is choosing to be difficult about this, Lan Qiren thought to himself with an exasperated sigh. Why do people never just say openly what they want?

He put the guqin aside and turned to look at Wen Ruohan directly, wondering what the best way to phrase what he wanted to say.

“If you ask me for my opinion,” he said slowly, trying to organize his thoughts, “then I will answer.”

Wen Ruohan inclined his head slightly to the side, as if encouraging Lan Qiren to continue.

“We were colleagues for ten years, you and I, as fellow leaders of two of the five Great Sects,” Lan Qiren said. “You are well aware of both my strengths and weaknesses as a sect leader, and during my time in that position, I, though lacking your experience, grew to be aware of yours. If I were still sect leader, anything I said to you would necessarily be suspect, as I would have to consider first and foremost the interests of my own sect, not yours. My words might be genuine or false, and in either case, they might be designed to deceive you and trick you into behaving in a manner that accrued to the benefit of my sect. The same, of course, would be equally true of everything you might say to me.”

Wen Ruohan nodded.

“But – I am not sect leader, acting or otherwise. We are married. More than that, I am married into your family. Absent a divorce, which you are unlikely to ever grant me, I will live here for the rest of my life. My children, should I ever sire any, will bear your surname, not mine. Our interests…I cannot say that they are wholly aligned, for my Lan sect will eventually belong to my nephews, and I will not turn against them. But…”

“But?” Wen Ruohan asked, and now he was leaning forward, his hand dropping down to his desk, his red eyes intent.

“As long as the interests of the Lan sect are not at issue, you may ask me anything you wish,” Lan Qiren concluded. “And I will answer in good faith, using my best efforts to think of the question in my capacity as your spouse, rather than as an outsider.”

Wen Ruohan let out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it in, and leaned back once more. “Interesting,” he said. “Very interesting.”

Now it was Lan Qiren’s turn to arch his eyebrows. “Is it? You cannot genuinely be so surprised. You had me do my bows myself for that very reason, did you not?”

“I did, I did,” Wen Ruohan said. “I am surprised only in how unexpectedly ruthless you are, cutting off all paths you might have for retreat. Your Lan sect will never forgive you if they think you are betraying them by aiding me.”

“How can I betray them? It was my sect that married me to you, and they know what that means. How could they expect me not to cleave to your side, as any married couple would…? That would be absurd. Everyone knows that a child married out is like spilled water.”

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully, and Lan Qiren mentally shook his head – it seemed that he still hadn’t convinced him, though in truth that was not unexpected.

After all, Wen Ruohan was notoriously paranoid. The surprise was more in the fact that he was bothering to extend even as much trust as he was, letting him listen in and testing him constantly to see if he would live up to that trust. If anything, Lan Qiren would have been less surprised if Wen Ruohan had simply ordered him to be confined to his courtyard, with spies to watch him at every moment he wasn’t there (and indeed such orders might have been made, though of course his being in Wen Ruohan’s quarters most of the time had likely rendered them unnecessary).

“What is your objection to the Yueyang Chang sect’s request, then?” Wen Ruohan asked, and Lan Qiren thought the question might be something like a flag of truce, a gift in the same way as the guqins Wen Ruohan was always presenting him with. “Your expression suggested not only disapproval but distaste, which suggests to me that morality of the situation is not your only concern.”

“You are correct about that,” Lan Qiren admitted. “Though the Yueyang Chang sect’s morality in this instance is of course highly questionable. No, what I dislike is how…orchestrated it is.”

“Oh?”

“Well, on the surface, it appears as though they initiated a minor dispute which then grew out of control, leaving them with no choice but to turn to you for aid. But the real reason the fight escalated to such a degree was the rising cost of materials that all three sects use as their financial basis. Cultivation is difficult to accomplish without resources, and the increased cost means that there is only room in that area for at most two sects, or ideally only one.”

“Yes, which is why the other two allied and Yueyang Chang, left alone, reached out to me. You think that the fight was deliberately escalated so that they would have a reason to call me in? Why would they support a ploy that involves their own costs going up? That harms them.”

“Only in the short term. Their rivals are a longer-term problem – their younger generation are of far better quality than Yueyang Chang’s. If they do not get rid of them, then in the next generation, there may not be a Yueyang Chang clan left to support.” Lan Qiren scowled. “Which of course adds to the immorality of their actions, in my opinion. If your junior generation is weak, it is your duty to help them improve themselves, not to eliminate obstacles on their behalf.”

“That’s a matter for debate – though it does not surprise me to find that you, a teacher, have such a view – and one we can pick back up to examine at greater length at a later time,” Wen Ruohan remarked. “For the moment, what’s your theory for how they accomplished raising the prices?”

Lan Qiren shrugged, thinking to himself that that part was obvious enough, but that he was nevertheless happy to explain his thinking if that was what Wen Ruohan required. “Twelve years ago, the Yueyang Chang sect leader married his third daughter to Yingchuan Wang’s second young master, who through the death of his older brother four years ago is now their heir. Yingchuan Wang controls the main road that leads to the Yueyang Chang sect. If they imposed a toll, the cost of the materials would naturally rise as the merchants incorporated the toll into the cost of their goods.”

“Twelve years ago…” Wen Ruohan picked through the papers on his desk, presumably hunting for a genealogical record. “Huh! You’re right, they did marry, so it’s a plausible theory. Still, that’s supposition at best. Do you have a suggestion on how to verify your theory?”

“Sect Leader Wang has a great fondness for concubines, and his concubines tend to give him daughters. He has a surfeit of women in his household,” Lan Qiren said. “Traditionally, they’ve had to buy the cheaper grades of cloth for their household in order to have enough to clothe them all. If Yingchuan Wang has recently imposed a toll…”

“Then his main wife and his current favorite will probably have new clothing.” Wen Ruohan tapped his fingernail on his desk thoughtfully, absently sketching out what looked like an array foundation, though he didn’t put any power into it. “Interesting, interesting. Well. Let us say your theory is correct. What would be your recommendation? Even if the whole thing is a scheme orchestrated by the Yueyang Chang sect, taking over those two sects is still to my benefit.”

You did say that you ought to be less squeamish, Lan Qiren reminded himself, swallowing down his instinctive answer of “rewarding the wicked leads only to bad ends.” The Wen sect favors conquest. You are part of the Wen sect now. Treat your wife’s family as your own – remember your rule.

He took a few moments to think over his answer, trying to put himself in a different mentality than the one he normally used.

“Yueyang Chang put themselves in a tough position in order to reach out to you while having the moral high ground, both by inciting two sects to fight against them and by putting Yingchang Wang on dubious ground, since a toll of that sort can only be maintained with support from their neighbors,” he finally said, reaching up to stroke his beard. “If you agree to their request, you can absorb their two rivals, but under the rules of the cultivation world, chivalry demands that you must leave Yueyang Chang itself alone. To do otherwise would be to cause other sects to refuse to turn to you in the future, even under circumstances of desperation.”

“Which naturally I will not do.”

“Naturally. On the other hand, if you refuse Yueyang Chang’s request, they will seek the aid of another sect, or else get Yingchuan Wang to lift the toll to resolve the issue. But...if you do nothing and string them along, Yueyang Chang will have no choice but to continue fighting, lest it become obvious what their scheme was; it would dishonor them to do any less. And then, in another month or two after all the three sects have weakened each other through their infighting, you can inform the other two sects of what the Yueyang Chang sect did and offer them the opportunity to join you as subsidiary sects in exchange for your aid in crushing both Yueyang Chang and Yingchuan Wang.”

“Thereby taking all four of them into my control, rather than just two. Good, good. Very good!” Wen Ruohan’s eyes were bright in a way that was starting to be familiar, and Lan Qiren resigned himself to the conversation making an imminent turn in the direction of sex. Again. Probably over Wen Ruohan’s desk, given that that was the way he liked it whenever he’d advanced some clever ploy. Again. “I see that having you by my side at the next discussion conference will be an asset in more than just getting people talking.”

“Getting them talking? About what? Our marriage?” Lan Qiren frowned. “Surely they are already – ”

He paused. He had assumed that the proxy marriage had been done for privacy and swiftness, to ensure that no one would interfere or interrupt, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t disagreed with his guess when he had laid it out for him. But what Wen Ruohan was saying now, that could only be true if…

“Are you telling me that no one yet knows that we’re married?!” he shouted, leaping up to his feet. “What is wrong with you and my brother both?!”

[blackss-whitees]

Love.

No, I don’t want to find myself one day staring at my phone to the written messages I’d like to send to you, but all of them would compile themselves in my notes that I'll never send.

You would take me forever to get over you.

would I ever get over you?

Birthday wishes aren’t the same.

They would find themselves hesitating leaving my mouth and imagine only getting two blue ticks or a thank you and that will be it. I know they would crush me, I'd crushed me saying it.

Other festive occasions will never be the same.

Every part of me would drag itself and be reminded myself you’ve moved on, you’re better without me, it’ll only be true. Oh you’ve no idea how much i might have wish i could say “No feelings attached” yet it'll hurt and I’d be lying to myself.

If I bumped into you and you’d say hi, would I know what to say? Being introduced as a friend from the past, I remain silent and try hard smile, and soon I'll watch you go off with friends, the same look and smile I once used to spend every day looking at.

We used to head in the same direction to a place you and I would call home together. Now it’s just me and a space, without anything to look forward to but the sound of my keys opening the door and you're not on the other side to greet and hug me.

Loving is amazing when it's all together and intact.

But love also hurts learning to let you go despite remember your words to me.

Fight for me, go after me, us against the world remember? Did I fight hard enough? Would it matter? Would you just tell me “ it is what it is, what is done is done.”

I know I love you hard, way too hard. I spent hours with myself trying to fill my time with something else, but all I have is memories of you I find myself sitting so deep in and not knowing what I'd do with myself.

If I haven't ask you to be mine, I'd regret it.

It took every bit of courage in me to risk it all and now I'm suffering to the consequence of what I'm unable to change. I've days I'd rather be dead, so I'd leave you alone for good so I could comfort myself that I'm not stealing away someone else’s chance to make you happy and whole again.

Happy ? Happy never quite last with me.