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whosjunglejim4322 · 6 months

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Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.”

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson au #joseph quinn x reader #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson imagine

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liyawritesss · 10 months

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ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Miles Morales [The Prowler] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.9k

Synopsis: Miles tells his Uncle Aaron the real reason why he’ll always answer his phone for you.

Warnings: Cursing, no usage of [y/n] or second person perspective, brief mention of potential gun usage, old school gang terms (Aaron refers to a gun as a 'pole') I envisioned a late teen 42!Miles so he’s around 17-18 here, but still keep it cute this is lil cuz we talkin’ bout here!!!

A/N: I know I said that the previous fic would more than likely be my only attempt at 42!Miles but the ugly ass nigga is growing on me so…here yall go i guess

Song Suggestions: “So Into You” (Remix) by Sydney Renae; “LORD FORGIVE ME” by Tobe Nwigwe ft. Fat Nwigwe & Pharrell; “Run Tha Streetz” by Tupac, Storm, Mutah, Michel’le

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed @pnkweb

It went without saying that if it didn’t pertain to family or business, Aaron wasn’t quite fond of the use of phones.

He had a real old school view on them; didn’t like how kids these days were always stuck nose deep into the devices. Of course, he came from a generation where a phone’s only use was to contact another person. He never got into the hype of the latest iPhones, nor did he understand the need for five different cameras attached to the device. The only benefit he saw with the rectangular device was that it made communication more prompt and precise (though he’d never admit that he appreciated being able to play any games he wanted, at his disposal, at any time he wished).

So, naturally, when Miles became old enough to engage in his ‘business’, the one rule Aaron posed that didn’t pertain to the ‘game’ was that him being on his phone was an absolute no-go.

“I ain’t got time for you to be distracted by that thing,” he’d said the very first night Aaron trusted the younger to bring him along, “if you gon’ be in, I need you to be all the way in. No half-assin’ this shit, you hear?”

And of course, Miles agreed, no matter how insufferable the first few weeks of patrol were when Aaron literally locked his cellular device in a safe back at the workshop. While it served to pry the connection the fifteen year old had with the device at the time, it was also his way of teaching Miles to not rely on the device for communication, prompting Miles to fortify new avenues of such. Aaron had a genius nephew, after all, and expected nothing less from the person who would soon take up his mantle as The Prowler.

Though, Aaron started to notice a shift in the practice behavior a few months ago, and it made him wonder had his teachings begun to fall short, even after a few years of the settled routine.

He’d notice the flexing of the younger’s arm whenever the faint buzz from the vibration of Miles’ phone sounded, no doubt squeezing the device in his pocket with his hand.

Aaron also was not ignorant to Miles’ dipping off to the side to answer a quick call in hushed tones, and the words used to address the other person on the line made it clear to the older man that it wasn’t Rio calling him, and it piqued Aaron’s curiosity even more.

Though, Aaron could never say anything, since Miles was sure to put his phone on do not disturb before heading out into the night, and the calls always remained under a minute or two, not taking too much time away from their very serious business. He found himself frustrated because Aaron couldn’t be mad at him for being responsible for his phone usage, despite his own feelings towards the usage of such devices. Yet, it irked him all the same when Miles would take a peek at his phone during a moment of down time, or when he’d caught the boy staring at his messages a couple of times during a debriefing session.

“Aye, c’mon man,” Aaron finally grumbles out one night, sucking his teeth at the sight of Miles tapping away on the brightly lit screen close to his face, illuminating his melanated features, “I need you outta that shit, we got work to do.”

“A’ight, a’ight,” says the younger as he finishes off a text, pocketing his phone and brushing past Aaron briskly, “just had to answer my girl real quick. I’m off it.”

“You better be,” Aaron scolds, “we need you at a’hunnid tonight, Miles. No excuses.”

Though Aaron wasn’t about to let Miles’ admission slip under the radar, the current task at hand was much more pressing than the revelation that his nephew was seeing someone. He’d have to play the father figure role after tonight's mission was complete.

It’s when the deepest shade of midnight blue begins to fade into faint purple hues that Aaron is able to bring up the conversation once again. He tries to make it light, but over the years, his smooth talk has become just as rustic as his Prowler skills. “I’m gon’ have to bring the safe out again if I keep seein’ that phone, Miles.”

The echo of the younger sucking his teeth in annoyance doesn’t fly past Aaron’s head. It’s the response he expected from his nephew. He turns around from his work desk to face the younger, leaning against one of the many concrete pillars that keep the building intact.

“I’m serious, boy,” Aaron asserts, “you been on that phone a lil’ too much lately, man. I’on like it.”

Miles scratches the side of his face; he knows he doesn’t have much of a good excuse to use as to why his eyes have been more on his phone as of late. Well, not an excuse Aaron would find plausible anyway.

“A’ight, Unc. I’ll chill.”

It’s not the exact response that Aaron expects, but if Miles says that he’ll watch his phone activity, the older believes him. The younger has no reason to lie to him, anyway.

A beat passes before Aaron starts again, crossing to the middle of the room where the large, red punching bag.

“So, is she a good distraction,” he muses with a knowing look, “or do I gotta be worried that she gon’ take your head out the game?”

The younger pauses for a second, braids dancing along his shoulder. Then, a lopsided grin spreads across his lips as his head tilts to the side, his eyes wandering. Aaron knows that kind of look. It’s the look of a boy high on love, and from the way Miles fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck, Aaron can deduct that it’s that good loving, too. The kind of loving that Rio gave Jefferson, and it stole the late brother’s heart. It warms his heart to see his nephew sport a look that someone his age should.

“She’s good.” Miles says. “She’s…real good, Tio. Too good, probably.”

Aaron hums in response, the sound coming from the depths of his throat as he pauses, taking in a breath. “Do she know?”

It’s a hard question to ask; Aaron doesn’t want to blow his nephew’s high, but it’s a necessary one to ask. For the safety of all parties involved.

Miles’ smile falters in the slightest, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as his eyes cast downward.

“She know I do shit on the low. Not…all this, though.” And from the tone in Miles’ voice, he, too, knows that it’s better this way.

The older begins to walk towards the stairs to exit the workshop building, gesturing to Miles to follow, “Good.”

Aaron thinks back to when he first remembers the diversion of behavior started. Although it wasn’t and never became aggressive, it started with Miles casually peeking at his phone every now and then, maybe once or twice throughout the whole night the two were set together. He puts two and two together, his head nodding to the conclusion he’d drawn.

“So it’s her you be textin’?” Aaron asks, descending the stairs.

The younger nods, following in tow, “Just lettin’ her know that I’ma be out and can’t answer the phone, shit like that.”

“And when she do call?”

A light, dry chuckle escapes Miles’ lips at the question. “She just be askin’ me shit.”

“Shit like what?” Aaron muses, twisting the knob to the door leading outside, opening it to reveal purple hues slowly fading into peach in the sky. “What color nails for her to get? Password to the Netflix?”

They get to the car, but the silence that takes place during the short time it takes to approach the older’s vehicle answers his own question before Miles does.

“Yeah, actually,” the younger voice, arms folding atop the car roof, leaning against the sleek black metal as he looks at his uncle, “and the color for her peek-a-boo braids; and if it’s okay if she eats my leftover takeout; and if I can hang up her wall art thingy when I come by-”

“-so what you’re saying is, she’s clingy?” The older’s eyebrows furrow in amusement and slight confusion - the way Miles speaks about the isolated experiences has him questioning what kind of girl his nephew was actually dating.

“You know what’s crazy, though, Tio?” The younger poses, pulling the handle to the passenger car door when he hears the click, signifying Aaron unlocking the vehicle finally. “She’s not clingy like that; it’s somethin’ else.”

“You’re losin’ me, kid.” The older chuckles, closing his door once he’s settled inside the driver's seat.

Miles sucks his teeth, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in thought, and Aaron can tell that the younger is trying to find the right words to distinguish what he means.

“I hear guys say that shit like that is annoying,” Miles begins, tugging at the hem of his shirt to pull it down from riding up his toned stomach, “but it ain’t like that to me. She asks me all these things; think maybe it’s because she feels safe enough to ask them of me. And if she feel like I got the answers for her, then-”

The younger stops mid-sentence, contemplating how to proceed with his explanation. Yet, Aaron is all ears, listening intently. Quite frankly, it’s the most he’s heard Miles talk about anything in a long time - his rambling reminds him of the old Miles that once was, before the unfortunate.

Then, the younger takes a deep breath, reclines back into his seat, legs spread in the slightest for comfortability, his hands running the length of his thighs, “Ionno, Unc. Makes me feel good, I guess.”

And in that moment, Aaron’s vision blurs for a second. He can’t tell if it’s Miles sitting in the passenger seat, or if it’s his late brother. Perhaps it's the glare of the sun in his eyes…perhaps it’s Aaron actually seeing the soul of Jefferson shine through his son in the early morning sunlight that dances across his melanated skin.

A hum passes through the older’s throat as he starts the car up, the sound of the engine revving through the silence that settled within the car. Aaron clears his throat before speaking again, “I’ma tell you what I told your pops about your moms, kid.”

Miles turns his head from the window to face his uncle, who shifts the car from parked to drive, hand sitting at the top of the steering wheel.

“If she make you feel good, the kinda good you know you can’t get anywhere else, and if she make you feel like a man; you keep her close.” Aaron hums. His lips tug upwards when the younger gives a subtle nod in return.

“I’m serious now, Miles. Don’t be like yo’ daddy.” Aaron reiterates as he pulls his foot off the brakes, turning the steering wheel and pressing down on the gas to drive out of the parking lot. “Dumbass almost lost ya moms cuz he ain’t wanna listen-”

“A’ight, a’ight, I got you,” the younger replies, “I’on think she goin’ anywhere no way, though.”

“Good.” Aaron affirms. “If she know of the kinda game you in, then she need to know how to work somethin’, too. Make sure she can hold you down properly.”

“I’on know about that, Unc,” Miles replies, “she too much of a good girl for that.”

“Shit, good girls work the best poles, boy. Don’t get the game twisted.”

“Unc, no one says ‘poles’ in reference to guns anymore.” The younger says through a chuckle as the two drive off down the street, the purples in the sky now fading into a pretty golden hue that casts over the city that never sleeps.

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asvterias · 4 months

Text

𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

part 1 || clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of nyx)

summary: overwhelmed with her girlfriend's having a near-death experience, clarisse breakdowns in front of y/n.

word count: 1.9k+

author's note: also tysm for 1,680 followers, i appreciate every single one of you! i kinda thought this song related to this fic, lmk what you guys think in the comments! the song lyrics are bold and italics!

song playing — my love mine all mine by mitski

requested by an anonymous! (pairing ONLY!!)

TAGS BELOW:

@lvrue @kyuupidwrites @xanasaurusrex @urdeadpoet @aurorailvsm @quinnsadilla @st4rzl7 @p0rkbun @star-girl69 @aphroditesmoon @voidashh @lcvved @tinytea-biscut @dearlydarlings @rocknr0ll @nvirskies @k4zuhas-visi0n @urbisexualfriend @marlswhore @anominous-writer @lovelyy-moonlight @thegiganticgirlkisser @vi0lentg0d @thewritingbarbie @apocalypticlibrary @solecitoszn @blackchubbyqueen @mira-belcul18 @sleighingstella @ampitrit3 @mthefae @drlover11037 @ratjoe @mag03 @kroumi @hoku-k @zhivaxo @lacytalks @kazerka @liv444me @korizzybee @mariposa555 @inejsknifes @cherriesnbutter @justintinderlake4 @natasha-took-fall-damage @lixtinystay @2k7-sparkles @importantpotato @laughingcheese037

moon, a hole of light

through the big top tent high up

here before and after me

“you know what happens if you extort your powers too much.” she hastily reminded you. from her tone, you knew that she hesitated to remind you of that incident, and it was shaky leaving from her mouth.

“that was one time.” you sighed heavily.

by now, your existing abilities become stronger as you grow older. you managed to control your current powers, and clarisse encouraged you to discover your hidden powers.

shining down on me

moon, tell me if i could

however it’s not encouraged to extort your powers to full extent, liable enough to render you unconscious for weeks, not even days. as a result of your persistent stubbornness, unfortunately, it happened to you and clarisse was an emotional wreck without your comforting presence beside her.

she became more easily irritated and annoyed by anyone who even dared to look her way, almost threatening to kick their ass, surprisingly she’d just rough them up a bit, and stormed off afterward. spending hours at the sparring center, clarisse released all of her anger onto the sparring dummies, using her trust-worthy spear and being completely ruthless with it, rage consuming both her stability and mentality. everyone stayed out of clarisse’s way for their own safety.

all those times you kept her grounded felt like a big waste to her right now. she felt loved, and truly loved by someone blessed to cherish her until your last breath gave out. all of a sudden, you were harshly ripped away from her, without any type of warning, permanently leaving an invisible scar on her heart.

despite being stuck in a temporarily induced coma, clarisse still had a guilty conscience of unawareness, possibly having a chance to rescue you and prevent this from occurring. in other words, she wished that you didn’t intentionally overwork your powers to the core, but you did, and now you’re currently suffering the consequences of it.

send up my heart to you?

so, when i die, which i must do

for the two weeks, you were unconscious, clarisse visited you, kept quiet most of the time, muttered small incoherent words, barely even sentences. she held your hands tightly, they were lukewarm, temporarily not providing the warmth they usually do. she missed everything about you, your presence, your touch, and your love.

and when she’s staring at your face, a small smile litters her face, reminiscing on your wholesome shared memories. sadly, all of the radiation that your face once held was drained and a firm line took its place.

despite the large pit of despair in her stomach, clarisse felt you slipping away from reality with every passing day. your girlfriend was persistent, knowing that you can handle yourself, and often proud of your capability in those sorts of skills.

she couldn’t fathom what it was even like for you to endure the 2-week coma, forced into a dream-like state, hearing and sensing everything going on around you but unable to respond. it must have been torture for you, stuck with your thoughts endlessly on repeat, with no interruption at all. just you and your thoughts there all alone. nothing but you and your thoughts.

she prayed that you would somehow non-verbally assure her, confirming your well-being, not like that would have made a difference regardless, but still, your reassuring words would’ve lessened her worries, even if it was for such a short amount of time.

but the ares girl remained strong, at least for the both of you. clarisse mentally promised for her own sake, desperately clutching onto the small yet meaningful words of encouragement.

could it shine down here with you?

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

with a devastated sigh, she’d depart with a forehead kiss before heading to her cabin for some rest, sometimes she’d forget to eat and one of her siblings had to remind her. at this point, it was a common routine for clarisse; wake up, teleport to visit you, complete her daily tasks, and train. and when she’s finished her task of the day, best believe that she’s with you, nursing you back to consciousness.

“yeah, and we both know how that ended!”

“clarisse…”

“no, please let me finish.” she shushed you with a shake of her head, “and i hope it doesn’t happen again, it doesn’t need to happen again!” clarisse whisper-yelled at you, “i almost lost you, and i refused to experience that wretched feeling again. you were unconscious for almost two weeks and we weren’t even in the same place. your mom teleported me to you almost every day since you were in that coma. i refuse to experience that again because i love you and seeing you there made me feel useless for once in my life.” her tone became shaky yet she proceeded on, wanting you to understand, needing you to understand what it was like for her, witnessing you in that comatose state. “i couldn’t stand the thought of you dying, of you leaving me here all alone. you only truly understand me, you love me despite all of my flaws, rather accepting them than ignoring them…nobody else but you…i didn’t think i could love anyone as much as i love you. and that terrified me before but now it doesn’t anymore, knowing you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. sometimes i wonder if i’m ever worth loving…” a sob escapes her, continued by many heartbreaking sobs. that gut-wrenching feeling in your heart returned, growing larger when clarisse attempted to restrict any more sobs, terribly failing, allowing her emotions to run wild for once.

it’ll probably be the only time she can freely express her emotions without feeling judged within your presence. this was one of the many reasons why clarisse fell in love with you, your compassionate soul, a trait she strongly lacked but adored from you.

she loved that you made her feel comfortable, enough to express her emotions without having to look over her shoulder.

nothing in the world belongs to me

but my love mine, all mine, all mine

your girlfriend didn’t realize the tears freely falling down her face until you wiped the tears away from her eyes. clarisse seems betrayed by her own emotions once she realizes that she’s crying, expressing her vulnerability towards you. the curly-haired girl began to stammer out some words, attempting to defend herself but you kissed her temple and pulled her in for a hug. going off on instinct, she buried her head into your neck, harboring her labored breaths as she tightened her grip on you as if she was too scared to let go and lose you all over again.

“never again…never again…” clarisse mutters, repeating it like a mantra. “i don’t wanna lose you ever again…”

catching on to her rapid muttering, you cupped her face, steadying to your face level.

“i won’t leave you again, i promise babe,” you reassure her. your eyes connect easily, gazing into her glossy eyes.

clarisse looks up at you, a swirl of emotions flowing across her eyes. you pout at your girlfriend, reaching out a hand to gently touch her face, watching her melt by the simple touch.

her glistening eyes made you swoon at her gentleness and vulnerability, “you promise?” her voice was low, similar to a whimper of pain.

my baby, here on earth

showed me what my heart was worth

“i promise,” you clarify, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “do you wanna stay here for a while, with just me?”

hiding her face back into your shirt, she nodded against the fabric, tightening her grip on you whenever you slightly shuffled in her embrace. your touch was required for her peace, and clarisse made sure that you weren’t escaping from her grasp. too much time was wasted, and clarisse needed to make up for lost time.

at times, clarisse felt extremely weak, exhausted, and defenseless which according to her father, any sign of vulnerability is also perceived as useless in his eyes. ares engraved that motto within his daughter, and you hated that it stuck with her that much! wanting to please her dad, her personality changed over time, and the lingering thought of displaying an ounce of vulnerability vanished. no surprise that you rekindled that thought during your relationship when she started opening up to you.

every time clarisse received surprise visits from her dad, you were always there, listening about him degrading her great abilities because of her gender. all those nights of her crying on your shoulder, wondering why she couldn’t be good enough for her father. from that moment, your hatred for your girlfriend’s father fueled with each passing day.

you taught her that being vulnerable wasn’t weak and that it was actually strong. to be honest, clarisse was skeptical because her girlfriend said the opposite of what she learned from her father. eventually, she got used to the idea, accepting only being vulnerable around you. that was good enough for her so it was good enough for you.

so, when it comes to be my turn

could you shine it down here for her?

clarisse laid on top of you, her head snuggled softly against your breasts with her arms around your waist. one of your hands held onto her head, scratching on her head softly as the other drew imaginary stars on her lower back.

“my beautiful beautiful, brave girl…” you cooed as you heard tiny sniffles from her, “you certainly are worth loving and you’re my entire world.

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

“am i?” her lower lip trembles as she innocently stares up at you.

“you are my entire world,” you gently kiss her forehead as she places her head down onto your chest.

“you’re my whole world too,” she murmurs against your chest, either it was her sweet tone or that you were naturally ticklish which made you laugh wholeheartedly. clarisse’s face lights up, feeling the rumble from your chest as a smile erupts on her lips.

“nothing in the world belongs to me...” you sing softly into her ears, massaging her head, soothing her into a peaceful sleep alongside your peaceful embrace. “but my love mine, all mine...”

you lullabied her to sleep with your gentle singing, finally feeling at ease when you heard the light snores, smiling fondly at her. gods, clarisse was adorable. too adorable to disrupt her out of her sleep, resting comfortably on you, partially skin-to-skin.

“good night, my love.” you kissed her forehead, glimpsing at her small smile from the loving touch. turning off the lamp before refocusing onto clarisse, wrapping your arms around her waist and her head gently nuzzling into your neck, requiring very much close contact. soon enough, you drifted into sleep just as your beloved girlfriend did a few minutes ago, both content in each other’s arms, wishing to remain like that forever.

nothing in the world is mine for free

but my love mine, all mine, all mine…

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#𓏲 📂 ⋮ 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 .ᐟ #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x black!reader #clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue angsty/fluffy #clarisse la rue drabble #clarisse la rue series #daughter of nyx

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kashimos-hajime · 1 year

Text

—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

summary: he hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when al-haitham dreamed for the first time after the akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

WARNINGS: archon quest akasha pulses, the kalpa flame rises spoilers! soulmate au if you squint, swearing, mentions of violence, death, injury, minor self-loathing, plot AND lore heavy, angst, fluff, not poly, happy ending! pairing: al-haitham x fem!reader, minor kaveh x fem!reader word count: 18.1k grind

a/n: written for the lovely @zhongrin and her elemental supercharge collab! it was super fun to work on and really inspired me to love writing again because it was just a breath of fresh air. my entry: dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost

here are some important notes for this fic to help with understanding it:

tsaritsa is the former goddess of love. the goddess of flowers was a seelie. king deshret reborn was al-haitham. possibly ooc al-haitham (he’s also deaf!) i made shit up about teleport waypoints and about pretty much all the lore surrounding the three god-kings besides what i glimpsed through some books/theories/etc. i was just like fuck it we ball.

inspo songs: who is she? - i monster, about you - the 1975, awake from a nightmare - hoyo-mix (i recommend you listen to this one especially during kaveh - chat: craftsmanship)

now on ao3 x

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata - About the Goddess of Flowers

In the place where Padisarahs bloom, two gods speak in the absence of their third. The Lord of Flowers picks these Padisarahs and the Greater Lord watches, entranced in the velvet purple petals that gleam in the sun.

The latter says: “You know the price to be paid if he searches for that divine nail.”

The other says: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pretend to be a fool. You and I both know that—”

“Rukkhadevata.”

The Dendro Archon is silenced.

At last, the scorned one speaks. She has lost her people, her home. She refuses to die until Celestia is buried beneath her bloodied hands. “There is nothing to be done. Do you think Deshret’s mind sways so easily? He is set on finding the answers he seeks, and I am set on aiding in his endeavours.”

“But you… why? You understand what the Heavenly Principles are capable of, and you still put yourself in their line of fire. Again. Why?”

“Because Deshret asked.”

“I don’t think you understand what he is asking you to do.”

“No? Then, you have no idea of what I am, Rukkhadevata, and you are the one who won’t ever understand.”

Deshret - About the Divine Nail

The sandstorm is brutal, tearing at their clothes, their skin, blinding their eyes and clogging their throats. It had picked up so suddenly, there’d barely been enough time for Deshret to shield her from the first impact before realizing that the storm chaotically revolves around them. Around him. Uncontrollable winds swiping through the eye of a hurricane do not with hold their strength from the Goddess of Flowers, but Deshret, the powerful God-King remains untouched.

He pulls her in closer to his side. The Goddess of Flowers can barely see straight by the time the divine nail rises to its full height, her withered body barely able to withstand the powerful galeforces that pull at her every which way.

The divine nail is beautiful, glowing blue, refracting gold, and she can only smile as Deshret beside her raises a hand. He, too, glows, but he glows like the sun, like divinity.

“You’ve done it,” she congratulates through her weeping. The sand burns into her corneas, brands her lungs, but nothing touches her heart, and that is how she knows the reason it is shrivelling in her chest is because she is dying. The god beside her, the one holding her hand, turns, and she can’t help her laugh. “I told you once, though, that you would lose much in this exchange.”

“What?” His hand springs off her wrist, but her body is already disintegrating. It feels like it did when her kind was casted from their old home; her body thinned into a husk of what it used to be. Back then, she had prioritzed saving her mind over every inch of her beauty, yet now… now she doesn’t have the strength to save anything.

Deshret cannot protect the Goddess of Flowers from a trade conducted by those who rule above gods. “No… no, what is happening? You’re…”

“I hope,” she cuts off cleanly, “that one day, I can love you without any selfish desire. I hope… in another life, another samsara as Rukkhadevata would so fondly call it, I will love you more than you ever loved me.” His eyes widen, and a trembling hand reaches for her face. The Goddess of Flowers smiles. Tilts her head into his palm, and laughs again through the tears that evaporate off her cheeks as soon as they spring off her eyelashes.

He is incinerating to touch—a conduit of swirling sand, an incarnation of the sun. How ironic it is that the hand that once saved her from the sands will be the hand that seals her fate amongst the dunes.

Stepping closer, her flesh burns away when she cradles his face. He is shining so brightly. A brilliant morning star, a genius with a hungry mind, a gluttonous scholar. The God-King of the Desert.

Yet, Deshret does not seem like the god everyone makes him about to be.

Before the Goddess of Flowers, Deshret is nothing more than a man, crying and holding onto her with all his might.

A soft part of her melts at his expression.

“In all honesty,” she whispers, soft and choked, “I aided you because, in your ambitious vision of the future, I saw the possibility that you could free all of us from the shackles that chain us to the Heavenly Principles. In the end, it was my own selfish nature that led us here, and it is my own doing that marked your path to be one that you will have to walk alone.”

Deshret takes hold of her face, eyes searching, but the goddess withdraws her hands to settle her fingers on his wrists lightly.

“It was not your fault, Deshret.”

“No!” She pulls his wrists away, but he curls his hands into fists, fighting to free himself from her grip. For once, it is impossible, and he lets out a desperate growl, tears glinting upon his cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Don’t… don’t go.”

“Deshret—“

“Stay. Just a little while longer. I will take that divine nail and hammer it into this world, and build you an eternal oasis where I will bring you back to life with the knowledge that spills from its organs.” Lunging forward, his hands find themselves on the sides of her neck, thumbs stretching to trace the lines of her jaw. “I will not lose you. I cannot lose you!”

The ragged storm enflames, the winds grow deafening, loud enough to resemble a constant thunder that echoes in the hollowness of her chest.

“Don’t worry about that sort of thing, Deshret.”

Her voice is very weak now. When she swallows, sand shreds her insides and her eyes burn from the strength it’s taking to avoid coughing up iron.

“We will meet again,” she continues. “If Rukkhadevata has a hand in anything, it is the wisdom that pools around all of us, and the knowledge that there will not be an era where we are separated.”

“No, no, don’t go!”

But it falls futilely on deaf ears. The Goddess of Flowers lets go, and steps backward, her knees shaking, her frame swaying from the winds she can no longer fight.

As soon as her heel tucks into the edge of the unrelenting galeforce, she is ripped away, and the Goddess of Flowers disappears.

Tighnari - Something to Share: Akademiya Days

If one asked Tighnari what he thought of the Artificer of the Akademiya, he would return that inquiry with one of his own:

“Do you mean my thoughts on the Artificer alone, or about her relationship with the Scribe of the Akademiya?”

The truth of the matter is, the Scribe and the Artificer’s history go past colleagues at the Akademiya, past scholars searching for a thesis, for once upon a time, they were students, too.

Paimon isn’t aware of this: “Er… I don’t know. Did they know one another?”

“Al-Haitham wields his practicality like a spear. Nothing could quite faze him or outwit him. Nothing could unsettle him, except for the Artificer. She was a student in his year, but she was a scholar of the Kshahrewar Darshan. They were quite the reliable pair of scholars.” A soft hum.

“Really? Al-Haitham doesn’t seem like the partner type.”

“He isn’t. I suppose exceptions could be made when it came to her. I met Al-Haitham through the Artificer, actually, when they were working on some sort of prototype translation device for foreigners and she had asked if Sumeru’s scientific names for plants from other nations were derived from their original language.” Tighnari’s ears twitch. “I didn’t know her well back then, but from my brief meetings with her, she was very lively and happy. She didn’t care about the Sages and the politics surrounding the Six Darshans. All she wanted was to study. I think her thesis was to find a way to repair the Teleport Waypoints around Sumeru. It made quite the wave back in our day.”

“The Teleport Waypoints?” Paimon says. “Paimon noticed that they’re guarded by the Corps Of Thirty in Sumeru when in other nations they’re pretty much abandoned.”

“Her hypothesis that they’d been placed by some higher power than the Archons is a banned reference material and only the highest level of scholars are aware of the theory,” Tighnari says, and there’s a far off look in his eyes. “The Corps of Thirty supposedly defend these sites for a historical scholar for the day she comes home, but to be honest,” he adds quieter, “I think they were ordered to defend the Waypoints from the Artificer should she ever return.”

Technological advancement in Sumeru had progressed far enough that prototype cochlear implants are, though not a norm, a potential alternative than going through life unaware. The alternative is only made available by the resources of the Akademiya and Al-Haitham’s enrolment there since it’s where he can maintain upkeep with the help of Kshahrewar students who were overseeing this new piece of headgear.

You are the student assigned ot make sure his top of the line technological headwear didn’t go awry. You spend a lot of time with him, which means, against all odds, the bright, voracious, and laughing sun of the Kshahrewar Darshan has become Al-Haitham’s friend.

He had avoided it at first. Honestly. In the three years they’ve been together as mechanic and project, it took almost a year for Al-Haitham to consider even looking forward to seeing you every Thursday afternoon where you’d fiddle with his settings and write down notes on his condition.

And, yet, when he conceded to the fact that you were a staple to him—a constant in the ever-changing nature of the Akademiya’s cutthroat landscape where scholars dropped at the tip of a hat—he found that he learned more about you in the first month he gave in than he did in the last twelve he resisted.

Each factoid is like a dash in his head: your thesis is to be about the possibility of repairing the shattered Teleport Waypoints scattered across the nation, and how you’d go about doing it. Your work with Al-Haitham is just a way to investigate how the Akasha terminal and said Teleport Waypoints could work in tandem. Your life goal is for the latter to work on its own some day like it did in ages past and ease travel for those who could not afford to.

“It’s an altruistic thing to do.”

“I’m from Snezhnaya, but I moved here when I was younger.” You’re sitting across from him at the library as you tinker with a device similar to the one on his ears. “I used to go back every summer, but now that I’m at the Akademiya, I haven’t returned because I don’t have time, so the Teleport Waypoints would help with seeing my family more often, too. I’m not all good.”

He doesn’t look up from his book, although above the top of it, he can see your fingers deftly trying to rearrange wires. “Family?”

“Mhm. My father is a researcher here. My mother stayed back home. I grew up in a small hamlet, you know.”

He smiles faintly, flipping a page. “Yes, I know. It’s one of the first things you told me.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t think you’d remember,” you say, and he finally looks up from the pages to find you staring. You don’t look away, and instead, your smile grows as you tilt your head. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that before, Al-Haitham?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers. That’s another thing about you. You always say his name when you speak to him, as if to make sure that he understands you are directing such things to him.

That, and just the way you say his name. Every syllable purposeful, in that voice of yours that edges on melodic. You still have a Snezhnayan accent when you say certain words, including ones of Sumeran origin.

“Well, you do. They’re so beautiful.” Your smile makes your eyes crinkle as you return to your project, and Al-Haitham clears his throat, fighting the red that’s burning his ears. Scratching his jaw, he shakes his head minutely and instead tries to think of anything else.

You like oranges, but have a secret soft spot for peaches. You like reading romance, and you love art. Your father is a member of the Spantamad Darshan, and during his thesis, he travelled back to his homeland and fostered a family, which includes his eldest daughter, you.

The same you he can’t stop thinking of now that he’s stuck on it.

Later, when they begin to pack up their things from the library, in between him slipping a book into his bag and you sliding each tool back into its spot in your case, he asks if you’d like to have dinner with him at Lambad’s Tavern.

“Alright, but I’ll have to drop this off at my work room before I do. I don’t want to damage it,” you answer, tilting your head to your project wrapped in cloth which you’ve carefully nestled into a box.

“That sounds fine. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the tree, then?” he asks and you smile fondly at him, the box in your arms and your bag slung across your shoulder.

“Give me a minute or two,” you say. “I won’t be long.”

Al-Haitham bids you farewell at the entrance to the House of Daena, and you walk off with a bright smile, your figure outlined in a melting sunset gold. There’s not a lot of people outside—most have found shelter in Akademiya buildings or they’re out in the city, trying to maintain a social life as well as a scholar can.

“(Name)!” someone shouts, and Al-Haitham, who’d been walking down the ramp, looks up to see a tall, slim figure bolt past him. Blond hair flashes in the burning orange of dusk as a man runs past, and Al-Haitham twists around to avoid being hit by him as a foul word springs to his tongue.

But then, he realizes what the man had yelled and who the man even is the longer he stares at his retreating back, and Al-Haitham shakes his head.

You won’t be happy with him if he gets into an argument with your childhood best friend of all people.

Kaveh is easy-going, passionate, and empathetic. It is… to say the least, everything Al-Haitham is not. He’s met him once or twice out of pure coincidence, and he’s seen the blond around you more often than not. A part of him dislikes his nature. His whimsical, idealistic view of their future does not fall into line with how Al-Haitham sees it, and borders on idiotic considering that a romantic vision is not feasible in a nation where knowledge seeks to rationalize every existing thing.

The more logical half of him knows that you share all the same traits as Kaveh, and that the real reason behind his disdain is because Kaveh clearly has romantic feelings for you, and you return them.

It isn’t difficult to decipher the nature of your relationship with your “childhood best friend.”

How else would you describe the way his hand wraps around your elbow when other people want your attention and how when he leans to whisper something in your ear, you never fail to laugh and swat at him, your own arm looped through his.

He thinks that sick, logical side of him would pay to see you stumble through your words as you try to explain your relationship with your friend, but he can’t bare to do it. It feels cruel when all you’ve been is patient and kind with him.

“You seem distracted, Al-Haitham,” you intone with concern. You cradle tea in your hands, and cock your head at him, a thoughtful frown playing at your lips. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking, Al-Haitham finds you looking at him with those wonderful and warm eyes, and that logical side of him vanishes—a rat scurrying from the sunlight and back into the dark.

“No. No, I was merely thinking of something,” he dismisses, poking at the food he’s barely touched. The tavern is loud—almost too loud. His head aches with the amount of thoughts that swirl around, clattering in cacophony. It’d been stupid to suggest this place when he’s so tired from studying. Archons, he wants it to stop now. To get up and run, to curl up with a book and a warm fire, to tell them to stop, everyone, please, for the love of the Dendro Archon, shut the fuck up—

You laugh, and set down your cup of tea, reaching over to grab his wrist and squeeze gently, and his world goes quiet. It zeroes in on you, and the softness of your palm betrays the calluses on your fingers, a strange juxtaposition against his wrist.

“I know it’s hard,” you utter teasingly, “but I want you to stop thinking tonight. Nothing about studies, or labs, or anything about any kind of dictionary.” He smiles at that as you stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. “Just you and me, and this food.”

“Duly noted,” he mutters, and you smile again, returning to your own supper. But he cannot. His eyes do not stray, and his shoulders sink into his body, invisible weight sloughing off his skeletal frame.

All Al-Haitham does is watch you eat, rice slipping between two perfect lips, lips he knows, lips he could draw, and he’s not even close to resembling an artist. A mouth he can paint without seeing the reference, eyes closed, asleep, unconscious. A mouth he has dreamed of before, and he wonders just how he can tell you that, now, the reason he can’t stop thinking is because he’s thinking about you.

Collei - About Technology: Lockboxes

“What do you wanna know?” Collie asks brightly. “Oh, this is the Artificer’s seal! How do you have this?”

“We found it in the Balladeer’s chambers. It was addressed to Al-Haitham but we can’t seem to open it.”

“That’s probably because you need his permission to open it. Most of her work is password protected, so I guess that means including this. Top secret stuff. Master Tighnari received a few cases back before I knew him, though they’re still in his quarters.” She sighs. “Apparently, all her work is more valuable than a lot of the stuff the Sages hold, according to Master Tighnari, because she went missing and there is no way to replicate it.”

“I thought Tighnari didn’t know her well,” the Traveler mutters to themself quietly, before asking, louder, “Missing?”

“I don’t know much about what happened, but she went missing five years ago after an expedition went wrong. Apparently, a huge snowstorm overtook the desert and she was swallowed up by the sand. The rest of her team came out fine, but her and some other Spantamad scholar just… died in that snow. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen! So much snow it almost completely covered the sand dunes.”

“That’s strange,” intones Paimon. “It’s so hot and dry here, wouldn’t the snow just melt?”

“It seemed like a freak incident,” Collei agrees, “but the Sages were scrambling to figure out why. The Akademiya was in a flurry that whole season before it died down.” Her eyes fall to the box the Traveler holds again. It has a flat surface, with no keyhole, yet it’s sealed shut, and Collei hums. “Maybe, they’re just blueprints and stuff to keep safe. That’s what Master Tighnari has in his boxes. Or, maybe it’s a secret treasure!”

“It could be,” the Traveler answers. “But I haven’t been able to find Al-Haitham.”

“He’ll show up,” Collie assures confidently. “He always does.”

As a member of the Haravatat Darshan, Al-Haitham is capable of speaking nearly every living language in Teyvat and a handful of dead ones. It’s required for him to graduate alongside a well-founded dissertation. He wrote his own on the developing dialects of sign language across the regions, which he recited in front of his professor entirely in sign language.

A bit much, but Al-Haitham is nothing if not thorough.

He already has a reputation in his Darshan to be no nonsense, borderline rude, and a lone wolf, but brilliant, and the future of the Akademiya. A prodigy with no morality of the common sort, Al-Haitham walks the Akademiya grounds knowing that there are few who can shatter the earth beneath his feet.

If the Sages are right, the current Scribe should be stepping down soon, and he could take that position easily. All access to so many projects would be granted, and he wouldn’t be short on resources for things he’d like to study. It’d also grant him more time to pursue his own endeavours. The desert is sorely understudied, but the rumours of a Divine Knowledge Capsule floating around the black markets, too, piques his interest.

Al-Haitham is a scholar without equal.

“Al-Haitham, there you are.”

Yet… in front of you, he’s nothing more than an awkward boy who doesn’t know what to say.

In the years since they’ve been mere fresh-faced students, you’ve graduated, too. Now, you work as a Dastur, leading expeditions with your father. Al-Haitham’s met him multiple times, but he’s been returning to Snezhnaya recently according to you. You’ve even overtaken some of his smaller projects.

“That’s not any of your responsibility,” he had pointed out in quiet Snezhnayan when he had come across you returning late to the city from an expedition to Avidiya Forest. Mud had ruined your shoes, and you looked up at him, moving to dump your bag on the ground. He had caught it before it could crash to the ground. Your eyes glinted, pleased, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

When his arms wrapped around your waist, you had seemed to melt into his body. Your fingers found purchase in his hair, and your nose dug into his neck as you sighed.

“Well, it’s my father,” you murmur in your mother tongue, strangely beautiful against his skin. It was one of the first languages he challenged himself to learn. You are much more subdued when you speak in the dialect of your homeland, yet no less beautiful. An everlasting snowflake in the middle of a rainforest. “He is most important to me, and I must do what he asks.”

He walked you home that night without you even asking.

Your smile is impossible to refuse, your laughter one of the few sounds that can bring him to a sane state of mind. A scholar without equal means a mind that never sleeps, and when Al-Haitham has enough of it all, he seeks solace in your mouth and your hands; your fingers carding through his hair, your lips whispering against his ear.

A solace, no doubt, Kaveh receives nightly considering you two live together now on the stipend the Akademiya provides. Al-Haitham’s thoughts have driven him to stay up late on his most exhausted days, wondering what you did when you parted from the dinners they’ve scarcely scheduled and you returned back to that small house you shared with your childhood best friend.

What do you and Kaveh even do every night anyway? Dinner, and conversations over what? The arts and poetics that Kaveh constantly waxes, whether or not you’re around?

You plant yourself in front of him to stop in his tracks, and Al-Haitham’s eyes dart from your face to your neck against his will.

Clear. It’s always clear.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.

“Have you?” Flippant. A bag hangs off your shoulders, and a shorter cut of the uniform drapes off your frame. Against his will, his heart sinks. “You look like you’re packed for another expedition.”

“Mhm. I’m going out into the desert for a month, maybe two. There’s a Teleport Waypoint near the Mausoleum of King Deshret that’s been displaying some abnormal levels of energy, so it might be a breakthrough depending on the cause.”

“You think there’s a Ley Line disorder?”

“Or maybe King Deshret’s risen again,” you comment blithely. Al-Haitham’s eyebrows shoot up at your boldness of stating such a blasphemous thing in the centre of Sumeru City, but you don’t seem bothered. “There have always been stranger things. Either way, I want to check it out.”

“I suppose so. Will Kaveh be accompanying you this time?”

“Kaveh? No. No, an architect and an artist has no place in the desert when he could be here.” You avert your gaze and you fight the stuttering in your voice. Al-Haitham bites his tongue. “Scholars from the Spantamad Darshan will be, though, considering the Ley Line aspect of the situation. It’ll be nice to spend time with my father again. He returned just recently, did you know?”

“I was made aware,” he says. He saw your father early yesterday morning, and they’d exchanged words, but you don’t need to know that Al-Haitham speaks to your father on a semi-regular basis. “Well, then, I hope your exploration is fruitful.”

“Of course it will be. It’s me leading the expedition,” you tease, winking, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. Your smile softens into a fonder, more genuine one, and you take hold of his hand. In Snezhnayan, you utter: “I wanted to see you before I left.”

“I’m happy that you made that effort to,” he murmurs in the same, inclining his head. You squeeze his fingers, before letting go, and Al-Haitham’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth. It’s still smiling, still warm, still those same lips that have haunted his dreams. He lets out a silent sigh and raises a hand to rest atop your head. In Sumeran again, he says, “I will await your return then, Artificer.”

“What a silly title.” A displeased expression overtakes your face but nonetheless, you clutch his bicep and duck from his hand and begin to make your way past him, trailing your fingers down his forearm. He turns to prolong the contact, his fingers tracing your veins. “Now, I don’t want to go, knowing you’re waiting for me to come back.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warns. They are at each other’s fingers, and he curls his digits, locking you in place for only a moment. “I might not be here when you come back.”

“Please,” you snort, but your expression betrays how happy and excited you are. “See you later, Al-Haitham.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” he agrees, and you giggle, waving one last time before turning around fully and running off to wherever you’re needed. Al-Haitham’s smile doesn’t fade as he watches you go. His heart warms whenever he’s near you, and now that you’ll be disappearing for a few months, he’s determined to keep that fire inside him burning low and bright.

He loves you. He knows that very well by now. Loves you without rival, without equal. Very few things can even think to challenge the spot you have in his life, although he is sure he does not have some sort of equivalent seat in your halls of life.

Why would he sit there when you have so many more acquaintances? Better-tempered ones, kinder ones, ones that aren’t ruled by selfish ambition, who actually have the initiative to tell you how they feel because they are not bogged down by the arguably controversial opinion that love is nothing more than an obstacle.

“Al-Haitham, the Grand Sage Azar wishes to speak with you,” an attendant says, and Al-Haitham is forced to look away from you. The scholar frowns at the request, but nonetheless, he follows the man to the House of Daena.

When he returns home from his meeting with the Grand Sage, Al-Haitham wants nothing more than to rip his brain out, strip it clean of memories. For the first time in his life, he curses knowledge, and the consequences it has inflicted on him

But a box sits waiting for him, a note attached to the top of it. By the intricate lock system on the front baring no keyhole, but a scanner that illuminates when Al-Haitham’s finger brushes against the box, he knows who it’s from.

Cyno - About Cold Cases

“The Artificer?” Cyno asks in the dying minutes of the feast in his honour. Crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrows. “Why do you want to know about her?”

“We heard there’s a lot of mystery surrounding her, but if she’s such an important figure in the Akademiya, why didn’t she ever come back?”

“So you know she’s missing.” Cyno sighs. “I’m not sure if this is information I’m legally allowed to reveal to you as an outsider, but it’s you so I suppose I could make an exception. Her belongings were seized and her quarters were raided after her disappearance five years ago. The Eremites posted around the Teleport Waypoints are to assure that she doesn’t come to tamper with them.”

“Why? Is she a criminal?”

“No. The Sages put a stop to all of her research after it became clear she was extremely close to unlocking the full potential of the Teleport Waypoints. Whether or not it was fear that she would use that knowledge and surpass them is unclear, however she was well-liked by the public. Much of her work during her time was contribution to the public. Improving different aspects of our nation.”

“So, why… do you think the Sages had a hand in her disappearance?” the Traveler asks.

“I had my suspicions during the investigation which were only further supported once I was made the General Mahamatra and granted the ability to investigate past open cases.”

“As the General Mahamatra, you would probably know more about the circumstances surrounding the situation,” mutters Paimon. Cyno’s lips twist into a dismayed scowl.

“It was only the beginning of Azar’s need to retain power in Sumeru.” A resigned exhale. He glances around, but the place the Traveler has led him to is secluded and quiet. “I suggest you never reveal that you are searching for the Artificer to Al-Haitham. Talking about her is… a touchy subject.”

“The reason we wanted to find her is because of this box we found addressed to him.”

“A box?”

“Yeah! It must be something she hid from the matra before she disappeared.” Paimon flies around to the Traveler’s shoulder. “We wanted to ask Al-Haitham to open the box, but he’s been distracted by something else recently.”

Cyno hums, lips twisting into a frown. “From what I remember, the conclusion drawn from the investigation was that a freak snowstorm had caused her and another scholar to go missing. It went on for a month or two past their initial end date, so their resources eventually dried out, especially with being unprepared for that sort of weather. However…”

“What is it?” the Traveler asks.

“Well, why was she and a Spantamad scholar the only ones who went missing? The other members of the expedition emerged from the snowstorm cold but relatively unharmed at Caravan Ribat. Furthermore, there was a great shift in the area surrounding the Teleport Waypoint in front of the Mausoleum of King Deshret, suggesting that the Teleport Waypoint had somehow been used. I’m not quite sure of the efficacy of which it operated, but considering that there was no trace left behind, it’s possible that the snowstorm covered up the Teleport Waypoint tapping into the Ley Lines, and transporting the two scholars into some other place to escape.”

“So, in the end, she was successful in what she was trying to do,” the Traveler muses. “The Teleport Waypoints aren’t effective everywhere in Teyvat, though.”

The General Mahamatra shakes his head. “No, not to my knowledge.”

“Thanks, Cyno. This was a really big help,” the Traveler says, turning. Paimon flies in front of them, her hand scratching at her head. “I should leave you to your celebration. Sorry to bog it down with work.”

“Wait, Traveler. There’s one other thing that you should know. The investigation was preceded by an assignment issued by the Grand Sage to none other than Al-Haitham.”

Outside the Mausoleum of King Deshret, an expedition bustles around their camp. Scholars measure the Teleport Waypoint, use devices to take the temperature, and scribble down every observation in a small radius to ensure that the conditions are ideal.

You’ve retreated to your tent. The heat’s getting to you, and you feel exhausted as you set down your tool on your work bench, finger running down another manuscript to make sure everything is perfect.

Snezhnayan catches your ear and you turn around to see your father approaching, the tent flap closing behind him.

“You think it’ll work this time?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” you answer, lifting the core you’d been inspecting. They’ll insert this into the base of the Teleport Waypoint in a few days time once the Spantamad scholars are able to locate the source of destabilization in the Ley Lines.

Archons willing, the core will be able to detect the Ley Lines running beneath the structure and channel energy back up into the Waypoint, and they’ll be able to go home in a blink of an eye.

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not this groundbreaking technology you’ve crafted with your own hands.

It is the higher purpose that fuels you to study. Not just for the sake of knowledge, or to find something new, something exciting.

“It’s our last chance. If we fail, the Doctor will have his way with me. I haven’t been useful enough, and he has no patience for people who waste his time. Little Star, I refuse to go back to Snezhnaya alive.”

The Fatui Harbingers. The fingers in your bones feel brittle after toiling for years and years for them to the point where you’re not sure that these hands are your own anymore. Maybe they belong to some unseen mind you don’t even know, but fear all the same.

All your work has only ever been for the Doctor, but maybe… maybe this way you and your dad can somehow find your mother and your siblings, find a secluded corner of this continent and hide from the Doctor for the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” your father murmurs, and you lower the core back into its box. Closing it, it lets out a little beep, and you drum your fingers against the top of the lid, sighing. “Little Star.”

“It’ll be fine,” you whisper, letting out a long breath. It feels like it takes the soul out of you, and you plant your hands against the table, letting your head drop. “We’ll be just fine.”

A hand settles between your shoulders, and you let your father guide you closer towards him. His chest is warm, and when his arms embrace you, it feels like home. Turning into him fully, you wrap your arms around him and press your cheek against his chest, feeling like a small child again.

“You’ve worked so hard for my sake. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“The fact that I’ve managed to save your life, Papa, is reason enough to do anything.” You withdraw, and smile at him. He sighs, eyes scanning your face. “The Doctor will be pleased enough by this progress, right? I… it might not be a permanent solution, but he’ll think it’s enough of a relveation that he won’t kill you?”

“Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t help it!”

He flicks your forehead, and you separate, wincing. Rubbing your brow, you send him a glare.

“That Al-Haitham won’t want you to be so pessimistic.”

“Dad!” Heat flashes over your face, and you whirl around, busying yourself with cleaning up your work bench. Your father laughs, leaning in beside you. “Al-Haitham’s just a friend.”

“I never insinuated anything more than that,” he teases. “But I’m sure you two are closer now than ever.”

“Papa!”

“You ought to stop giving him the wrong impression, if he’s just a friend. Living with Kaveh, playing house,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s going to realize that you and that silly boy are together.”

“We are… not… together.” You could strangle your father. Returning the manuscripts to your own box, you don’t quite close it yet. You’ll still need to do one last check to make sure the winds from the desert haven’t swept anything underneath anything else. “Kaveh and I are just friends. We just like living together.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand then why you don’t pursue Al-Haitham.”

“You don’t have to understand anything,” you complain, exasperated. “Al-Haitham’s not interested in that way with me, Papa. Besides, I don’t have any time to foster a romantic relationship. Save that for when we’re in the clear.”

“Who knows? Maybe he can accompany us.”

“Father!”

“Artificer! The Scribe of the Akademiya has arrived looking for you.”

“The Scribe?” you murmur, frowning. Immediately, all that teasing evaporates like smoke, and your brow furrows. Your father’s expression is identical. “What would Abbas be doing here at his age?”

“Perhaps there’d been urgent news?”

“They would’ve sent a messenger, wouldn’t they? Or even the General Mahamatra if it’d been serious.” You sigh. “It’d be better if you weren’t in here when I receive him. It could be something bad.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “You can send him in.”

Your father departs, and he chats with whoever is outside, but you can’t let yourself eavesdrop. Your anxiety is biting at your frayed nerves. You haven’t slept well in days.

The day that will seal your fate comes closer and closer, and you can’t think of anything else. Your head hurts, and you grab your canteen, taking a sip and hoping it’ll help with the ache.

What will you do if the Teleport Waypoint works? Will you leave the Akademiya entirely? The Doctor might ask you to stay, and further develop and streamline the process for whatever plan the Harbinger is creating, but with this technology, you could run. Leave it all behind.

You absently brush your finger over a stick of charcoal. You’ll have time to think about it, you suppose.

The tent flap opens, and you let out a sigh. “Scribe Abbas, I’m surprised you—“

And whatever words you had, whatever had been autopilot motoring off your tongue, die.

“Al-Haitham?” Surprise shoots through your system. Your heart skips a beat when you see him, and that uncomfortable rhythm pounds against your ribs as he smiles faintly at you. He looks the same. Always the same. “What? What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” he admits, and you can’t help the silly smile that rises to your face. “I would prefer to speak with you in Snezhnayan. I know that your mother tongue goes unused often. I don’t want to get rusty either.”

“Oh.” That heat comes again to your face in a crashing flood. “Of course,” you comply. “But I don’t understand why you came all this way just to speak with me. Couldn’t it wait? I would’ve been back in the Akademiya in a few weeks.” Your mind scrambling for more words to say, your eyebrows knit together. “Wait. Scribe. You’re the Akademiya’s new Scribe?”

He nods. “Yes. I was promoted last week.”

“That’s excellent news!” you exclaim, coming closer and grabbing him by the wrists. His eyebrows rise but you tug him towards your bedroll. Sitting, you tug him down and tuck your knees beneath you. “Tell me everything. Wait, do you need anything? Food, or water?”

He chuckles, letting his bag slide off his shoulder, and you soak him in again. His beautiful eyes, the sweep of his downy grey hair. It has always reminded you of a dove’s soft breast. Fluffy, and attached to a body that can fly anywhere it’d like.

You card your fingers through that crop of hair fondly, pulling it away from his eyes and brushing the longer bits behind his ear.

“No, I don’t need anything more than your time,” he answers, taking your hand and pulling it back down to rest between them. “I was apparently Azar’s first choice to be the new Scribe. Abbas wanted to retire.”

“He is getting old,” you admit. “But I hadn’t realized. You don’t know how happy I am to hear this, you know.”

“I think I know.” His voice makes your eyes widen. You’d never heard it like that before—so unguarded, so softly spoken. Your eyes dart to his and your chest squeezes at the way he stares at you. Had he always looked at you like that, or is that a desert mirage manifesting itself in your tent?

You smile, letting out a scoff. “You have no idea how much I care about you, Al-Haitham.”

“More than Kaveh?” he asks off-handedly, and you blink.

“Well, that’s not fair. Kaveh’s my oldest friend.”

“I think it’s more than fair,” he says. “But, I know I’m no rival of his for your affections, so I won’t pursue you on the topic any further.” Arguments build up in your mouth but he only pushes onward: “Are you making headway with the Waypoint? I saw some of the scholars crowding around it but you’re still in here.”

“The Ley Lines have been stable as of today. I was doing some final additions to a device that would activate the Waypoint, so we are,” you say warily. “The new blueprint I drafted before I left seems to be the most promising.”

His eyes drift over to your work bench before he nods. “I see. May I go look?”

“Yes, of course.” Rising together, you’re shocked when he leads the way, their fingers still entwined. Never before have you tempted physical touch for this long. You’re always aware that he’ll be overstimulated, or uncomfortable, or even just not in the mood to be touched, but you guess he’s amiable today, because he lets you sidle in close next to him—close enough that their arms are pressed together.

A sharp tug at your heart makes you sigh. You hadn’t the time to factor him into your future yet. You’ve thought about Kaveh—what he’d do if you left. You’d tell him, of course, where you’d be going. Why. How. You’d explain everything to the blond with the sincerest apology you can front it with.

After all, Kaveh won’t be able to afford the house they live in on his own stipend if you have to leave, and you can’t just leave your truest companion out in the cold like that.

Kaveh. Your heart aches for him. You love him so much, but it’s never been the way he wanted you to.

Glancing at the man beside you tracing a finger along your drawings, something inside you wilts.

“Al-Haitham… I have a favour to ask you,” you speak suddenly. He’s silent, leaning against the work bench. Their hands are still interlaced in beween them, and you look down at his fingers, long and nimble. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you swallow.

“You know I don’t believe in favours,” he intones, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I know, but this is something I have to ask out of our friendship.”

“Alright.”

You let out a breath. “If something happens to me, you’ll take care of Kaveh, won’t you? Give him a home if he needs one.”

“Why should I care about him?” he mutters apathetically and you smack him. His eyes finally meet yours and you glare at him.

“Al-Haitham.”

“Besides, why would anything happen to you?” he continues. “You’re one of the smartest scholars the Akademiya has right now. If you follow their rules, it’s nearly impossible for them to expel you.”

“Well, I know that’s what the Sages think, but there’s just a lot of things that are unpredictable.”

“Like King Deshret resurrecting?” he asks, and you scowl.

“Why do you always remember the things I say?” you complain. He smirks.

“You were the one speaking blasphemy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter dismissively, and you let go of his hand, moving away, but he grabs your elbow before you can stray far enough. “What?”

“I was teasing. Of course I’d look out for Kaveh. He might not like that very much, though. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but like others, he can barely stand me.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to become his life partner. I just… I care about him deeply. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he acquiesces. “But I won’t do it happily.”

“Oh, shut up. You love to tease him.”

“That is true.”

“Oh, you said you wanted to speak with me, though, Al-Haitham,” you remember. “This can’t be all you wanted to talk about. The promotion’s great and all,” you add hastily as he turns to you fully, frowning, “but a letter would’ve sufficed.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, and you frown. He simply stands there, searches your face for answers you don’t know the questions for, and you’re shocked by the tight pain that screws up his forehead. He smells like the desert and sweat, but you don’t mind it. You’ve grown used to Al-Haitham in all sorts of states—grown used to the space he’s carved into your heart hurting from how swollen it gets in his presence.

You love him so much, too. In the way that he doesn't want you to. The irony is not lost on you, but you don’t know how on earth you’ll survive not seeing him anymore if the homeland keeps you there.

“Al-Haitham,” you whisper as his eyes dip to your mouth and linger there. Your lips tingle, and you swallow, his name trembling the second time it escapes your tongue. “Al-Haitham?”

“Hm?” he hums, gaze finding yours again and you realize that he wanted you to notice him staring. Your mouth runs dry, and he tilts his head, face tender, and sad, if you can trick yourself into believing it. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just… I’m happy to see you. Honestly, I am.”

His eyes are an oasis. “I’m sorry,” he utters softly, and you frown.

Your heart shivers in your throat. “What for?”

You learn only a second later what it is. Soft lips press against your own and your eyes widen in shock as hands cup your jaw, holding you there for a moment longer before pulling away. A horrible blush stains Al-Haitham’s entire face, and he looks away, stepping back with shaking hands.

Your eyes fall to those fingers that had just held you so gently, watch as they roll into quivering fists, and a sharp breath leaves Al-Haitham as your own digits touch your lips.

“What?” It is all you can muster to say.

His ears are bright red as he ducks his head. “That was what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Well, there wasn’t much speaking,” you stammer, and he looks up at your tone.

“I apologize. I don’t… know what came over me, but the truth of it is, I came here because I wanted to confess that I’m in love with you before anything else happened between us that could ruin my chances,” he says slowly, deliberately. He clears his throat. “The kiss was… supposed to be what happened after if I had luck on my side.”

“Luck on your side?” you echo.

“If you loved me back,” he clarifies, “which I’m not sure you do.”

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not that you’re the smartest Kshahrewar student they’ve had in years, or that you’re working for the Fatui against your will.

It is that Al-Haitham, against all odds, against reason and logic—the very values of which he has built himself up on—loves you.

When you told your father you didn’t have the time for romantic relationship, it was not because of that entirely. Your father, after all, had been a scholar who fostered an entirely family on the job, and there are tons of families with members in the Akademiya. It’s hardpress to find someone who doesn’t know of someone in the Akademiya.

It was because you love someone already, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up. And it isn’t Kaveh, as much as you had wished for years and years that it would be. Maybe it would’ve saved them all some heartache.

Oh, but the heart wants what it wants, just as the brain chases what it desires.

“Al-Haitham,” you murmur in a soft breath, “would you kiss me again?”

The Scribe’s—internally, you laugh fondly at the idea that he has that sort of authority—eyes light up, and he approaches you cautiously, his hands flexing and waning.

When his fingers slide along your jaw, this time you’re ready for it. Your eyes slide shut, your hands find the lapels of a chest you wish you were more familiar with, and when a soft mouth presses against your own waiting lips, you take your time to enjoy it.

Kaveh - Chat: Craftsmanship

Kaveh is a slim, tall man with blond hair. The Traveler doesn’t know him well, but they find him just as he’s about to enter his house whilst they’re looking for Al-Haitham, and he is polite enough to invite them in for tea when they accost him.

“Woah, we’ve never been in Al-Haitham’s house before!”

“I assumed not. We don’t have many guests over,” Kaveh says to Paimon. “Most of the interior decoration was by me.”

“I heard you were an architect.”

“Yes, I still am. The Palace of Alcazarzaray; have you ever seen my magnum opus?” At the Traveler’s nod, he smiles wryly. “I actually just returned from a project in the desert, and coming back to this whole mess in the Akademiya has been disorienting.” He places a tray of tea on the table and sinks down onto his seat. “What did you want to speak to me about?” The Traveler explains briefly, and his eyebrows rise as he raises the mug of tea to his mouth. “You know of the snowstorm? Cyno told you. I see.”

“I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject.”

“It’s not. It just reminds me of someone.”

“The Artificer?”

“I… yes. She left Sumeru during that storm years ago.” Kaveh sighs. “We grew up together in the same hamlet. Childhood best friends.”

“Wow! Paimon didn’t know that.”

“You said you were looking for my esteemed roommate,” he prompts dryly.

“Well, if you know the Artificer well,” the Traveler says, “could you tell us where we could find her, too?”

“What makes you think I would know?”

“You said ‘left Sumeru’ instead of ‘missing.’”

Kaveh looks away, the light in his eyes dimming. “You’re as perceptive as Al-Haitham said you were.” He doesn’t speak for a moment, simply choosing to stare into his tea.

“Of course I know where she is,” he utters at length. “I loved her with all I ever had. I warranted more than her leaving without a goodbye.” It’s said in a tone that does not offer an opportunity for further dialogue down this route. “Traveler, what do you want?”

“We just want to return this box to Al-Haitham,” Paimon answers as the Traveler procures it. “It was sealed within the Balladeer’s construction chamber, but it looks super important. And a part of Paimon is wondering how it even got there in the first place if she’s gone supposedly missing all these years. If it belongs to her, maybe she could help us. We heard she was studying the Teleport Waypoints and that they’re some sort of… out-of-realm kind of technology? Paimon’s still a bit fuzzy on the details…”

But Kaveh had stopped listening roughly two sentences ago. His gaze fixes on the box in the Traveler’s lap. “It’s hers, you’re sure? You… have her seal?” With an assenting nod, he takes the box gingerly, running his hand over the craftsmanship reverently, and the Traveler averts their gaze in respect. Kaveh’s fingers trace the edge, and he sighs softly, rubbing his temple with the same hand. “She isn’t missing. She returned home to Snezhnaya,” Kaveh answers at length after a hard internal fight, letting his hand drop. The Traveler can see it in the way this great architect clutches onto the box until his knuckles pale, and his breath comes shaking. “There, she worked under who I believe is the Fatui Harbinger, Dottore.”

“The Doctor?” Paimon whispers, horrified. “She was a Fatuus?”

“No, she wouldn’t. Despite those horrid people giving the rest of Snezhnaya a bad name, she was the best person I knew.” Kaveh’s voice softens wistfully. “Her mind far surpassed many of those who call themselves scholars now, but I don’t think any of us realized that she was being blackmailed by the Fatui behind the scenes.”

“That’s awful…” the Traveler murmurs, fists clenched tight in their lap. Kaveh sets the box down tenderly, and he raises his eyes warily to the blonde before him. “So she’s dead? Did the Fatui kill her?”

“No. No, they wouldn’t kill an asset.” At this, the colour drains from Kaveh’s face. “From what I understand… she gave her body to the Doctor’s definition of science in exchange for her father’s life. I only saw her twice since the snowstorm. Once, when she returned to Sumeru City after she departed for her homeland, and once again two years ago, and she was more machine than human.” Guilt, and a heavy tinge of regret seeping into his voice and face. “In other words, I have no idea if she’s still alive.”

“How is that possible? That she could survive all that human testing and not go mad,” the Traveler murmurs, setting down their mug. Their stomach turns over at the scenarios running through their head. “Thank you, Kaveh. Maybe I should leave the box with you, considering Al-Haitham will return, one way or another.”

“I’ll look after it,” he promises. Together, the two rise, and Paimon flies towards the box, inspecting it one last time as if it’ll hold clues they’ve missed.

The Traveler sighs, and picks up their backpack. “We’ll be off, then. Al-Haitham still has questions we need answered.”

“Questions about…?”

“Well, Cyno told us of an assignment that Al-Haitham was given that sent him into the desert according to his report afterwards, but never about what exactly happened,” Paimon informs. Kaveh stiffens, his jaw clenching and a terrible scowl crosses his face. Flying back to the Traveler, the companion continues, “If Al-Haitham can give us answers about what exactly happened—”

“The Artificer bears a Cryo Vision,” Kaveh interrupts coldly. “And do you know, Traveler, what the Tsartisa used to embody before she was consumed with the vengeance that rules her hand? Her nation?”

The Traveler pauses mid-step, lightning shooting down their leg and freezing them to the ground. The icy anger that overtakes Kaveh’s body, seizes his entire body into a husk of hollow fury plated by brittle wrath, makes the Traveler swallow, arms tensing. The architect has tilted his head away, blond hair curtaining the darkening expression consuming his face. It makes him monstrous, unrecognizable from the amiable man that had been in his spot only seconds before.

For a moment, the Traveler is unsure if they should be the one to speak—to answer a question they’re hesitant to answer. The air cracks but Kaveh saves them from the terrible decision only moments later after a harsh breath, and a soft, bitter laugh. It sits in the Traveler’s throat like sour melon seeds.

“I know Al-Haitham believes that I dislike him because of differences in beliefs, menial things like personality clashes,” he whispers scathingly with an age-old contempt, “but the truth of the matter is, he is the reason my best friend has disappeared, and I won’t ever forgive him for it, no matter how many favours he grants me. I know he doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart—it’s because she asked him, and he thinks this is even close to honouring her.”

“Kaveh…” Paimon floats forward, but the Traveler grabs her hand, holding her back. The floating companion looks back at them, but they shake their head.

“Most people see Al-Haitham as someone who’s callous, coldhearted, and dishonest, but I’ve seen him grieve her more plainly than anyone else. He mourns her even now, carries that guilt like a thousand weights without a single complaint. And it infuriates me,” he grits out softly, fists clenched by his sides. He tilts his head back, and inhales shakily. A sharp amber gaze meets the Traveler’s, and Kaveh lets out a short, horrible laugh. “I’m guilty of actually… caring about him despite what he’s done. It’s why I told him a few days ago that she sent me a note that she’d be leaving Port Ormos by the end of the week.”

The Traveler understands, and without another word, they race out the door.

The day before they’re supposed to complete their first trial on the Teleport Waypoint had been a lazy one—consisting of well-placed naps on your part so you could be prepared for the long day ahead of you tomorrow. Al-Haitham had been your steady companion through it all, letting you show him around camp and describing your work just in case he wants to report back to the Sages.

“They’re not concerned, are they?” you had asked, and he had shook your head. Your father also wanted to speak to Al-Haitham, and you had surrendered your partner for anyone else looking for your attention. Penultimate observations of variables were taken. Meals, prayers, and stories were exchanged.

Al-Haitham kissed his name into your neck, your cheek, your lips throughout the day, waking you up from your naps and corralling you to your next one with punctuality only expected of him. You can still feel him even as you bid him farewell that night.

He frowns, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, before taking hold of your jaw and tilting your head towards his lips. It’s a brief kiss, but familiar, and you can’t help but smile into it.

“I’ll see you when I come back?” you murmur against his mouth, and he nods, eyes dark and downcast. He’s not happy about leaving just like you, but there’s something stronger in his stare, the downturn of his mouth that’s occupied him when he thinks you won’t noticed. It feels almost like regret. Pulling back, you take hold of his hand. “Alright, Scribe, lighten up. I’ll be home soon, and we can talk about all of this.” You squeeze his fingers. “I promise.”

“We… we will need to talk,” he insists, and your brow furrows. He brings your hand to his lips with both of his own, and reverently presses a soft kiss to the heel of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

You curl your fingers over his hands and push them down, shaking your head. His somber attitude in the wake of what could be the happiest moment of your life is ruining your mood with a growing bud of worry, but you can’t let him know that. So you paste a smile on your face and simply squeeze him. “Don’t be sorry. Just go.”

His eyes linger, but you only shake your head minutely and he lets out a long exhale, his shoulders falling. That lost little frown still possesses his mouth, and there’s a permanent wrinkle in his brow that must’ve been there for the past few hours.

He woke up before you, and you’d found him outside sitting by the fire on his own. It’d been a strange scene, and he looked lost in his melancholy—book all but forgotten in his lap, his eyes staring sightlessly into the fire. The sun had barely risen, but now you’re starting to wonder if he slept at all if the puffiness of his eye bags and the lethargy that he’s been trying to hide all day is anything to go by.

A part of you is nervous that it’s because he didn’t want to sleep next to you and had to seek refuge, but you rationalize that when you had called his name, he had returned to you without argument and a kiss to your crown.

The troubled gaze still lingers now, even with the dusk approaching. He had said it’s best if he sets off now so he can get back to the Akademiya and make use of the cooler temperatures. He’ll spend most of this week travelling, and you know he’d rather not miss the beginning of another work week. However, you can’t help but let the thought that there’s more than travelling at night in the desert that bothers him.

You wanted this farewell to be sweet and temporary.

Except now, it feels more and more permanent, and the sweetness of it has suffered for it.

“Al-Haitham, don’t go doing anything irrational or stupid or… unthought of in these last few weeks,” you mutter, and his head raises just as you slither your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. His bag nudges against your side, just another reminder that he’s leaving, before he’s pulling back again, and his hands on your back rub up and down. You sigh and kiss him quickly.

His eyes flutter shut, and he presses his forehead against your own before whispering softly, “I’ll do my best.”

With that, he pulls away, and you grab hold of his hand. Together, they walk out of the tent, and you observe the activities occurring around camp. Most of the scholars are talking and bonding around the fire. Your father’s feeding the Sumpter Beasts, but he’s speaking to another Spantamad scholar you think he’s been taking to as a mentor figure. Rafiq, you remember his name as.

Humming thoughtfully, you let go of Al-Haitham’s hand as Rafiq looks over and you smile. He nods to you, and you note his eyes darting over to your companion, but he doesn’t appear to be watching as they approach.

“Father, Rafiq,” you greet politely. “The Scribe will be leaving our encampment, now.”

“Already? You won’t stay another day?” your father complains, and Al-Haitham has at least the decency to look sheepish as Rafiq quickly finds the Sumpter Beast the Scribe had ridden from Caravan Ribat, saddling the animal quickly as he can despite the low groaning protests.

“Unfortunately, the Akademiya calls,” he answers dryly. “The Scribe has no shortage of work.” Your father frowns, and glances at you, but you shrug. “I hope all goes well tomorrow. With luck, I’ll see you by the end of next week.”

“We’ll have to catch up, one-on-one,” your father says, leaning over nefariously and obviously eyeing you. You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Rafiq returns, rope lead in his hand. You take it, giving the Sumpter Beast a quick pat on hard ridge. It lifts its head into your palm in response, and Rafiq crouches down to feed it an apple.

“The Sumpter Beast is ready, Scribe,” Rafiq says, rising, and this time when they meet eyes, your eyebrows twitch together at the way Rafiq gulps and glances at you. He must be intimidated. You smile reassuringly as Al-Haitham clips his pack onto the saddle and takes the lead from you. Fingers brushing, you fight the heat rising to your face and the way your smile grows in pleasure.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, and you tilt your head at him.

“I’ll see you,” you answer. He nods before clasping hands with your father in a firm shake. You can’t help but roll your eyes again but they let go soon enough before Al-Haitham swiftly presses a final kiss to your mouth. You blink, eyes widening, but before you can even question it, he turns to mount the Sumpter Beast with a soft grunt and picking up the reins and flashes you one final (sad) smile.

You return to your tent, your bedroll feeling suspiciously more empty now that he’s gone. Sighing, you tuck yourself in for a sleep as restful as you can make it and wake up too soon by the hands of the last watch who was instructed to as soon as signs of the sun rising were visible.

You get up and prepare yourself, although the apprehensive feeling in you does not do anything but swell. Walking to your work bench, you go to the box containing all your documents and let it scan once you place your palm atop of it, your Akasha terminal connecting to the device within. With a soft beep, it unlocks.

You’d given one similar to this prototype to Al-Haitham before you left. You smile and wonder if he’s opened it yet. It’s a bit different than yours, only requiring a fingerprint and a connection to his Akasha Terminal rather than a full scan, but you muse if that’s what had prompted him to come here after all this time. Maybe he finally realized the depth of his feelings with such a hard-earned gift.

Presently, you open the box and reach inside. Your smile dissipates as soon as you do. Nothing touches your fingertips except for the bottom of the box, and you lift the lid fully. Empty.

Huh. Maybe your father (the only other person with clearance) had already retrieved the needed documents while you slept. You wouldn’t put it past him to give you just a few more moments of rest. Sighing, you instead pick up the second box which contains the core. Strange he didn’t take this with him, but you dismiss the thought.

You’re entirely too protective over the device. Besides, this is your moment of crowning glory.

You leave your tent to a frenzy. The sky is not quite clear—a few clouds spot the sky. Your father’s one of the first awake, too, and he’s running a hand through his hair as he takes the temperature of the air and writes it down. Another Spantamad scholar is measuring Ley Line energy through a device puncturing the ground, their Dendro vision winking in the growing light. Placing the box on one of the tables set up near the Waypoint, you sweep your gaze around the site.

You mainly search for the Kshahrewar scholars. As you walk around to make sure everything is going smoothly and if anyone has any questions on the way, you frown when you realize that none of the scholars from your Darshan are present. Approaching your father, you ask him quickly if he’s seen them.

“They’re awake,” he answers distractedly. “Some of them had gotten breakfast. Perhaps they’re still going over their notes.”

“I suppose,” you say doubtfully. They need the entire day to workshop this as effectively as possible and monitor any fluctuations. The entire operation is running late. It’s the only thought that’s ruling your brain as you glance around.

Still, no one. Perhaps you should check on them in their tents, just to make sure…

Before you can move: “Artificer!”

Turning, you spot a Kshahrewar scholar running towards you. Her brown eyes are wide, and she looks frightened to death as she runs her hands over her braid, tugging a bit hard to be a nervous habit.

“What’s the delay?” you ask irritably. The sun’s burning orange sky stains your corneas even when you close your eyes, and you squint against the rays as Amina skids to a stop before you, her face shining with sweat.

“All our manuscripts, the blueprints for the modifications of the Teleport Waypoint…” she trails off and dread begins to grow like a virus at her expression. The Spantamad scholars nearby pause in their work to watch, and behind, you see the other scholars of your Darshan running up. You are rended to the bone at each of their expressions. “It’s all gone! All our work, our notes, even the most personal things like our diaries have been stolen!”

“What?” your father shouts, storming over. Immediately, your heart drops and a chisel digs into your skull and cracks it in two. Your world goes dark as he continues to interrogate the young scholar, but a buzzing begins to whine in your ears as you stare at Amina who is frantically trying to explain herself. Your focus leaves, and your mind swirls as a flash of green later, your father has seized the poor young woman by the arms and shakes her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

He swears loudly in Snezhnayan. You cannot move. Letting go of the scholar, he turns to look at you, and all the colour has drained from his lips. His eyes are wide, his breathing sharp and rapid against your face. Suddenly all you can see is your father’s eyes—they fill your whole world with their colour, their shrinking, frantic pupils. “Little Star?“

But you can’t speak, because, for some reason, that horrible gut feeling that’s been bothering you since you woke up and found Al-Haitham outside yesterday morning, that tingling sensation that something is wrong, the nagging in your heart… it all returns in full force. Your heart wrenches into a rotten twisted ache and you want to fall to your knees, let the hurt of the stone against your bones distract you from everything else.

And it is not the thought that your father is going to die that first swarms your brain. Not even the second. No, that comes third.

The first thought is that your father isn’t the one who extracted your papers from your box.

The second is that wish you weren’t smart. Not that you had never joined the Akademiya, no. You wish your brain didn’t work as fast as it does. You wish you didn’t see the whole picture, that you never knew which edges of the puzzle piece aligned perfectly and what slightest adjustment could be made for something to work like a well-oiled cog and handle. You wish you had no intuition, no fine-attuned sense.

No memory, no heart, no brain.

No emotions, no human fallibility.

Humans make mistakes. They’re emotional creatures. You’ve always embraced that that is what makes life very much worth living, but that you has died in a matter of moments. You look out at the desert where, less than twelve hours ago, Al-Haitham disappeared beyond the dunes.

You had left the box open. After he had kissed you, you had spent the rest of the night on your bedroll, just dozing and speaking and rambling about all sorts of things, completely unaware. Unthreatened. It was not even a thought in your head in the heat of his arms. After all, how can someone you ask such stupid (unfailingly human) questions be untrustworthy? How could he ever hurt you?

“When did you start liking me? Did you know how much I liked you? Yes… Kaveh does have feelings for me, but he understands I could never… I promise. Oh, you thought my feelings were my obvious? As if!”

“Rafiq has disappeared, too. I can only assume that he’s the one who took them. We haven’t seen him since sunrise, but we thought he was just exploring below the bridge,” are the first words that pierce through the dim, blurry fog that has surrounded your brain and sedated you to the point of debatable mental presence.

You blink, and look up. Your father is staring at the scholar who had spoken. A Spantamad scholar who only stares back at his leader with sympathy. All the others have gathered around them, but your movement catches everyone’s eyes. When you lift your head higher to take in those waiting eyes, you cannot help but feel numb.

“We weren’t stolen from,” you finally say at length. Your father returns to your side, his hand clutching onto your elbow, and you meet his eyes dully. “The Akademiya has confiscated all our research. They’re sending a message, loud and clear.”

He understands immediately, and you silently curse him. The hatred is sudden, pitiful, and undeserved, but you can’t help it. Where else could you have gotten your mind from? “No… no… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do such a thing to… to you, of all people…”

A terrible, overwhelming sensation swarms your body like locusts. Your blood burns with the fury of a thousand suns, and you stand beside this Waypoint outside the buried resting site of a dead god, unable to do anything. Clouds that have gathered above you begin to darken.

Your mind rends at the memories from that night that seems like a lightyear away now. The way he had brushed your arm, the deliberate trailing of his fingers down your shoulder. He had kissed you, touched you, listened to you speak all the while knowing what he was here to do.

It wasn’t to see you at all. Was it all…

Was it all some ploy he had to make you a fool? A lovesick, blind fool whose heart is hanging on strings, tugging at every which way Al-Haitham wants it to. He doesn’t know what you’ve sacrificed to make sure that these Teleport Waypoints would work all the way from Snezhnaya to here. How much blood and flesh and sweat and time you’ve given up for the sake of family.

All that drive. All that ambition. All that desire.

Gone, like sand grain in the wind. Never again will you see that speck of nothing

Al-Haitham has made you a failure, and that is one thing you cannot… You cannot stand.

“What happens now, Artificer?” a meek voice asks. You don’t answer immediately and instead push through the crowd and you cannot look away from the dune your lover has disappeared behind. Lover. How stupid of you to think that word could suit your tongue. “If all of our research has been confiscated, I… we can’t just give up, can we?”

“Now?” you echo numbly. The clouds above you begin to swirl into a storm, and you cannot help the incredulous scoff, the noxious feeling of that smile curving your mouth. It’s bitter, and it makes you want to retch your rations onto the dirt as a crack of thunder sounds in the distance. “Now, I think my father and I must return to our homeland and answer for our failure. The possibility we return is nigh zero.”

“Homeland? But… the rest of us—“

“The rest of you will return safely back to the Akademiya.” A gust of wind sweeps over you, and your eyes burn before it can touch your face. A shuddering exhale leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, and it must mean something. That your heart has withered away and is nothing more in your carcass chest. That in this silence, Al-Haitham has declared you dead to a world he wants to create for himself.

“The rest of you should leave,” you breathe out, shoulders falling. The winds grow stronger as you let your head hang, blink and let the tears fall to the dusty tile beneath your boots. “The expedition is over. You won’t be paid much, so you should do your best to collect your wage before any sort of fees rack up for this expedition.”

“Artificer, there’s a storm—”

“Prepare to leave. You won’t have enough time if you dally around me any longer,” you intone listlessly, watching as the gales pick up the sand around your feet, swirl against your pants, rip at your clothing, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more burning tears streaking down your nose, into your grimacing mouth as you try to hold in the sob that clutches your heart.

You want to pull your hair out, to scream, to do anything more than just stand here and watch as the work that carries your father’s life is carried farther and farther away.

Then again, Al-Haitham could’ve burnt all your manuscripts. Sunken them into an oasis never to be found again.

Desecrated your work with something as simple as a flick of his wrist.

Destroyed your entire life without a care as to what it would mean for you.

Were all those years meaningless to you? You wanted to know. Was your betrayal a price I had to pay for you to ever consider loving me? Or do you not consider this a betrayal at all, but just a trade between two scholars vying for the validation of the ones above us?

Blinding pale blue lighting cracks, and the thunder that follows is deafening as a column of light shoots through the dark storm that gathers over Sumeru’s desert as it did thousands of years ago. Sudden and loud, it sends the scholars scurrying. Your father stumbles back, calling orders in your stead, and you cannot speak.

Clutching onto the front of your scholar uniform, you pull so hard you feel the threads stretch against your back, and your breath comes short and sharp, lodging into your intercostal spaces.

Tears stream down your face and your mouth is dry, full of cotton, as you pant for air, bending over and stepping back, trying to find your footing on even ground. Heat blustering all over your face, your heart pounds in your ears and your hearing leaves you the moment you look up, trying to peer through the sandstorm and your tears. Blinking, you let out a low hiccuping sob of pain but even that is cut short by the knife that sinks into your heart.

Fingers splayed across your chest rip the buttons from the seams, tear your uniform apart in an effort to make space for your lungs to move. Running your palms over your face, you let out a raspy shout and clutch onto your scalp, trying to just breathe. The winds buffet against your head, the temperature in the desert sinking lower and lower as the rising sun is swallowed by the storm.

How you wish you could rip your own brain out by the stem. Give up your body in the name of science, and rid yourself of this infernal contraption they call a heart. What have you done?

Voices inside your head scream louder than anything else: No! No, no, no! This can’t happen to me!

And that is when the third thought blasts into your chest like a gunshot. It leaves a wider hole than it entered through, and the shrapnel lodged in your body poisons everything. Out of every human emotion, it is guilt that tastes the most foul.

Howling squalls scream back at you as your entire world is consumed by this storm that turns white and grey. Flashes of pale blue lighting flicker at the corner of your eye, and you spin around, the shadow of a man making you crumple to your knees. He stands there for a moment, before he is blown away, and your squeeze your eyes shut, baring your teeth in a restrained sob.

None of it is real.

None of it was ever real.

“Al-Haitham!” you scream in vicious Snezhnayan above the crackling thunder. Your throat tastes like iron. “I will never forgive you!”

You let out a screech that comes from the pits of your soul and it only dies into a loud, unhinged wailing cry that you cannot restrain any longer. Your bones chatter from the sudden onslaught of snow and brutal, slicing winds, but your fingers have numbed to any sort of sensation as you claw at your chest, your throat, pull them into tight fists that cannot do any more. Cannot tinker anymore—invent anymore.

Useless.

How could your father ever think that he was useless when you sit here, unable to do anything to save him?

A flash of lightning blinds you before the entire world pauses. The winds fade into a dull roar, the blazes of the storm cease into muted foggy glimpses of lighting, and the thunder rumbles like a heartbeat. Raising your head, you feel a soft breeze caress your tear-stained cheeks, and in the distance, you hear people screaming. People begging for help.

The world hasn’t stopped for them. Why has it for you? Are you dead? Do you… have the past few minutes been wiped into your mind? Looking up, the black clouds part and you see a moon that should not be visible at this time of day. Snow falls delicately and a pillar of lunar light shoots down through the hole, illuminating each snowflake that fall so slowly, so unhurried in their descent to the earth.

You raise a hand to the moon peeking through, hoping for some sort of benevolence from the gods, but when you only serve to cover it from your sight, the edges of the round orb spilling between your fingers, you know it’s a stupid endeavour.

This moon is not the tender one it is in Sumeru. It is cold, and judgemental, and silent, and as the storm begins to swell around you once more, you bow your head to the Tsaritsa’s brutal judgement, letting your hand fall. You take hold of it with your other hand, cradling your palms to your chest when something hard meets your fingers. Jerking your head back, you stare blankly at the item that has appeared.

A Cryo Vision rests in the centre of your hands.

You curl your fingers over it, feeling the newfound power of the element stream through your system. It sings with unbridled fury, as if the Tsartisa herself has wielded your betrayal, crafted it into a sword of permafrost that burns your hands, and you let out a soft breath.

To your surprise, it mists in the quiet, snowy air, and you let out a terrible sob, keeling over this Vision that means that something inside you has broken hard enough that it is worthy of being noticed by the husk of the Goddess of Love.

That this… this is enough to be seen as other-worldly. As a kin.

A rattling scream echoes across the dunes, empties from your lungs into the remains of a lost civilization. The storm ignites, sending a rippling shockwave through the dunes. The buffeting winds crash into the stone. The snow begins to fall in earnest, and it mounts around you, covering the ruins you’ve studied so intimately.

Ice spreads in thin spiderwebs from underneath you, crawling over the stone at a lecherously slow pace, and your heart rends.

Hollows.

Wilts like a dying flower.

Crumbles to nothing.

Disappears in the howling gales of a snowstorm, and for a long time, no one comes to you.

No one will come.

No one can save you from your fate.

And so the storm rages on, and it will rage on until you feel nothing at all.

Al-Haitham - About Al-Haitham: Love

The only reason he knows you’re in Sumeru is because of Kaveh. The only reason he finds you is because of Kaveh.

Al-Haitham curses that. Hates it more than anything that he’s in debt to a man who would’ve treated you far better than he did. Kaveh would’ve never betrayed you for the Akademiya. For all the romanticism and idealism Al-Haitham can’t stand, perhaps those are the things that would’ve saved you from ever leaving the safety of the city.

When he first sees you after five years, you are standing on the dock, speaking to the Snezhnayan engineers that must’ve been behind the Balladeer’s chambers and helping them load their ships with their supplies and technology that they must’ve scavenged to bring back to their country. He’s not sure if they’re all Fatui—not sure if you’re one of them, too—but you speak so quietly he cannot hear. They must not be, considering they aren’t arrested by the Dendro Archon’s command nor did they flee with the Doctor.

You’re clad head to toe in Snezhnayan colours, not a drop of green on you, and there’s something new on the harness that crosses in an x at your back when you turn around. It is pinned there, glinting pale blue in the sunlight.

A Vision.

He had never known you to have one. You’re also… bulkier in a way. More muscular, taller. Your hair is cut differently, too, and when you move to lift something that seems much too heavy, you do it with remarkable ease. But it’s you.

He hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when Al-Haitham dreamed for the first time after the Akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

“I will be there when you dock,” you say loud enough that Al-Haitham can hear from where he hides at the mouth of the entrance to Wikala Funduq. “The Teleport Waypoint isn’t far from the harbour, and I’ll be able to sort out travelling arrangements before you all arrive. It’s short-notice, so I can’t guarantee the best, but I’ll try my hardest.”

Peering around, he notes you surrounded by the engineers, but they begin to dissipate a moment later. Some leave the pier, while others board the boats, and you remain there, turning around to look out at the sea, hands planted on your hips.

Al-Haitham seizes his chance.

He walks out of Wikala Funduq, and as soon as his boots touch wood, you turn around.

The most peculiar shade of purple bewitches Al-Haitham. It’s a colour he is certain he’s never seen before, but an itchy part of his brain tags it as something he should be familiar with. A purple he should attribute to something else, something beautiful.

Your lips part, and a soft near-silent sigh escapes you as an entirely concoction of emotions racks through your face. Your eyes are not your own, yet they’re set in your face, and they widen like your eyes used to at the sight of him.

So it must be you. “(Name).”

You stiffen, arms falling limp at your sides, yet he cannot do anything but let out the breath he can’t recall ever holding and forgoing any sort of decorum, any sort of remembrance of who he is in the standing of the Akademiya. He is not the lone wolf scholar, the Akademiya’s Scribe, the Acting Grand Sage.

He is just a boy who is in love with you even now, even still, and his face crumbles into pure relief as he walks towards you in a daze, his feet dragging along the pier. You stare at him warily, and there are Snezhnayan workers who watch. Some even reach for a weapon, but at your barely raised hand, they fall silent.

“Al-Haitham,” you say, measured, soft, shaking, still your voice. You’re trembling in front of him. He is falling apart at the seams. When he nears, he can finally take in your finer details: the unnatural purple of your eyes, the mechanical optical rings of your irises, the way your pupils dilate and shrink unnaturally as if sizing him up, inspecting him. “How did you know?”

“Kaveh told me,” he answers, and a sharp twinge of pain and betrayal flashes through your eyes before you blink, turning your head away. He’s surprised you haven’t frozen him to death yet, and he tests his luck further by reaching to touch your arm, but you only jerk back with a heavy step.

“How much did he tell you?” you ask roughly, eyes flitting from his fingers to his hand.

“Nothing. Only that you’re here. That… you were leaving.”

“Did he tell you how he doesn’t even recognize me anymore?”

That silences him for a beat. “No.”

“I see. Well, I suppose you have questions?”

“Aren’t you upset with me?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve forgiven you,” you say, “then no. I haven’t. I won’t ever forgive you.”

“I’m sorry.” This time, when he says it, you understand. You didn’t five years ago, how he kept apologizing. You look away.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t have any interest in entertaining your apologies. It’s in the past and we’re both… different people now, so I’ll answer your questions, and then we can see what happens next.”

“Fine.”

“I have a place nearby that we could talk.”

You begin to stride past him, but Al-Haitham, never one in the last five years to have the last word, feels himself act before he can think. “(Name), wait—“

When his fingers stretch to touch your hand, he feels a hard surface where you should be flesh, and your wrist twists unnaturally to free itself from his grasp. His blood runs cold at the way your hand rotates itself back to a more anatomically correct position, and you clutch it with your other gloved hand.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap. “Just follow me.”

He nods, burning, but he’s not sure with frustration or guilt.

You lead him to a hotel room that’s hidden but overlooking the pier. It’s a small place, but quaint and barely furnished. Picked dry mostly, except for a backpack resting slouched against the wall and some other knick knacks—a pen, a notebook you close as you walk past it.

You pull a chair at the table by the window out and sit down. Al-Haitham can see the water from the glass, and as he approaches, you lean on the table by your elbows and gesture with your hand to the chair across from you. He seats himself, and glances around the place.

“The last five years. Where have you been?” he begins.

“Snezhnaya. When you left, the one thing you didn’t take was the core of the Teleport Waypoint I created. My father and I used it and managed to successfully teleport home.”

“This whole time you were there?”

“Not exactly. I roamed the world for a while. I went to Mondstadt and Fontaine, but that was only a year or two ago.” You look down at your hands. “When we returned, the Doctor had been furious that I lost my research, but he blamed it on my father. He was… technically my supervisor.” As if realizing something: “Though, I don’t suppose you know all of that. With the Fatui blackmailing me, and… and everything.”

“I had gathered as much only recently,” he answers. “I went to the Balladeer’s chambers after he was defeated. I thought I could recognize your work, but… I was unsure.” Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably. “All these years, I thought you had died in that snowstorm and that it was my fault.”

“Some would say I’ve had a fate worse than death,” you remark, acerbic and unsurprised. “If you had known, do you think you would’ve done what you did?”

“I think I would’ve been more aware of the consequence.” He shakes his head. “I would’ve been honest, even. When I received the assignment, I thought the worse. Betraying you was an impossible task, but they assured me you wouldn’t be punished, so I followed through with it with utmost secrecy. I thought you’d just come back to the Akademiya, and we’d have a huge fight, and somehow I could convince the Sages to allow you access back to your own work as long as there were restrictions placed.”

“Restrictions? None of my work was ever illegal, though.” Your eyebrows furrow, and Al-Haitham thought you were angry, but you only look at him in a strange, morbid curiosity. You’re only searching for honesty. “Unless…”

“They suspected your father’s loyalties had been swayed. The objective of the assignment was to take your materials away, bring you and your father back, and put you on trial. You would’ve been innocent, but your father…”

“He never did anything wrong.”

“I know that,” he replies coolly, “but Azar saw your father as a threat. Saw you as a threat. You were a public figure with a strong will of your own, inherited from your father. I doubt he could’ve put you under his control. Honestly, if you’d been here, do you think that entire situation with the samsara would’ve gone on as long as it did?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know much about anything anymore, I think.”

For some reason, and Al-Haitham has weathered many storms before, during, and after their friendship, this is what makes his heart shrivel.

“What do you know?” he asks softly. You peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and a tired face stares back at him.

“I know that I loved you,” you reply. “I don’t know if I still do. Looking at you now makes me feel something, but it’s not a good thing.”

“Do you hate me?”

“I don’t know. It’s over now. I hated you for a bit,” you allow, “but to be honest, I’m just exhausted. This whole ordeal. The Doctor. I finally have the chance to leave his service. I could, but I have obligations to other people. To be honest, I have a half-baked plan, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

“Are you returning home to Snezhnaya?” he asks, afraid to even put himself in this position of wanting something from you again, and you frown.

“Kaveh insists I stay here to be safe,” you tell him. “He misses me. I miss him. Travelling Teyvat, all I could think about is how much he would appreciate the different types of architecture around the world.” You shrug. “But… he doesn’t really recognize me as a person. It’ll take some time for him to get used to the fact that I’m more machine than human.”

“You’re still you,” he assures immediately and you arch an eyebrow.

“How do you know?”

“Because you haven’t killed me yet when I deserve punishment for what I did to you so you must have a heart,” Al-Haitham answers steadily. “And I know you could strike me down if you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”

“Al-Haitham…” Your mouth moves but you don’t speak, and he nods, understanding.

“My opinion shouldn’t matter, but I would like you to stay.” He cringes at even recommending it. “I know I have no right to ask this favour of you.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I thought you didn’t believe in favours.”

“I don’t.”

They sit in silence. You draw your hands towards you on the table. He steeples his fingers and looks out at the port to give himself something to do. The quiet isn’t amiable, but not openly hostile. Al-Haitham never thought he would be able to do this again. To sit across from you had been a long forgotten wish, and he doesn’t want to ruin it now, so he waits for you to start again.

“Did you ever open the box I gave you before I left?” you ask after a while. You’ve been tracing the woodgrain with your finger, and Al-Haitham has been watching you do it. You lift your hand back up and rest your chin in your palm to look out the window.

“I did.” A hard swallow. “How did you find such a collection of journal entries? They must’ve been rare.”

“Ruin diving and desert exploration,” you explain briefly. “At the time, you said you were interested in that catastrophe the oldest historical biographies mentioned, and when I had come across one of the journals detailing first hand experiences of a scholar during that time, I had to find out if there was more I could find and translate. Those six entries were all I could find at the time being.”

“There were more in the House of Daena’s collection. The entire anthology was called A Thousand Nights. A lot has been lost to time, so the rarity of these journals is high,” he says, and at last, you give into a faint smile although you still don’t look at him.

“You found more?”

“Yes, although the ones you gave me are stored safely in the box.”

“Not turning in precious material to the Akademiya? How rebellious, Al-Haitham,” you intone. You finally tilt your head towards him, and your smile has his heart racing. “Al-Haitham, you know of my feelings for you. What about yours?”

“Are you asking if they’ve changed?”

You nod.

“Why does that matter?”

“I don’t know. Because I doubted it for a very long time. I thought that someone who loved me wouldn’t dare to do the things you did to me, but that’s an idealistic of the world I don’t have anymore. I don’t exactly trust you right now,” you tack on quickly, “but right now is honesty hour, isn’t it?”

“Seems like it.” He thinks on it for a moment. He could very well lie. It’d probably the easier choice for you to not possibly feel obligated in some way to his feelings. You wouldn’t have the burden of knowing that his love is unfaithful, nor would the chance to tempt it be there.

And you’d believe whatever he says. Whether or not you know it’s the truth, you’d probably force yourself to believe it and he would, too, and they could leave all of this… them, their past, their present, and their potential future, too, in the sand.

Honesty hour.

Is that what you called it?

“I did love you,” he admits when his moment is up. “I grieved you for a long time. I knew it was my fault that you had died and debated if my cushy job was worth surrendering the one person who could actually stand me and, against all odds, loved me for who I was. Those hours in your camp before I stole the documents made me feel the most helpless I’ve ever felt in my life and I hated it.”

“And now?”

“Now?” He ponders over this. “As soon as Kaveh told me you were here, I ran just to see you myself because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to see you when I had the chance. I… you’re not the same. I understand that. I understand my part to play in this, and I know that what I feel should not influence your decisions. I ask that you don’t consider them at all.”

“Al-Haitham…”

“I do love you. I’ve loved you for years, but it feels… longer than that somehow. Maybe I don’t make sense, but even when I couldn’t dream, I could still see you in my sleep.” Your stricken face makes him blink, and he fights the burning in his face and ears by looking down. The tightness in his sternum only aches more. “I don’t want your forgiveness, but I do love you.”

You are quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, unexpectedly, you say, “There’s a box”—and he jerks his head up, confused “—that I hid in the Balladeer’s chambers. I’m not sure if it’s completely destroyed by now, but only you and I have clearance for it.”

“What’s inside?”

“All the things that reminded me of you in the past five years. Things I wrote about you. Blueprints for your hearing aids. Collectibles I thought you’d like. I don’t know. Just a bit of everything, honestly.” His eyes widen. You don’t seem to notice, or you don’t let it deter you. “When I told you that I wasn’t sure if I loved you still, it’s because I’m trying not to love you. It’s very easy to convince myself I don’t when I never see you. But I see you and I feel disgusted.”

You chuckle a bit, almost nervous. Al-Haitham isn’t quite sure of what to say. Grasping at straws, he opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head.

“To be honest, I never gave myself a chance to let my love for you die,” you whisper. “The disgust comes from remembering what you did, but it’s so overwhelmed by everything else. The longer I sit talking to you, I just feel like everything’s the same.”

“But it isn’t.”

“It can’t ever be, Al-Haitham” you agree. “But I’m willing to pretend. Just for a little while.” You look down at your hands, and slowly pull your glove off. A plate of silver metal catches the sun rays and Al-Haitham’s heart lodges right up in his throat at the cylindrical fingers that tug at your other glove revealing skin and a hand that he recognizes. “I thought it would be best if you saw it.”

“Does it… feel different?”

“Yes. I don’t… feel much the same way anymore, but most of the work was internal. Injections, a heightened metabolism, tinkered senses. A new leg. My eyes, obviously.” You gesture to your pupils, but they seem more natural the longer Al-Haitham watches. “My Vision gave me even more durability and he couldn’t kill me because of how useful I was to him, but I was the next best thing to a perfect subject.”

“Your father, then?“

“He’s alive. It was either him or me, and I gave myself up in an instant,” you answer. “I don’t regret that much of my life.”

He reaches forward tentatively for your flesh hand, but your mechanical hand comes into contact with him first, warm against his wrist. It’s almost like you’re still alive there, but the texture is too smooth, the edges where the metal plates too sharp to be human, and he looks down at the hand that touches him.

This is who you are now. This is who he’s made you.

“I want to move my family away from Snezhnaya, Al-Haitham,” you tell him in the lowest tone you can muster. Al-Haitham’s eyes meet yours, and a soft, pleading expression has taken over your face. “I know you’re the Acting Grand Sage, and that you have duties to the Akademiya, but—“ and he hears it for what it is.

I want there to be a chance for us.

“I would give you anything I could in a heartbeat,” he swears immediately. “If you need asylum, I’d be more than obliged to grant you your request. I—“ But nothing comes out. What his words cannot say, he hopes the silence can. I love you. I will help you in any way I can. I love you. I miss you. I love you.

I’ll find you.

I love you.

“You have beautiful eyes, Al-Haitham,” you whisper, lifting a hand to his cheek. When metal touches his smooth cheek, his eyes flutter closed, and a soft amused hum leaves his companion. “I think I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”

Cupping your wrist with his own hand, he turns his face into your palm. It smells like nothing, yet there is a hint of your scent clinging to your sleeve that slowly seeps into his nose. His lips kiss the ticklish part of your hand, and your mechanical hand reacts like your normal flesh one would—your fingers curl against his face, and your thumb strokes underneath his eye.

He smiles. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you have.”

Buer - About Samsaras

The Traveler reaches Port Ormos by nightfall a few days later. By then, it’s too late and they’re too exhausted to even think about trying to find the man they search for. For all intents and purposes, he could be gone, but it doesn’t hurt to ask around on their way to their room.

They ask the owner of the hotel, Shapur, manning the concierge, who briefly mentions seeing the Acting Grand Sage walking with a woman renting a room in the hotel by the water. She had the most distinct purple eyes.

Somehow, the Traveler knows that’s who they’re looking for and they take off again with renewed vigour, and leave Paimon in the dust.

They reach the port quickly. It’s mostly empty, but there are two distinct figures sitting by the water speaking. The moon is their only witness, and when the Traveler steps from around a pillar to observe them more clearly, they can see those purple eyes that Shapur mentioned clearer than day. They glow, even at night, and look almost fake. They’ve never seen eyes of a normal mortal glow like hers do.

Then, Al-Haitham, leaning back onto his arms, pushes himself up, and he extends a hand to his companion to help her up. When he turns, his eyes, too, catch the bright moonlight in a flash of golden divinity.

For a moment, time seems to stop, and the Traveler watches as they, holding hands, begin to walk further down the pier.

“This world is an eternal samsara,” someone comments. Spinning around, the Traveler’s eyes widen at Buer walking from a nearby ramp. When had they fallen asleep? She smiles, green eyes wide and innocent. “Just as there are memories of passed family members living in those of the present, gods never truly die. They are reborn when the time is right, and even alike souls can find one another again.”

The Traveler frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They’re happy. Let’s not disturb them,” she says instead, stretching out her hand. The Traveler takes it, and instantly, they are brought back to their room in Shapur Hotel. Paimon has fallen asleep, and the Traveler sits on their bed. Buer perches herself on the table, her feet not quite making it to the chair.

“When did I fall asleep?”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin their reconciliation,” she explains. “I don’t remember them well, anymore, but as I’ve read more ancient texts in hopes of… remembering the more important details that have been lost to me, the times I had with King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers come clearer. Together, we were the three God-Kings of Sumeru. It’s unfortunate you were unable to meet them. They seemed to be my greatest friends.”

“They both died ages ago,” the Traveler says, and the knowledge that comes to their mind is stuck in their throat, chained from being freed. Rukkhadevata and the forbidden knowledge. That must be a secret that stays a secret.

Buer giggles. “Died in the loosest sense of the term. Gods don’t truly die. They may be banished, or lose their memories, but their essence is immortal. Even when they seem to be gone, a seed of them will always remain on this planet, seeking the right time and conditions to sprout.”

The Traveler’s spine shoots ramrod straight, and their mouth drops open. “You don’t mean…”

“Although it’s hard to confirm, I find it hard to mistake the similarities between your friend and mine. Deshret has been reborn,” she says, “not resurrected like the Eremites had predicted. As for the Artificer. Her purple eyes, although artificially made, bear a striking resemblance to those Padisarahs of ages past, don’t they?”

“Like the one in Nilou’s dream,” the Traveler realizes, all of it dawning on them like a flood and crashing wave.

Buer nods. “There are very few coincidences in this world. Be happy for them. Their ending in their last lives was not a happy one and they’ve struggled and toiled in this samsara, too, just for the chance to meet again. Even still, they will have to continue to fight these challenges to persevere.” She sighs, looking down at her feet. “Hopefully in the next one life, they can just be born friends and save each other some heartache, and maybe we can be friends again, too.”

“The Goddess of Flowers sacrificed everything for the price of King Deshret’s divine knowledge,” the Traveler points out distantly, their voice soft and wistful. “He drove himself mad because she was gone.”

“There are some events that must repeat on different scales in each samsara,” the Dendro Archon agrees quietly. “A first meeting, a death, a betrayal. I’m happy that my friends have found one another again, even if they don’t remember, but perhaps that is their pinned, pre-determined fateful event that must happen in every samsara. I don’t know. Irminsul’s powers are beyond even my full understanding.”

“They say she disappeared in a storm.” A sharp chill shoots down the Traveler’s spine as Buer hums, nodding. “And she was never seen again.”

“You’re understanding,” she says, delighted. “This time, though, she came back to him, and this time, he knows the knowledge he craves is not worth losing her love.” Buer smiles cheek-to-cheek. “The rest is up to them, now.”

a/n: reblog/comment if you enjoyed! did you catch all the parallels and foreshadowing? there was as much as i could stuff in, from subtle to unsubtle! i read and watched so many theory threads/videos for this and again this was such a fun collab!

the prompt was to either make the third person (in this kaveh) a love interest or someone who helps the main couple get together, and i thought why not a bit of both. after all, it is kaveh who was al-haitham’s biggest reason not to confess, and also kaveh who told al-haitham where to find you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ heheh thank you for reading!!

#fic: a love immortal such as mine #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #al haitham #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact al haitham #genshin al haitham #my writing

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attapullman · 5 months

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Handsome Cowboy | B.F. + R.A.

Summary: An innocent trip for bread turns into meeting your boyfriend's doppelganger you can't get over.

Word Count: 470

Warnings + Notes: 18+ only mdni, gn!reader, smut mentions. This is the ending for a much longer fic that I ended up not loving, but a lil jealous Bob is such a treat I still wanted to share. It's like a baby fic with zero context 🤷‍♀️

The market feels like it’s all a dream as you make your way back to the parking lot. So similar, but so different. It’s not until you’re steps from the door that Bob points out you forgot the bread. He makes a mad dash back for it, politely waiting in line to pay behind some teenagers before joining you again. Your sweet boyfriend who packs you into the truck with a kiss to the temple before setting off to his parent’s house, bread on the console.

The entire drive home you can’t shut up about the handsome cowboy buying beer.

It blows your mind how similar Rhett looks to your Bobby. Still reeling at how their eyes are the exact matching shade of sapphire - Bob’s more mellow compared to Rhett’s storming gaze. The same broad shoulders, but a different swagger in their steps. Just as handsome as you, babe, you muse with a wink from the passenger seat. You amusedly make a joke about the sex appeal of cowboy hats and the tips of Bob’s ears turn vermilion.

However many miles later (long enough to talk about Rhett’s big silver buckle the entire length of a song on the radio) you’re finally back at Bob’s parent’s farm and sneaking through the back door like teenagers to not wake them. He places the bread in the cute little white bread box before tiptoeing upstairs with you. While sharing the guest bathroom to get ready for bed, you slide your hands around his waist from behind and peck Bob’s freckled shoulder.

“Have you ever considered growing stubble?”

In the mirror, Bob gives you a look - as if the military would allow that - and goes back to brushing his teeth. He’s never seen you this worked up about someone who isn’t him and the jealousy is consuming. You’re fully riding this cowboy train. All starry-eyed and dreamy smiles while you finish washing your face and excuse yourself to the guest room. Feet swinging over the edge of the bed as you compare and contrast your sweet, clean cut WSO and the rough-around-the-edges bull rider you happened across. Part of the appeal is the cowboy’s ranch drawl, an accent that only comes out of your boyfriend on special occasions, like when he’s between your legs.

Your attention is diverted by a figure at the open door. Bob looks at you from his spot, face contemplative and serious behind his glasses, hip popped against the doorjamb in his checkered pajama bottoms. He isn’t sure this is going to work but he’s desperate. You smile at him, curious.

“One summer in high school I went to a rodeo and bought some boots and a Stetson. They’re in the garage. If I put them on and make you cum, will you please stop talking about the handsome cowboy?”

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dulcesiabits · 11 months

Text

a sparrow in the storm.

summary: though many plucky suitors have tried unsuccessfully to vie for your hand, Jing Yuan has to be the most persistent of them all.

notes: 6.7k words, fic, fluff, lovers to exes to lovers, author's notes

You’ve had many arrogant suitors over the years, but this newest one might be the most arrogant yet.

A row of sumptuous gifts line the entrance to your room, and when you properly step inside, you’re greeted by a spray of flowers: orchids, pink roses, and white lilies, the perfume of which makes you dizzy. You snort as you make your way to your desk, waving your hand to the various servants who are abuzz in your room.

“Get rid of all of them,” you instruct.

“All of them? Are you sure?” one of them questions.

“Yes. I don’t want to see a single petal left in here. Make sure you return all of the gifts, too,” you snap, and they all bow as they rush to carry out your orders.

You sit in your plush desk chair, and it’s only now that you see the red-ribboned, cream-colored letter sitting on your desk. You don’t open it before tossing it aside.

Many people have tried to win your hand over the years, as the sole heir to the alchemy commission. One of your mothers has a noble, storied family line, dating back to the very beginning of the country’s founding, and your other mom is praised as a genius in the alchemical field. It’s no wonder those who want a taste of wealth and power flock to you like flies. You’ve managed to successfully ward all of them off so far, either with flat rejections, threats, or, in the rare case, by matchmaking them with a different prospect.

But your newest suitor, a general? A newly minted nobleman, granted a title for his contribution and victories in the recent war? It’s only been a few days since he’s arrived back in the capital, but he’s been sending you an endless stream of presents since his first day in the city, no matter how many times you return them or burn them in the yard for his slack-jawed couriers to watch. It isn’t just physical presents, like rare silks and flowers, either. It’s reserving your favorite restaurants for you to dine in, all expenses paid, and hiring the most famous musicians to woo you with sweet love songs outside your window.

It’s disgusting, frankly, and every rejection just seems to spur him to try a different approach.

You're no stranger to dalliances, courting your fair share of lovers over the years, starting with a snowy-haired soldier you met in your youth to traveling musicians and merchants. But you were clear to all of them: this would be a passing fling and nothing more, for you had no desire to bind yourself to someone as of yet.

Marriage, after all, is a political game, and you would only enter it once you had a hand that would ensure your success. You would have to marry eventually, but you plan to do so only on your own terms. You want someone who can bring glory and wealth to your house, who wouldn’t try to usurp your position or play games over power, who would be a prudent match, and who’s intelligent enough to keep up with you. Love is not a necessity, but a potential bonus, as you do not often have the habit of mixing business and pleasure.

When you dine with your mothers in the evening, you tell them as such. They are long used to your schemes and strategies, and only smile at you over glasses of wine and plates of tenderly steamed white fish.

“This general courting you should meet your expectations then, no?” your mother poses. “He’s recently been awarded a noble title, and he was clever enough to claim victory against our enemies with minimal loss.”

“And–” Your mom winks at you, nudging your mother. “--He’s handsome. I hear all the eligible girls and boys send him proposals, but he turns them all down. It seems he’s set on someone. I wonder who?”

“Hah.” You spear a piece of marinated cucumber with your chopsticks. “Well, I’ve refused his advances, and I will continue to refuse them.”

“A pity!” your mom groans. “Just when it seems like someone meets your exacting standards. What is it about him, then, my dear child, that you dislike so?”

“I dislike his attitude,” you say bluntly. “And, more to the point, I detest being pressured like this. He doesn’t even have the sincerity to meet me in person, and gives me favors I never asked for. If he is hoping for a love match, then he shall be sorely disappointed.”

“How cold,” your mother says. “But I understand your reasoning. But would it not be prudent to give him a chance? We have never pressured you to get married, as you know, but…”

“But?” You arch an eyebrow.

“What your mother means to say,” your mom interjects, “Is that we want you to be happy! And this could be a good opportunity for you. Your pool of suitors is dwindling, and if you wait too long, you may not have a partner at all.”

“Which is to really say,” your mother says, putting her utensils across her clean bowl, “I will force your hand if you do not make a choice soon, or at least make an effort to. This general meets all of your standards, and an union would be beneficial to all of us. So try to hear him out… or I will make you.”

“Mother, what you’re giving me is the illusion of choice. Will you force me into a marriage against my will? What if I do something drastic? What if he is a foul villain, and you doom me to unhappiness, in your haste to settle a match?”

“Well, that would be most unfortunate for you. But I am your mother, and mothers are allowed to be unfair, no matter how old you are,” your mother says, and your mom tries to hide a laugh as she leans into your mother’s side.

“What’s the name of the general, again?” you say sourly.

“Jing Yuan,” your mother says. “Now, why don’t you try to meet his courier tomorrow? You could stand to learn a little more about him before you cast such hasty judgment.”

—

The next morning, you rose early, pacing around the gardens until the general’s daily present was delivered. If nothing else, he is punctual, sending presents around noon, in between the breakfast and lunch hours. But what would it take to get him off your back? Insult him at the next commission meeting? Hire someone to place a curse upon him and his household? Or march over to his residence and start a commotion, burning something down in the process?

But, no. Your mother has all but threatened you to play nice, and, as loath as you are to admit it, she does make a certain sense about gathering information on him. It is prudent to have knowledge of your enemy if you wish success in battle.

At noon, one of your servants comes to find you. To your surprise, a young boy trails after her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as his head whips around, taking in the sights of your garden, fresh and fully bloomed at this time of year. There’s a sword strapped to his back, and when he sees you, he waves.

Is this part of the general’s plans? Does he really think a cute child would be enough to make you throw yourself at his feet?

Still, you guide the boy to one of the garden’s open-air pavilions, shaded by rose bushes and intricate wooden carvings, pillows cushioning the hardness of the benches. You wave for refreshments to be brought over, chrysanthemum tea and sugar cubes and egg tarts and red bean buns, certain to tempt the appetite of a child. And you are right, for the boy immediately picks up a bun, munching without a care in the world.

“So, what brings you to the chief of the alchemy commission’s residence?” you say mildly.

“I’m Yanqing, and I’m here on behalf of the general. He’s worried because it doesn’t look like you’re happy with any of your presents, and he wants to know why.”

“Ah, I see.” You smile at the boy, whose cheeks are stuffed with pastries. “It’s quite simple. I do not like them.”

“Then what do you like? … is what he said to ask if you said you didn’t like any of your gifts.”

“Anything that doesn’t come from him,” you say bluntly.

“Oh.” Yanqing tilts his head in confusion before his eyes light up, springing up in his seat as he leans forward. “Well, the general is pretty cool, you know! He’s the youngest person in years to be awarded a title! And he’s the reason we won all those battles in the war so quickly! His strategies are genius, and it’s like he knows what the enemy is thinking every time he makes a move… He even trained me! I’m the best with the sword, you know, but the general is stronger than me! So he’s pretty impressive!”

You want to smile at the way Yanqing presents the general, clearly expecting you to be impressed with the general’s credentials. “And what is your relationship with the general? Are you his child?”

“What? No, no, no! Our relationship isn’t like that. I’m just his disciple!” Yanqing flails, waving his hands wildly. “He wouldn’t let relationships distract him on the battlefield! He never even left his tent when the other soldiers went out to town!”

“So he wouldn’t love me if we were in a relationship together?” you ask dryly. “I would just be a distraction?”

“No! He would definitely treat you well! He treats everyone well! That’s why everyone loves him! All the soldiers, and townspeople, and everything!”

“Ah…” Yanqing perks up at your tone. “So he’s a philanderer.” The boy deflates.

“He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t do that! The general would be loyal to you!” Yanqing insists, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis.

“He sounds like a scoundrel,” you note.

“I promise he’s not!”

“I don’t know, Yanqing. It sounds like he would leave me alone to fight in battles all day, all the while flirting with all his soldiers, and then come home once in a while to assuage his guilt.”

Have you teased the boy too much? He slumps morosely in his seat, poking idly at his egg tart.

“Why don’t you go home for today?” you say gently. You’ve had your fun, and it wouldn’t do to prod at the boy anymore.

“Before I do, is it okay if I give you one more present from the general?” he asks.

“Go ahead,” you say patiently, as Yanqing fumbles in his pocket and takes out a small wooden box. It’s unadorned, and you flip it open cautiously. Inside lies a single knotted tassel with small jade beads. The threads are in your favorite colors, instead of the traditional red.

“He made it himself,” Yanqing explains as you take the tassel in your hand.

The general is skilled, if nothing else. The knot looks like a small, symmetrical flower in your hand, and you finger the clear jade beads.

“I’ll accept it,” you say slowly.

“Really?” Yanqing perks up. “That’s great. He’ll be honored to hear that.”

“Does he have a matching one?” you inquire dryly.

“I think he said he was hoping you would make one for him one day.”

“He might as well wait forever.”

Yanqing pouts, but still remembers to thank you for the food and the courtesy of hosting him before he dashes off.

You end up placing the tassel in one of your desk drawers, hoping Jing Yuan doesn’t read your acceptance of his gift as some sort of positive sign. To you, it’s nothing more than an odd memento from a curious man, and there’s something amusing about the image of a bloodthirsty general painstakingly threading jade beads onto an elaborate tassel.

But your courtship is going to stop at this, if you had any say in the matter.

—

The best defense is a good offense, and the only way to win a battle is to gather knowledge on your enemy. With that reasoning, you send a letter to Yanqing (who doesn’t bother penning a reply before running to your house to inform you he’d be delighted to show you around) and prepare yourself to visit Jing Yuan’s residence.

You go by foot, keeping your clothing plain and simple to dissuade unwanted attention. His residence– gifted to him for his achievements in war– is situated in the northern part of the city, a quiet residential district, away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. You’re not sure what you expect when you arrive: something ostentatious, or enemy heads hung on his gate to ward off visitors, perhaps.

Instead, you’re greeted with a modest wooden building, surrounded by a stone gate, and Yanqing bouncing in front of the entrance.

“Welcome to General Jing Yuan’s home,” Yanqing says formally, though he’s rocking on his heels. “I’m glad you decided to come by today! Are you–”

“No, I’m not going to accept his proposal,” you interject.

“Oh. Well! I’m more than happy to show you around, still! The general was also really happy that you took an interest in him and your future– his home!”

“If an enemy took interest in him, would he also be happy?” you ask.

“Yes, because he’d undoubtedly draw the enemy’s attention on purpose as part of his plan,” Yanqing replies seriously.

“Lovely. What’s on the agenda, Yanqing?”

Yanqing leads you through the gates and into the courtyard, showing you the pond, rows of flowered bushes, the stone pathways, and then the open-air hallways which ring the courtyard. As Yanqing guides you through the building, you note that there are hardly any servants around. Each room is all polished wood and fresh sunlight, with minimum furnishings, save for a flower arrangement or a tasteful painting.

The last stop on the tour is a bright, airy room clearly intended for guests, with a steaming teapot already prepared on the table. Yanqing courteously pulls out a seat for you to sit in, pouring you a cup of tea without any further prompting.

“Let me give you some refreshments,” he says. “It’s not right to have a guest over without giving them something to eat.”

“No, you don’t need to bother. I–”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Yanqing says, and dashes out of the room before you can deter him further.

You sip your cup, a pleasant jasmine brew, leaning back as you contemplate the ink brush mountains scroll across from you. Did the general come home often? His home is far too neat and quiet to imply consistent use. You haven’t run into him, either, so it is possible Jing Yuan is out… though whether this is a blessing remains to be seen. Perhaps you could pry more information out of Yanqing in the meantime.

Footsteps spring down the hall, and without looking at the doorway, you remark, “You know, Yanqing, I’m starting to suspect this general of yours is scared to meet with me–”

“Am I? I didn’t realize.” You whip your head towards the sound of the deep voice. Where you expect Yanqing to stand is a man with snow-white hair and relaxed, golden eyes, an amused quirk to his mouth.

You exhale sharply, your thoughts, once so orderly, tangle together like a ball of yarn. It couldn’t be. Of course you’re expecting to run into the general at some point, have half-hoped for it, but what you haven’t expected is that the general is also your first lover, someone you’d courted many years ago in your youth.

“Jing?” you say, blood roaring in your head.

“Surprised?” he says, lounging in a chair. “I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

At that moment, Yanqing bursts into the room, a plate of snacks balanced in his arms. “I’m back!” Heis gaze darts around the room, from your tense expression to Jing Yuan’s casual smile. “General! When did you get here?”

“Just now. Actually, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, “Why don’t you go out into the courtyard and practice your form? My guest and I have much to discuss.”

“... Okay, general.” Yanqing places the tray on the table, and hesitates; his eyebrows furrow quizzically as he glances from you to the general, but he only bows before darting out of the room, despite his obvious curiosity.

“I’m sure there’s much you’re curious about,” Jing Yuan says pleasantly.

“I do. So perhaps you could humor me and explain what you’re trying to accomplish,” you say coolly.

You swear there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes even as he lowers his head deferentially. “As you wish, my liege.”

—

Your relationship with Jing Yuan started when you were young and, like all youth your age, felt the stirrings of rebellion– against who, or what, didn’t matter quite as much. Reckless, chafing against the loving restraints of your mothers, and eager to make something of yourself, you decided the best way to do so was to throw yourself into a relationship, hopefully one they didn’t approve of.

That’s when Jing Yuan caught your attention, though you only knew him as Jing back then. A soldier in training, with a shy smile and a quiet countenance, his hair short enough to stand in unruly, snowy tufts at the back of his head, you hadn’t thought much of him when he was first introduced to you. He was sent to guard your mom’s alchemical business, and would bow to you wordlessly whenever you visited.

You were more practiced in matters of business, alchemy and politics, but even with your limited knowledge you could tell he was talented with a sword. When a thief tore through your mom’s shop, hunting for rare herbs to sell on the black market, he had unsheathed his lance with lightning-quick precision, and in a few swift, well-aimed strikes, the thief was on his back, Jing’s lance poised at his throat.

You watched from the back of the shop, lurking around the storeroom, as Jing handed the herbs back to your mom, who thanked him profusely.

He noticed your gaze, and smiled at you. “Are you okay, my liege? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

You tossed your head. “I’m fine. You handled him before anything could happen.”

Still, your interest in him was piqued after that day. So on a restless, cloudy afternoon, with the smell of a storm sharp in the air, you sought him out at your mother’s store, as dutifully guarding the entrance as ever.

“Do you have time for lunch?” you asked him. “I would be honored if you could join me for a bite to eat.”

Like an inquisitive cat, Jing tilted his head. “It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon my post in the middle of my shift.”

“You’d hardly be a good guard if you keeled over from hunger,” you pointed out, “And you don’t have to go too far, besides. We can just stay right here.”

“I could hardly refuse a request from you, my liege,” Jing said.

With his permission secured, you brought out the meal you had packed back home. It was simple, nothing more than a few meat buns and some tea, and the two of you sat and ate on one of the stone benches outside of your mom’s workshop. If you were to court someone, you had to dine them first, didn’t you?

“Why did you become a soldier, Jing?”

“Because it was the only path open to me,” he said easily. “My skills wouldn’t find much purchase elsewhere.”

“And what sort of skills are those?”

“The art of combat. I also dabble in chess, occasionally, though I couldn’t have made a living off of it.”

“Chess? Why don’t you play me in a round sometime? I’d love to see your skill,” you said keenly.

“If you find my skills desirable, then I would be honored to,” Jing said.

“Speaking of desirable… is there anyone you’re interested in?” you posed, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.

Jing chewed his bun instead of responding, though the tips of his ears reddened. “No… Not in particular.”

“There’s someone I’m interested in,” you continued, taking note of the way he inhaled so sharply he started coughing. “I’m hoping I can grow closer to him.”

“Ah– Is… is that so…?”

“Yes. I think I’d be able to do so with your help,” you said, emboldened by his reaction. You smiled prettily at him, in a way you’d learned to do to charm the nobles at any social gatherings you intended. “So… Do you think we could see each other again?”

Jing’s eyes darted away, and he seemed for all the world like a small sparrow, pecking at the crumbs of affection you offered. “If… If you would be pleased by my presence, I would… be flattered to see you again.”

Like your first encounter, your relationship with Jing proceeded in much the same way. You meticulously planned every outing, reserving restaurants and reading up on festivals in advance, eavesdropping on gossiping maids to learn of the most popular spots for couples in the city. Jing was content to go along at your pace, never brooking a word of complaint even as you, looking back, realized how any other person might have been annoyed at your single-mindedness and desire to always get your way.

He was agreeable, and unerringly polite, and clumsily sweet in all the right ways. He offered his arm for you to hold as you strolled about, and tolerated all your badgering for chess games, even when you grew so competitive you could play for hours without stopping. Sometimes he brought you flowers, single stems of white lilies or sprigs of plum blossoms you would set proudly on your desk until the perfume faded and the petals wilted.

You liked him. You liked him, because he was endearing, and went along with all your antics, even the ones that could have gotten him in trouble if the two of you had been caught. Once you had asked him to meet you in the middle of night, when the fireflies were thick in the air like stars on earth.

“My liege, are you sure about this?” he whispered as you waved to him from your window.

“Of course! Do not back out on me now, Jing!” With your hands for purchase, you set yourself on the window ledge, experimentally lowering one leg over the other side.

“Please, let me help you,” Jing said quietly, and offered you one of his hands. You took it, swaying unsteadily, and Jing quickly reached for your hip to help you balance. His hands, you remembered, were calloused, with clever, slender fingers, his touch like sunlight. He flushed at the contact, though didn’t let go of you before he could guide you over the window and set you onto the grass below. Until you reached a small hill a good dozen minutes away from your home, he shadowed your steps, always just a pace behind, and always on guard for threats you couldn’t make out in the dark. With his warm gaze which never drifted from you, and the sea of fireflies, you couldn’t help but feel like no threats could touch you.

“Let’s catch some fireflies,” you suggested, once the two of you reached your destination. “Don’t you think that’s a romantic activity?”

At your words, Jing swiftly cupped his hands around a soft glow, and you crept closer. He slowly unfurled his fingers to reveal his captive, a firefly that pulsed with light like a heartbeat. “Is this to your satisfaction?” he asked.

The firefly spread its wings and flew off his palm. The two of you watched its path, an afterglow of light trailing through the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Jing said, but he wasn’t looking at the firefly anymore.

You cleared your throat. “So, Jing. In such a romantic, late-night setting like this… when two young people meet in a clandestine manner… What do you suppose would happen?”

“Any manner of things, I suppose.”

“True, but there’s one in particular that’s on my mind.”

“My liege…?”

“Jing, I want to kiss you,” you said plainly. His face shone in the light.

“Y… You do?”

“I’ve been courting you for the past few weeks. Why wouldn’t I?” you said impatiently. “But before we go any further, I want you to understand that this is only for fun. Don’t worry; I don’t expect marriage talks to come out of this.”

“Marriage?” Jing repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.

“Yes, marriage. But we’re young. We’re allowed to have our fun, aren’t we? I have a business to inherit, and you have dreams of your own, surely. We need not get in each other’s way. But, for now…” You placed a hand flat against his chest. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Jing’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at your hand; slowly, he brought his own to press against yours, keeping your touch captive against his chest.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

And on a midsummer’s night, with only fireflies as your witnesses, you shared your first kiss with Jing. He tasted like sweat and mint, and his lips were chapped, but you wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything else.

For the rest of your courtship, the two of you would act like the lovers you saw wandering the streets of the city. You spent all of your freetime with Jing: bought skewers at a vendor so you could feed him by hand and watch his face redden, convinced him to take you on a boat ride and glide through the canals, feed the wild sparrows nesting in the eaves of your house.

It was only once your studies in business management and alchemical laws increased, and Jing had to be called away for longer and longer stretches of time to train, that you decided your relationship was too much of a strain on your schedule to continue. Better to end the relationship here, when the two of you were still on good terms, than to watch it shrivel beyond repair.

You explained as much to him on the day you broke up with him. “We said we would keep it casual, didn’t we? I don’t want it to become too much of a burden in our lives. Besides that, I do not plan to take any of my relationships seriously unless it’s with the expectation of marriage, and I don’t plan to do that unless my lover meets all of my expectations.”

“What are those expectations?” Jing asked.

You tap your chin thoughtfully. “Well… they must have a title if not a lineage, and have enough fortune to be a boon to my house. They must be intelligent, thoughtful, cunning and ambitious, but not to the point they attempt to limit me or usurp my position as heir to the alchemy commission. And they must be able to keep up with me and assist me in my goals for my future business.”

You thought Jing would make a joke about your lofty expectations, but he only said simply, “And you would marry someone who met all those?”

“Well, yes. Though my mothers keep telling me to lower my expectations.”

What is he thinking? For once, Jing’s eyes are hooded, the perpetual sleepiness replaced by something you can’t place a finger on; the closest word you have for it is hunger.

“Then, my liege…” Jing takes one of your hands, as reverentially as he would touch the emperor himself, and places a chaste kiss along your knuckles, his lips grazing against your fingers. “I’ll come back for you one day, but let us say goodbye for now.”

You didn’t think much of his words at the time; it was simply a parting from a soldier who had always done everything much too seriously. You did, however, entertain a brief fantasy that Jing would come back and elope with you, but that passed like the rain during the summer: sudden, intense, and gone more quickly than it arrived. You were busy, and though you flirted once or twice at social functions over the years, took on all manners of temporary lovers, your main focus was always on your duties towards your house.

You lost track of Jing over the years, and you chalked it up to a natural consequence of time and distance. Jing became a memory you could look back fondly on, a foolish first relationship that you chased after with a youthful arrogance… until he showed up in front of you again.

—

“You really had no idea that I was the one courting you?” Jing Yuan’s voice is amused, sleepy, but each word possesses a certain gravity. He’s a careful speaker, you think. Someone who weighs the measure of everything he says. He sits across from you at the table, fingers steepled as you talk.

“I didn’t read any of your letters,” you say coolly. “Nor was I expecting an old fling to start pursuing me again, when none have in the past. We ended on clear terms.”

“Does it change things, now that you know who I am?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s even more disappointing to realize it’s you courting me. I would have thought burning your presents was answer enough to your proposal.”

“I simply thought you were dissatisfied with what I bought you,” he says easily. “Material objects are easily replaceable.”

“And did I not spurn your disciple as well?”

“Yanqing is a child, though he dislikes being called such. He’s talented with a sword, but his conversational skills are lacking.”

“And,” you say pointedly, “You are an annoying, insufferable man.”

“Ah,” Jing Yuan says. “Also easily remediable. Shall I prepare an entirely separate estate for you to live in, and stay silent forever after in your presence, so you need not fear seeing or hearing me?”

“Have you no sense?” you snap. “Do you really see nothing wrong with my behavior? Do you not understand what rejection is? Must I send a tutor to your household?”

“Ah, but that’s because you’re doing everything on purpose, not out of ignorance,” he says smoothly. “I know you well enough; you only have eyes for your dreams and goals, and little attention to spare to anyone else. So playing these little games with you… this is the only way you will turn your gaze to me, is it not? My dear liege–” Jing leans closer to you, and you wonder why you never realized the boy you thought was a little bird is actually a lion– “whether you accept my proposal or not, whether you find me a detestable nuisance or a respectable ally, I am satisfied as long as you think of me, with fondness or with loathing. As long as I occupy your mind as much as you occupy mine, then I will be happy.”

“You are an insidious man, and I shudder to think of the state of the city if someone like you somehow managed to crawl up the ranks,” you say flatly.

“Then shall I give up all my wealth and all my titles for you? You only need to say the word.”

“Are you mad?”

“Only if love is a form of madness, my liege.”

“I should never have gotten involved with you.”

“You cannot change the past,” Jing Yuan says, and you want to flick him in the forehead.

“Which is a shame.” You gulp down the rest of your cooled tea, slamming the cup on the table. “At the very least, stop sending me things I don’t want. No flowers, no presents, no love songs. It’s distracting.”

“Of course.”

“Then…”

“Will you stop by again some time?” he says pleasantly. “I’ll be sure to inform the guards to let you in if you ever stop by, no matter the time or circumstance.”

“Confident, are you?”

“Have you given me any reason not to be?”

“... Hah. Never mind. I need time away from you to clear my head.”

Jing Yuan simply lets you go with a smile, and as you step outside his estate, you had a feeling it would not be your last time visiting.

—

After your visit to Jing Yuan, true to his word, he does not send you any presents, nor couriers or musicians to pester you. You would be relieved with the sudden peace if you didn’t suspect he had something else planned. The next few days pass with little fanfare, until an afternoon in which your mom requires your assistance managing her inventory.

“My darling child, did you hear?” your mom says conspiratorially, lowering her face next to yours as the two of you sort through dried herbs.

“Hear what, mom?” you ask. Your mom loves to gossip and chatter, and hears news from all corners of the city thanks to the customers filing through her alchemy shop. Though it is usually your mother who indulges her, you don’t mind listening occasionally as well. It’s always prudent to know what is going inside of the city, after all.

“The general… the one who’s been courting you… has been seen with a few lovers!”

“And why is this my business?” you say, expertly bundling a few dried stalks together. “Should I congratulate him on fooling multiple people to find him a viable partner?”

“Why… they say there’s talk of him marrying one of them soon.”

You crush the herbs in your hand, dried green flakes escaping through your closed fingers. “Is that so?”

Your mom watches you in amusement. “I thought you didn’t care for him.”

“I do not. I find myself loathing him even more now, in fact, as he seems to be a man who can’t keep his word.”

For the rest of your time with your mom, you fume and plan ways to curse Jing Yuan as you stack containers of herbs in the cool, dark storeroom. Ah, you see how it is. For all of his grand declarations, as soon as he gets tired of you, he has no problem finding someone else, does he not? But– and a sudden jolt of embarrassment shoots down your spine– that is all idle gossip. It is the height of foolishness to believe something without verifying it for yourself. Perhaps that man has made you lose your mind through sheer annoyance; certainly, your intelligence seems to have lowered after prolonged contact with him.

You should be rejoicing. It shouldn’t bother you to hear that he might have found someone else. It shouldn’t, but…

You take a breath. No, if you let yourself go down this path, then you would fall into a spiral of doubt. Perhaps you should seek the source of your frustration to quell your nerves. But, before that, you would need to prepare a few things.

—

You march into Jing Yuan’s residence like a soldier heading to battle, heedless of anything around you. No servants stop you, wide-eyed as they are, and even the occasional guard only bows at your presence (Yanqing once told you that Jing Yuan had hired more people after you complained about the lack of personnel). You stalk through the house, searching for the general; he can’t hide behind a forest of varnished wood and lacquered bowls forever.

It’s in his office that you find him, relaxed and poised at his desk as he pours over some documents, head in his hand like he’s liable to fall asleep at any moment.

“General,” you say, all acidic politeness as you stride up to his desk, slamming your hands down so hard the corners of the page flutter.

“My liege. If I knew you were coming, I would have prepared some snacks,” he says mildly, but you don’t miss how all his boneless relaxation melts away, replaced by an alert interest, though he doesn’t move a single inch.

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you okay, my liege? Though your harsh words and fiery wit are normally music to my ears, it seems as if something is bothering you.” Jing Yuan eases forward in his chair, face right in front of yours so you can count all of his eyelashes.

“You…” You bite your lip. What were you doing? You aren’t even engaged to him. You have no right to be jealous of who he chooses to spend his time with; it is not uncommon for eligible bachelors to test the waters with multiple partners, as you know from firsthand experience. But you couldn’t back down now. “You… are you planning on finally settling down?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just wanted to know if I could count on you being out of my sight forever if you’ve found someone else.”

Jing Yuan cocks his head. “Ah, I see. You’re worried I no longer care for you. I find your lack of forthrightness charming as well.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“What would you do if I said I had?” he remarks.

“I’d send you a thousand presents as thanks in return for all the ones you flooded my room with,” you reply tartly.

“Well, I can’t have that, can I? Where would I put them all? To answer your question, my liege, you are the only one whom I will ever devote myself to. You are all I think about. All I do is for you. The idea someone could take your place would be as foolish as a candle becoming the sun,” he says simply.

You twist your hands. It is a grandiose declaration; from anyone else, you might have laughed. But Jing Yuan spoke each word with a measured sincerity. You think if you were to ask him to burn down the city and crown you as the ruler, he would do so with a smile.

“There are rumors around the city about you and your lovers,” you venture.

“There are rumors about you, too, speculating that you have a hidden lover you jealously hide from the public view. People love to talk; I could not walk around with even a friend without gossip sparking.”

You let loose a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. So it is nothing more than idle tongues wagging… and the gossipers of the city would rejoice at the news they could share after today.

Jing Yuan doesn’t seem all that surprised when you take a pouch out of your pocket and slide it across the desk. He unveils a tassel with intricate knots vaguely in the shape of a lion head, made with strands of soft yellow and white, interspersed with small amber beads. Jing Yuan says nothing as he examines it, holding it as if it were an offering to the gods.

“Yanqing said it, didn’t he? That you hoped I would make you a matching tassel?�� you say. “You can take this as an answer to your proposal. This should quell any rumors of potential lovers for either of us.”

“My liege, I may just kiss you,” he murmurs.

“Then hurry up and do so.”

And Jing Yuan reaches for you across the desk, papers flying as you ungracefully prop yourself on top of all his important paperwork, ink smearing, pens clacking to the floor. His hands are on your face, cradling you like a promise, while he kisses you with an increasing hunger that leaves you breathless. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging the silky soft strands to pull him closer, and he surrenders to your touch.

This is a prudent match for your family, of course. Jing Yuan, as your mother once noted, has power. Money. Fame and glory. He is loyal. Devoted. He can keep up with you, does not quail under your words, and has no schemes of vying with you for power.

But more than that, more than his titles, you want him. You want the man in front of you and, this time, you would not let him go.

#liya writes #honkai star rail #jing yuan #hsr #honkai stair rail x reader #jing yuan honkai #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail imagines

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theyungihven · 2 months

Text

The Demon's Infatuation • Sex Demon Yunho

CHAPTER 1

↬ pairing: dom demon yunho x sub female reader

↬ genre: smut, romance

↬ warnings: breeding kink, cream pie, pain kink, unprotected sex, hip bruises, biting kink, slut-shaming, choking kink, hard core dom yunho, yunho is OBSSESSED,

↬ word count: 1.2K+

↬ author’s note: this full novel length fic is a dedication to my boyfriend alex and the demon that visited me at night two years ago every full moon night

Summary :

It might sound crazy to say that I've become a demon's infatuation and you might ask me, 'how did you even end up in this place?' Well well, even I don't know how it happened and whenever I ask him or confront him about our first meeting, he avoids the topic by sensually kissing me and making me forget about the question with an orgasm. I can't leave him because I can't live without him either. He is as if an intoxication I cannot get out of my body and desperately need in order to stay sane. He says, 'no one will love you like I do, darling' but how do I tell him that no one has ever loved me and no one ever can because my soul belongs to him, so does my heart and they worship him day and night.

She's just an innocent heartbroken girl who just wants to be loved for once despite her flaws and imperfections and he's a wicked demon who wants nothing but to corrupt her soul to till all she can think of him. What can go wrong if he takes a little interest in her? Heaven along with Hell are not going to collide with the Earth, or will they?

What could exactly go wrong if I sit alone under the full moon at midnight?

What could exactly go wrong if I sit alone under the full moon at midnight? Nothing. So I don't give it a second thought and make myself comfortable in the chair placed out in the balcony, bathing in the moonlight. The faint melody of my favourite song plays in the background through my phone as it echoes through the balcony.

The balcony is my only safe space these days. It provides me comfort and solace when I desire it the most, in moments of utter hopelessness. It sports a pretty popular viewing and gossiping spot for my family on the first floor as it opens up towards the roadside. It also serves as a common concrete stairway to the rooftop.

The moon attempts to brighten up my gloomy mood as I dwell into my sadness. The cool breeze, which is as light as a feather, ruffles the tall green trees lining the streets and also caresses my cheek. It reminds me that I haven't been completely abandoned by this world and also that there are still some forces which appreciate my existence.

Now, I cannot hope but wish that someone touched me in a similar manner. I wish someone held me like a mother holds her dear child, like a lover holds his significant other, like a child holds onto his dying pet.

However, no matter how much I try to forget the incident that happened this afternoon, I can't seem to get it out of my head. I cannot get that picture of the people I once considered to be my friends, mocking me for liking a guy. I cannot forget the words they called me just for daring to like the most popular guy of my grade.

They make me feel as if having a romantic interest in a boy or just simply liking someone is the biggest sin one could commit on the Earth.

My body shakes as the turbulent storm inside me rises to the surface and brews a great tsunami. It drenches my cheeks and my face as it brings destruction and mayhem along with it in the face of a heart-wrenching pain in my chest, hopelessness and a wave of absolute sadness which hits me like a speeding truck. Somehow, the hopelessness inspires me and convinces my mind to beg whoever deity is willing to listen to me.

So, I do.

“To whoever is listening,” I manage to say despite the water rising in my chest as it tries to suffocate me by drowning me in the lake of sadness but I need to beg the deity. So, I continue with my remaining energy, “I want a guy, who will love me for who I am, despite my flaws and imperfections.”

The dam breaks as the sea of sadness drowns me in it and finds an outlet through my eyes and the salty water flows along with my last words, “I don’t care about how he looks, or even if he’s a human!” At the end of the sentence, I end up on my knees, upon the cold white marble of the moonlit balcony, as the still water gushes out of my eyes and my body trembles like a tree against strong winds.

An eerie silence follows, as I recover from the tsunami’s devastating damage but it isn’t long when I hear a deep chuckle, which is so crisp and clear as if the person is sitting right beside me. I look up and around to identify the potential maker of the noise, but end up meeting with disappointment when I fail to do so, but it doesn’t fail in sending a chill down my spine and my body on high alert.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I say, but come to regret the decision of doing so in the next second when a shadow appears out of nowhere, sitting on the stairs leading to the rooftop. It leans back, placing its hand on the step as its lips curve up in a creepy smile.

Its eyes glow a bright red and just one look at them is enough to send chills down my spine. When my body registers its glowing red eyes and black shadowy figure, its first instinct is to recite holy verses. I do as my mother taught me to wherever I encounter the child of the banished angel. However, I fail to pronounce them properly, as my tongue fails at cooperating with my mind and my body screams RUN.

I do. I run, for my dear life.

I run inside as my fight or flight system takes over with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, at the highest concentration ever in my life. My poor heart tries to keep up with all the sudden increase in cardiac output, but the picture of his creepy smile still lingers in my mind, as if imprinted onto my neurons.

The first thing my itsy bitsy brain thinks of as a distraction is the radio my grandfather made for me. I turn it on, tuning the dial to search for stations while expecting some soothing tunes to play and it does. I breathe a sigh of relief when the radio plays Sparks by Coldplay, my all time favourite.

However my peace evaporates into thin air when the radio goes off tune and randomly switches channels only to land upon the frequency 66.60.

An eerie voice follows, which says, “you cannot run away from me, kitten.”

I don’t even dare to touch the radio and follow my instincts this time. I run downstairs to my family who look at me as if they saw the stars when the sun rules the skies. I am breathless as I stand in front of my mother, who looks at me in surprise while I struggle to form sentences in my head as I sweat ridiculously.

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

“A cat.”

“Yeah, yeah, a shapeshifting cat.”

“As if anything of such kind exists in this world.”

“Dumb humans”

TAGLIST

@yunhogrippers @strbryjoonie @haram-monbebe @atinism @yvnhoos @st4rhwa @lomons

#yunho #demon yunho #ateez smut #san #ateez yunho #san smut #seonghwa #hongjoong #yeosang #mingi #jeong yunho #incubi yunho #incubi san #yunho smut

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bangtanintotheroom · 1 year

Text

Spin You Like a Hit Record (M)

She seh she want come round a mi yard

Mi seh gyal turn round mek mi fuck you hard

Mek mi spin you like a hit record

Mi spin you like a hit record

• Pairing: Clubgoer!Bangchan x Clubgoer!(F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Smut, One Night Stand (?), Strangers to Lovers

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 12.1k

• Summary: No one who’s ever stepped into this club can match your moves. No one dared to challenge you until a man with cheesy pick up lines and bulging muscles did. There’s no way this guy could impress you, right?

• Warnings/themes: swearing, dirty dancing, grinding, clubbing, Chan being a sexy dork, flirting, drinking, Y/N getting a bit angry, Felix being a cockblock and a chaotic roommate 💀, making out, all the teasing, dirty talk, breast play, praise, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), face-sitting, 69, hitting it from the back, a teensy tiny hint of dom!Chan, protected sex, mentions of drooling, mentions of exhibitionism, the morning after

• Playlist: 🎧

• Song Inspo: Come Roun - Mavado (Spotify | Soundcloud)

• Notes: IT’S FINALLY HEEEEEERE 🗣️ I did not think it’d take this long, that Chan brainrot is no joke lol A big fuck thank you to @minisugakoobies @minttangerines and @sugalaritae for pushing Mr. Bang Christopher Chan onto me in our group chat. It’s my first time writing a non-BTS fic since I started this blog, but I hope you guys will enjoy this regardless! 💕 and kisses for my sexy stack of pancakes Griddle who beta’d this for me on short notice!

• Taglist: @jimilter @joontied @minisugakoobies @minttangerines @sugalaritae @crisle19 @codeinebelle @kookprada @saweetspoiled @effielumiere @m1sss1mp @amaranth-writing @dvalitaes

This was your favorite environment.

The one place where you could let loose and not give a flying fuck about what anyone else in the room would think. Then again, the usual mindset of every other person in this area was either one of the two categories; how can I dance like her or how can I dance with her. It brought you confidence that could remain for the rest of the night.

The club was a decent-sized place that was always so packed that it had the potential to become a fire hazard. Monday, Thursday, Saturday; it didn’t matter what day it was, people were there ready to dance and drink their hearts out.

The music was what really brought everyone in. A mix of R&B and hip hop, both old and new, inspiring club-goers to gyrate and belt out the lyrics into the neon air. But there was a specific genre that piqued your interest from the moment you first stepped into this establishment. Hearing the bouncy rhythm and background instruments originating from various Caribbean islands took over your soul (you couldn’t think of a less dramatic way to explain it). If you were feeling less-than-stellar when you entered the building, the music was quick to fix that. Knowing that over time, you would become one with the beats, gyrating to your heart’s content.

Nothing could kill your vibe.

Well, except for when strangers tried to creep into your personal bubble.

Now, you didn’t mind someone coming up to dance with you in the beginning. It took two to tango and it could be fun having another person to enjoy the music with. But it became clear after some time that not many of them could match your moves.

They were too slow.

They were off-beat.

They were too erratic in their moves.

Your patience dwindled with these people, which led to you turning them down the second you sensed trouble. Some backed off with little issue, finding another club dweller to put their moves on instead. Some didn’t like to take no for an answer and led to passive-aggressive jabs at your dancing before storming away.

Whatever.

Not your problem.

You had been here for over an hour now. About six people had approached you, varying energies, but with the same disappointing results. The last one was particularly grating, constantly trying to guide you to their awful rhythm. They must have missed your ass about three times before you gave them the typical look of disappointment. But they insisted on trying over and over until you had to take their hands off you and tell them to leave you alone. The look in their eyes screamed that they wanted to call you some name, but they chose wisely to walk away instead.

Good, you didn’t feel like cussing someone out tonight.

Now that you were free from lackluster dancers, your throat was getting parched. It was time to re-hydrate, especially before the fire songs came on.

You made a beeline over to the crowded bar, nabbing an empty spot as soon as it opened. You rested your arms on the sticky countertop, tapping your pointed nails as you waited for one of the bartenders to acknowledge you. While you were watching a particularly flamboyant and agile bartender toss and flip his shaker, you heard a voice call from your side.

“Hey, how you doin’?”

Oh jeez.

Your immediate reaction was to give whoever spoke a fake and dismissive smile, but something about the way they sounded intrigued you. Was that an accent? It was hard to tell with the volume of the music.

Taking a chance, you turned your head to the right.

Ooh. Okay then. Hottie in your vicinity.

Decent height. Short black hair. Very handsome with a unique nose and full lips.

A very real smile automatically took over your glossy lips.

“Hey. Couldn’t be any better.”

The good-looking stranger shot you a megawatt grin, complete with dimples and everything.

“That’s good. You looked like you were having fun out there.”

Your torso turned towards him a little more.

“You were watching me?”

“Kind of hard not to.”

This type of exchange had become familiar to you lately. Someone walked up and tried to hit on you by complimenting your dancing skills. Depending on the person, it had a 50/50 chance of working. But hearing this guy do it in his (what you quickly identified as) Aussie accent upped the probability.

Would he get any farther than this, though?

“Oh?”

“Yup. Made me think you might live here with the way you were moving to those songs.”

A giggle escaped you, to your surprise.

“What can I say? I’m one with the music.”

The man next to you repeated your laugh, eyes squinting in delight.

“Oh, I believe it. Oops, where’s my manners?”

He held a hand out towards you, causing your eyes to travel up his muscular arm in intrigue. Whoa. Look at those biceps. Bless this man for wearing a sleeveless shirt tonight.

“I’m Chan.”

Right. Pay attention, Y/N. Take his hand and speak!

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Chan.”

The mystery hottie named Chan gave you a handshake with enough pressure to wonder if he was holding back. With the muscle he was packing, surely he was hiding his strength.

“Likewise! You mind if I buy you a drink?”

You shrugged, lips quirked upwards.

“If you’re offering, sure.”

Chan grinned, taking your drink order before continuing to have a mild conversation with you. It seemed like it was going to take a while before the two of you were acknowledged. You didn’t mind, finding him to be pleasant to speak to. From his appearance alone, you assumed that he would be one of those cocky muscleheads who did the bare minimum when it came to chatting up women.

Oh, did he prove you wrong.

He was actually rather sweet in the way he spoke to you, asking if your night was going well so far. The man was particularly tickled in your retelling of some of the disastrous events from the dancefloor, letting out giggles that made him even more endearing in your eyes. You almost didn’t want the drinks to come; that’s how much you were enjoying his presence.

But after the first and even second drink, you were still talking to Chan, the both of you sitting on stools now.

This was odd. Your main goal was usually to come and dance up a storm at this club, not chat with a complete stranger. It was like Chan was a magnet. Pulling you in and keeping you by his side unless some opposing force came in and tugged you away.

You spoke too soon, it seemed. For the DJ made a familiar announcement that had your ears perking up.

“Alright y’all, I’m lovin’ this crowd tonight, the energy is beautiful up in here! But now I wanna turn it up a notch. In a few minutes, you’ll see what I mean!”

Damn. Your favorite part of the night was coming up.

How could you cut this interaction short, though? You weren’t quite ready to stop talking to Chan…

But…

You let out a sigh when his head was turned, not wanting him to think you were tired of his presence. Far from it.

“Hey Chan?”

He looked back at you, raising a dark brow.

“What’s up?”

“I hate to break up our little chat, but I’d like to get back to the floor.”

Chan seemed to be averse to your departure, full lips pouting in disappointment. Cute.

“That’s a shame, I was enjoying your company.”

You gave an apologetic smile, not really wanting to split yet either.

“The feeling’s mutual, trust me. But the DJ’s about to play some fire music and I don’t really want to miss it.”

He now raised his other brow in intrigue.

“Better than what’s already been playing?”

“Mhm! I mean, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I like it.”

Just as Chan was about to speak again, you heard a familiar tune float out of the speakers, your head whipping towards the dancefloor. A chorus of cheers and hollers erupted from the crowd, a few people running from their seats to join the wave of grinding bodies. Your fingers twitched around your glass.

You were dying to be out there.

And then you looked back at your companion.

But something was telling you leaving this man would be a mistake.

If he was really interested, maybe he wouldn’t mind waiting for you to finish your dance. And if he was the impatient kind, then tough shit.

“Chan—”

“Is this what you were waiting for?”

The interruption made you blink, nodding as you watched an inquisitive expression take over his handsome face. After a moment, he smirked.

“Dancehall, huh? Great taste.”

He appreciated this kind of music too? What else were you going to add onto the one-sided list of pros and cons?

“Thanks. I didn’t picture you as the type to know about this.”

Chan’s dark eyes widened, looking taken aback.

“Of course I do! I listen to almost anything. But this stuff right here, this is no joke. I don’t blame you for wanting to go.”

You couldn’t hold back a grin, no matter how hard you tried. Why couldn’t there be more people like him? You definitely had to catch up after you were finished.

Just as you were about to express your gratitude, Chan cocked his head and spoke, “Actually…”

The expectant look he gave was outright charming.

“Do you mind if I join?”

Uh oh.

Here we go. Damn, and it was all going so well too.

Not that you didn’t want to get the chance to grind up on this attractive man, but if he messed up out there, it just might change your overwhelmingly positive opinion on him.

You’d have to turn him down. It sucked, but it was for his own good.

Alright, just remember how this went the last time someone dared to ask you to dance.

Lowering your lids, you rested an elbow on the counter, clasping your hands together while your mouth flattened into a humorless line.

“You can’t keep up with me.”

This man wasn’t fazed by your dismissal. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the challenge, reflecting your position before a tongue came out to run over his straight teeth.

“Don’t count me out yet, baby.”

Your cold front cracked a mite at the nickname and the way Chan seemed so confident in himself. Was it real? Or was he just bullshitting until he got onto the floor with you and made a fool of himself?

The drinks you had must have been extra strong tonight as you found your resolve wavering faster than usual.

Well, only one way to answer your questions.

“Fine.”

Straightening up, you brushed some loose hairs out of your face before lifting your chin up a bit. You held a hand out towards your challenger.

“Let’s see if you can back up that mouth.”

You would think Chan had won the lottery with the dazzling grin he gave. He wasted no time in taking your palm in his, warm and heavy and leaving you wondering what it could be capable of. There was time for that later, if he played his cards right.

Now you were leading him onto the dancefloor, bobbing and weaving through the gyrating club-goers. You glanced back to see if there was any hesitation on his face as you pulled him into the middle.

Nothing.

If anything, he seemed even more excited.

Interesting.

Once you found a spot large enough for the two of you, you turned to face him, raising a brow.

“Last chance.”

Chan chuckled, shaking his head at your warning.

“Ready whenever you are.”

Lips quirking, you took a head start, quickly identifying what point of the song was playing right now. Your body began responding to the beats, hips popping side to side as you kept your eyes locked with his own. He was quick to follow you in succession, starting off with simple two-steps, albeit with a little more flourish than the other dancers.

You noticed how easily Chan seemed to catch the tempo on his own. His eyes never straying from yours to watch your movements in hopes to imitate them.

So far, so good.

But this was only the beginning.

Deciding to go up a level, you stepped closer to him. Leaving only a few inches between your bodies, you allowed your hips to come so close to brushing against his. Watching his face to see if he would flinch or back down, your curiosity was intrigued when he did neither.

In fact, Chan closed the gap before placing those strong hands of his on your waist. The touch made a jolt go up your spine, intensified by the smirk he shot down at you next.

“This alright?”

Either it was the music or the distraction from his warm palms that almost had you missing what he said.

“Yeah.”

From then on, you both remained silent, letting your bodies do the talking.

Your dance partner matched your moves with little second-guessing, even taking the lead at times. After a certain point, Chan took one of your hands to spin you around a few times, a laugh escaping your lips at the gesture. The sound stopped when you felt him pull your back flush against his front, gut twisting at the heat and firmness of his body. You almost missed your next step, but you were quick to collect yourself.

This gesture was a lot more intimate than before, the atmosphere taking a slight turn into something a bit sultry. It didn’t help that the man behind you took to resting his head next to yours, lowering the percentage of your body that wasn’t pressed against his. You could feel his breath occasionally washing over your cheek.

“Tired of me yet?”

Is he for real?

“Not at all. I’m liking what I’m seeing so far.”

Chan chuckled, lips vibrating against your ear. “Good.”

The two of you continued your dancing, the next couple of songs passing by swiftly. You were happy to see that he wasn’t full of shit when it came to his skills. You even challenged him by throwing a sudden move in at random moments, wanting to catch him off-guard. But he was quick on the draw, following any dips or grinds with ease.

The chance that you would spend more time with Chan later was growing by the second.

But then the DJ started transitioning into a tune that you knew all too well. You couldn’t help but wonder whether your companion could handle this kind of song or if it’d be a little too far out of his league.

“Oh shit! Haven’t heard this one in a while.”

What?

Chan couldn’t see your brows raising until you turned your head, surprised by the eager expression on his handsome face.

“This song?”

“Yup.” He cocked his head at the disbelief in your eyes. “What?”

“Sure you can handle this?”

Just like before, there was no caution to your question, his lips twisting into a secure smirk.

“Wait and see.”

You hoped he didn’t feel the tremble that ran through your body just now. Something about the sheer confidence of this man got to you with little effort.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you faced forward once again, hips starting to roll to the familiar rhythm. You were slower and more deliberate in your movements this time, trying to take the lead. Chan seemed to have other plans, though, tightening his hold on you before pulling you back just as he was grinding forward.

Whoa.

There wasn’t an ounce of modesty in that move just now. Alright, don’t back down, Y/N.

You raised your arms in the air, starting to lower your body down. Chan followed suit until the two of you were nearly squatting, giving you a little more leverage to work with. You weren’t shy in winding your hips back, the fabrics of your pants providing friction every time the two of you made contact. A part of you was hoping he’d slip up a bit, just to know you were having an effect on him. It wouldn’t influence your currently high opinion of him at all.

But if he was getting worked up, it wasn’t showing in the way he closed whatever gap was between and grinded from the bottom of your ass all the way to the top.

Oh no.

Godammit, you could feel whatever he was hiding in those pants of his rubbing against every inch of your bottom. And now your stimulated brain was running with scenarios of just what could be in his pants.

You swallowed hard.

Were you actually getting turned on from dancing alone? This was a first.

Okay, focus.

Push back, Y/N, push back.

It didn’t do much, of course. Especially since he practically jerked his hips forward all of a sudden. If it wasn’t for his hands, you would’ve stumbled in shock.

Thank God he couldn’t see the flustered expression on your face right now.

“Mind if I try something, baby?”

Oh? Something else up his sleeve…well, lack of sleeve.

You shook your head, only to have Chan maneuver your body so you were bent over at the waist, much to your surprise.

What he did next almost had you keeling over in a stupor.

The man behind you took a firm hold of your hips before grinding against you with everything he had in his well-muscled body.

Oh. Shit. Fucking shit.

You know, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed Chan wouldn’t be up to par. Because if it wasn’t for your clothes, this man would be straight-up fucking you on the dancefloor right now.

No no no. This could not continue, not unless he wanted you to pounce on him in the middle of this crowd.

You had to take the reins and let him know that you weren’t backing down.

Straightening your body up, you took his hands and pulled them away before spinning around to face him.

Okay, this was your last resort. Surely he wouldn’t be able to handle this move.

Tickled at the confused expression on Chan’s handsome face, you went and hooked your leg around his waist, giving back just as much force as he did when he rolled from behind. Judging by the way he bit his lip, you must have caught him off-guard.

Alas, your victory lap was cut short when those same lips twisted into a wicked smirk. You realized how screwed you were when he took a firm hold of your waist and repeated the motion from earlier. This was a huge mistake!

There was no cushioning to protect you from the sensation of his clothed crotch grinding against yours.

Goddamn. You were wrong yet again.

Feeling Chan rub against you over and over again started a familiar heat between your legs that increased with each grind. You were quickly losing control over your body, having to grab onto his firm shoulders to steady yourself. Your eyes remained steady on his own, though, even if you wanted to close them while pleasure slowly crept up your spine.

You were looking for some sign on your dance partner’s face that he was being affected as well. Something. But there wasn’t much to work with. His smile was no longer present, but the rest of his expression remained impassive. Maybe he just had a really good poker face?

You managed to hold back on making any obscene sounds until a roll at a certain angle brushed right where your clit was. Oh fuck. Did you just moan out loud? At least the music covered it up…hopefully.

Just when you felt like you were about to pin this man and ride him like a prize horse, the song ended, music returning back into its usual genre. The bubble of lust around you and Chan burst with the shift. But the air still felt heavy. Especially with the way the two of you would just not stop staring at each other.

There was no way this would be the end of your interaction with the handsome stranger tonight.

Absolutely not.

You were pleased to see that you weren’t the only one who had broken a sweat, the edge of Chan’s hairline shining and dotted with light perspiration.

“How was that?”

What? That’s all he had to say? After the way he spun, writhed and bent you over, that’s what came out of his mouth?!

Alright. He wanted an answer? You would give him one.

With your eyes narrowing for a moment, you made a grab for his hand before beginning to drag him through the dancing bodies. You narrowly avoided having your foot stepped on until the two of you hit an open area. Spotting the hallway leading to the bathrooms, you kept pulling on Chan until you were deep enough to not be interrupted.

You swiftly turned around to have your back facing the wall. Chan’s mouth opened in what was sure to be a question until you grabbed his shoulders and tugged him down to attach your lips to his.

There was his damn answer.

He seemed to like it as you felt a groan rumble against you before those strong hands of his made a grab for your hips once more. You felt him tug until they were pressed to his.

Oh. Now you could tell that the grinding had some kind of effect on him.

Chan didn’t give you reprieve, snaking his tongue out to pry your mouth open. He was on a mission as he landed on your own appendage, tangling with controlled movements that had you feeling weaker than before. Between that and the nips to your lower lip he’d give occasionally, you would forget just where you guys were.

In a nightclub across the hall from restrooms with semi-questionable hygiene. Probably had a few drunks tossing their cookies in there too.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that this wasn’t an ideal spot. You wanted to get a taste of whether Chan’s moves were only designated to the dancefloor or not.

When he broke off to begin planting kisses on your neck, you mustered up the strength to air your intentions.

“I wanna get out of here.”

Another kiss. “With me?”

“No, by myself— Ah—”

The nibble underneath your jaw made your words catch, much to Chan’s humor, judging by his tone as he teased, “Aw, I thought we were having such a good time together, baby.”

Clicking your tongue, you reached up to give an earlobe a light tug. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Pissing me off.”

An unexpected giggle came out before he whispered in your ear, “But you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

This man.

“You’re gonna see me real mad if we don’t leave this damn club.”

Another laugh came from Chan as pulled his head back to look at you.

“Fine, fine. Where are we going?”

“Your place, my place, a hotel, I don’t fucking care.”

You probably sounded whiny, but at least he seemed to share the sentiment as he stepped back.

“Well, lucky for you, my place is a few blocks away. C’mon.”

He held a hand out that you immediately took, allowing Chan to escort you through the club and to the front doors, ready to continue the night away from wandering eyes.

Chan wasn’t joking when he said he only lived a few blocks down, but it felt like longer to you, thanks to how fucking horny you were.

It was so bad that you almost tugged him down an alleyway whenever the two of you had to wait at an intersection to cross. But oddly, having his thumb occasionally rub the back of your hand would ground you a bit. Well, that and the charming smile he’d shoot down.

It was almost like he could tell how restless you were.

Finally, he led you into an apartment building and straight to the elevator, the ride going up a few floors before you both got off.

Chan pulled a set of keys out of his pocket as the two of you headed down the hall to a door with a welcome mat that had a picture of a cat on it. The sight was unexpected and brought a tiny giggle out of you.

“It’s not mine, my roommate picked it out.”

“Chan, you don’t have to lie. I think it’s cute!”

He paused in unlocking the door to shoot a pout.

“I’m not!”

“Uh huh.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to change your mind, he rolled his eyes and got the door open, motioning you to step in first before locking it behind him. As soon as the two of you took your shoes off, he reached for your hand once again and began walking.

Guess you weren’t going to get a good look at his apartment right now.

Chan guided you down a hallway before stopping in front of one of the doors, presumably his bedroom. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it to push the door open, only for the smile on his face to drop.

You couldn’t see what the problem was until you peeked around his body, spotting a desk setup with a sizable computer monitor against one of the walls. And in the chair in front of it was a person, clearly immersed in the game they were playing.

“Get out, Felix.”

Chan’s concealed irritation caught the attention of the man named Felix, swiveling his chair around to shoot a bothered look. His appearance was the polar opposite of his roommate’s, slender with softer facial features and blond hair that draped over the back of his neck. In your eyes, he was, dare you say, quite a pretty man.

“But I’m almost done with this level, bro!”

Oh wow. Didn’t expect that voice to come out of that face.

Your lover for the night growled under his breath before addressing him once again with a little more attitude.

“Mate, get out of here! You’ve been in that chair since I left hours ago, go do something productive, for Chrissakes!”

Felix’s eyes narrowed at Chan, tsking before turning back around, clicking the mouse and keyboard harder than necessary. In a minute, the bright colors on the screen disappeared, leaving nothing but a basic desktop wallpaper illuminating the room. The leaner man pushed the chair back and stood up before heading towards the two of you.

“Asshole. This is me being productive.”

Clearly Chan wasn’t having it, dark eyes still boring a hole in the other as he gently moved both of your bodies aside so Felix could leave the room. But just before he hit the threshold, he stopped in his tracks, looking you up and down with thinly-veiled curiosity.

“Aren’t you at least going to introduce me to your new friend?”

Chan seemed ready to tell him off, yet reined it in at the last second, his broad shoulders lifting and lowering as he sighed with exasperation. He held out a free hand to gesture between you and Felix.

“Felix, Y/N. Y/N, Felix.”

The both of you waved to each other, Felix’s pretty face stretching into a cheeky smile.

“Hey Y/N. Hopefully Chan doesn’t drool on you while he’s on top.”

This seemed to be the last straw for the muscled man, letting out some colorful words before letting go of your hand. He placed both of his on Felix’s shoulders, turning him towards the hallway in order to push him out with more force than necessary. This didn’t seem to bother the other man, laughing at both of your reactions.

Just as Chan was grabbing the door, Felix seemed to have one last thing to say.

“Oh, and the back of his neck is his weak spot!”

Your brows lifted in intrigue just as the door was slammed in the other’s face, watching as the lock was turned with a loud click. You heard Chan mumbling under his breath, only able to hear the words ‘dick’ and ‘cunt’ and something about the electric bill, lips twitching in amusement until he turned towards you with a sigh. A hand came up to rub the back of his neck.

“’M sorry about that. My roommate can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

You giggled, stepping close to take said hand in yours, giving it a light squeeze.“No worries. Not the worst situation I’ve walked into.”

That adorable smile of his made a comeback, thanks to your reassurance.

“Good. Oh, and whatever he said was bullshit.”

Your head cocked to the side as you played with his fingers.

“What was?”

Chan huffed lightly at how you were playing games, placing his free hand on your hip to pull you flush against his firm body.

“How I drool.”

You looked off to the side, pretending to recollect what Felix had said before looking up at him once again.

“Oh yeah? Because I was more curious about the other thing he mentioned.”

You felt the hold on your hip move slowly towards your ass before cupping it.

“The neck thing?”

“Yes.”

Chan’s lips peeled back, flashing straight teeth. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

Your smile matched his to a T, taking your other hand to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. It had been too long since his luscious lips were on yours.

The two of you picked up on where you had left off at the club, with less concern about who would see what was going on. It was just you and Chan in this lamp-lit room, tongues and teeth working .

Just when you were ready to take things up a notch, you felt his grip on both sides of your hips before he began guiding you to walk backwards. Your legs automatically moved in response, only stopping when he tightened his hold.

Chan broke the kiss, allowing you to realize that you were at the foot of his bed now. He didn’t give you time to think more on it, reaching for the hem of your top. With a quick glance at your face, he waited for your nod before starting to work the garment up and off. There was a bit of fumbling towards the end, thanks to the multiple straps, but he managed to divulge you of it.

The swear that left him at the sight of your bare breasts made your lips tilt and your ego stroked. You let him admire you for a little longer until the urge to see what was hiding under his shirt became too strong to delay.

Your hands reached for it, thankful that he lifted his arms up the second your fingers brushed the fabric. You removed it faster than your own top, eyes trained on every inch of skin that was revealed. Within no time, you were granted a full view of his exposed torso, jaw dropping at the sight.

“Oh shit…”

You had figured Chan was well-muscled, thanks to his exposed arms and the way he felt against your softer body, but this was insane.

A chiseled chest that rose and fell with heavy breaths. Rippling abs that tightened with each inhale. Just…straight-up muscle. How often did he go to the gym to be blessed with a body like this?

“Y/N.”

Chan’s amused voice cut into your foggy thoughts, making you blink in shock. Oops. Did you space out?

You heard a chuckle before a hand came up to carefully hold your chin, tipping your head back up, making sure your eyes were on his own and not his figure. Chan didn’t seem offended at all; if anything, the twinkle in his dark eyes expressed flattery.

“I don’t mind you staring, but I’d really like to get my hands on you now, babygirl.”

Oh. Well, you couldn’t say no to that at all.

You gave an eager nod, receiving one of his adorable giggles before his lips captured yours again. While you were occupied, you felt him begin to work on your pants, undoing them enough to be able to slide them down. The kiss broke once the waistband went over the curve of your ass, Chan crouching down to bring your bottoms down to your ankles.

Good thing you picked one of your best-looking (albeit somewhat uncomfortable) pairs of panties today; he was getting an eyeful at the moment.

“What the fuck, you’re so hot—”

If you weren’t careful, you were going to leave this place with a big head with the way he was throwing praise your way. Despite the way your cheeks were flaming, you played it cool, reaching down to tip Chan’s chin up now, directing his admiring gaze up to your face.

“You already got me in your room, no need to lay it on thick.”

Chan’s eyes creased in the corners as he grinned, another giggle escaping from his dimpled smile.

“Sorry. My mouth tends to beat my brain sometimes.”

How this man could go from confident to adorable in a split second was a mystery to you.

But you could try and solve it later; right now, you needed him back up here.

“It’s alright, baby—”

You motioned him to stand up, wrapping your arms around his taut waist before pressing your bare breasts against his torso.

“Never said I didn’t like compliments.”

Chan huffed in enjoyment, laying his hands on your hips.

“Good to know.”

A giggle escaped before he swooped down to cover your mouth with his own, making quick work of prying your lips apart with his tongue. You opened up with little resistance, but it widened when you felt a firm grip on your ass out of nowhere. The way Chan kneaded it had you melting into his touch, forgetting about any other part of your body that wasn’t squished against his right now.

Which was why you were surprised to find yourself falling backwards all of a sudden, body bouncing on top of his bed.

Chan chuckled at the bewilderment on your face before crawling on top of you, lust-filled eyes traveling over your sprawled figure.

“I almost didn’t approach you, y’know.”

The confession caught you off-guard, causing your brows to furrow.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The man above you leaned in to begin pressing kisses over your jawline and neck, throwing in nips in between that made your breath hitch.

“I saw how you kept turning down all those poor bastards. Kept wondering if I should even bother taking a chance.”

A dig of Chan’s teeth into a hot spot right under your ear had you gasping, followed by a soft moan as he soothed the bite with his tongue.

“But you went ahead and did.”

A puff of air against your neck as he chuckled.

“Only after I had a drink.”

You matched his laugh, deciding to rest your idle hands on his back, savoring the expanse of muscle underneath.

“Nothing wrong with liquid courage. I’m glad you came over.”

Chan lifted his head after pressing his lips to your collarbone, eyes sparked with wonder.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You felt a light tremble run through him when your nails dragged over his skin.

“You definitely proved yourself tonight. That was the most fun I’ve had in that club in ages.”

Thanks to the lamp, you could see the tips of Chan’s ears flushing, his cheeks lifting in bashfulness. To go from devouring your neck to flustering at your words in such a short span of time…what duality.

“Glad to hear it. Besides—”

Your hips jolted when you felt his own press down, the unmistakable feel of his erection making itself known.

“The fun’s only beginning, no?”

Shy Chan has officially left the building. Especially with the groan he gave when you rolled up into him.

“Yes, it is.”

Leaning up to grab more kisses, you were only granted the indulgence for a short while before he broke away. Motioning you to lay back again, he was quick to replace his mouth on your skin, traveling down until he reached your breasts. Chan gave attention to the sensitive area, alternating between feathery licks and thorough sucks.

You were eager to let him know how well he was doing with back arches and moans, nails still tracing patterns on his warm skin. Although the patterns were broken whenever a tug or scrape of his teeth occurred.

“Chan—”

A grunt vibrated against your nipple before he pulled off to rasp, “I’m trying to be patient here, baby, but you’re making it hard for me.”

You huffed and looked down to see an impatient expression aimed up at you.

“How do you think I feel? I was so close to doing you in that club.”

Chan’s eyes lidded at your reveal, tongue running over his swollen lips.

“Well, I could’ve fucked you in the middle of that dance floor.”

A shiver ran through your body. Just the thought of him possibly doing such a crude act had your pussy throbbing harder than before.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. Anyone tried to stop me, I would’ve decked the cunt.”

Fuck, why did that sound so hot?

He didn’t allow you to think on it any longer as he continued to trail kisses down your body, skimming over your stomach until he reached the top of your panties. His hands were quick to come up and lay on both of your inner thighs, pushing them further apart to improve his view of what laid between them.

With the way he was staring, you would have thought he was trying to see through the damn underwear itself.

Just as you were about to interject with something witty, Chan chose to make a move and latch his lips where your clit was, ripping a gasp out of you.

“Ah!”

The sudden shock melted into tingles of pleasure as he began with light sucks, sometimes pausing to lap his tongue over the damp fabric instead.

“Fuck, Chan…”

“Like that, baby?”

You huffed, “No, it’s not enough.”

An inquisitive hum sounded from below, Chan’s mouth pausing its actions (much to your dismay).

“Is that so?”

This guy.

“You know so. Just take them off.”

All you received was a giggle and a shake of the head. “Not yet.”

You groaned his name in annoyance, making him laugh harder, teeth on full display.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

To think you would get so flustered by him. It even made you giggle. “Thank you, but—”

You reached down and tapped his forehead.

“I’m starting to think you’re forcing yourself to do this.”

Chan gave you a look of mock offense.

“Of course not!”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

He rolled his eyes, hooking his finger under the elastic before letting it snap. “I’m serious, Y/N. This is me holding back right now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—”

Chan brushed his lips against your clothed center and husked, “I’d do anything to taste this pussy of yours.”

A shiver traveled through you at his words.

“Anything?”

He kissed you again. “Mhm.”

A certain thought bloomed in your mind from the conversation. You might be pushing it by saying it out loud, but fuck it.

“Would you even let me sit on your face?”

A groan vibrated against your core. “Fuck yes, I would.”

A smirk came over your swollen lips. Hearing the near desperate way he spoke had you going further, toying with the idea before deciding to take a chance. You were feeling very lucky tonight, as it is.

“Well then?”

Chan looked up at you in surprise. He stared until he realized you were serious, mirroring your grin.

“If you insist.”

He sat up and motioned you to move aside so he could sit back and prepare for what was to come. Waiting until Chan got comfortable, you kept your eyes locked on his as you slowly removed your sodden underwear. You almost giggled at how he broke the staring contest, fixated on the now exposed area. Tossing the garment off to who knows where, you poked one of his pecs to catch his attention, letting the laugh escape at the sheepish expression he donned.

He was quick to apologize before laying flat on his back, head just below the pillows. He then pointed to his face, a cheeky grin pasted on now.

“Take a seat.”

You were quick to scoot up and follow his invitation until a thought came through at the last second. Just as you were about to straddle Chan’s head, you turned your body before climbing on, facing towards his lower body instead.

“Oy, what are you doing?”

You hummed before giving his firm stomach a pat. “Enjoying the view.”

A laugh rang from behind as you felt his warm hands cup the top of your ass.

“Cheeky.”

He didn’t give you a moment to reply as he pushed your hips down, ripping a sound out of you as you sat on his tongue now. With slow precision, Chan began lapping at your slick skin, electricity running up your spine before blooming into spreading heat. It didn’t take long before you began moaning at the contact, back arching in enjoyment.

Guess kissing wasn’t the only thing he was good at.

Chan continued to lick at you, dipping into each crevice with varying pressure. Just when you were about to whine when he was too light, he’d increase the strength, throwing you for a loop. There were a few times where you’d nearly lose your balance, tightening your core muscles to prevent yourself from falling over. But after a while, you couldn’t take it anymore, abdominals screaming for mercy.

You had to brace yourself somehow. Scrambling for somewhere to hold onto, your eyes landed on the rippled expanse below you.

Ah. Perfect.

Just as you felt a harsh suck to your folds, your palms landed on Chan’s abs.

Damn.

Did this guy have rocks under his skin or what?

Just as your fingers began exploring every ridge on his waist, you felt something clamp around your throbbing clit before giving a pull.

“Fuck!”

If it wasn’t for his strong hands, you would have bucked down into his face. The temptation grew the more he continued.

Okay, you couldn’t just sit still (well, as still as you could be with his mouth working you over). You needed to suck his dick. Now.

Collecting yourself as much as possible, you put some more weight on your lower body so you could reach for Chan’s pants. Your fingers fumbled a bit, but you managed to get the button and his fly undone. Parting the fabric, you got a better view of the thick outline pressing against his black underwear, sliding your hand under the elastic band to get a feel of it. The second your fingertips went underneath, you felt the body under you give a jolt. Only when your hand wrapped around his cock did he relax.

Damn. Whatever you were holding, you had to see it for yourself.

You pulled Chan’s length out of his underwear, jaw dropping at its appearance.

Nice and thick, perfect for stretching your needy walls out when the time came. But for now…

You lowered your torso to rest on Chan’s, mouth immediately getting to work once his dick was in proximity. The second your tongue touched the velvety skin, vibrations hummed against your pussy. They only increased in frequency the more you incorporated the muscle. Eventually, you chose to take him fully in your mouth, pulling back in enough time to avoid choking as his hips jerked.

Wrapping your fist around the base, your head began bobbing in your own rhythm, hearing and feeling the muffled grunts and groans from behind. You missed Chan’s lips on your cunt when he pulled away at one point, but it was remedied by the praise he gave.

“That’s it, baby…oh shit—”

You smiled around his dick, deciding to throw in a few hums of your own, savoring the way he dug his fingers into the curve of your ass.

“So glad you came up with this—“

A jiggle of one of your cheeks pulled a muffled moan out of you.

“I get to have a great view and feel that mouth.”

So he was an ass man, huh?

Your observation was solidified when you gave it a little shake that rewarded you with a curse. In no time, Chan returned to giving your most intimate area attention again, sending waves of bliss coursing up your spine again.

Between you and him, the room filled up with lewd sounds and noises. Slowly a knot began to form in your guy, encouraging you to up your movements. You provided more suction, receiving a buck of the hips that caught you off-guard. A light gag emitted as his tip hit the top of your throat.

Chan was quick to pull off, speaking in a huskier voice than before, “Shit, sorry. You alright?”

You let him out of your mouth, his wet cock bouncing back down onto his lap.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You didn’t even give him a chance to continue, leaning down to lick up the bead of precum on his flushed head. The moan he gave was absolutely worth it.

“What the fuck— Your mouth is too good.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss below his belly button.

“So I’ve heard.”

Another swear echoed from behind before you felt his hands pushing at your hips. Picking up what he was asking for, you swiftly climbed off, only to feel those same hands tugging at you again. Before you knew it, you ended up on your back with Chan perched over you, looking more fiery thanks to the dual act.

The blown-out pupils in his dark brown irises, combined with his sweat-covered brow, glistening mouth and chin made him look like a feral man, ready to devour every inch of you.

Good. So you were on equal grounds; you were ready to satiate his appetite too.

“You’re killin’ me, Y/N.”

A brow lifted. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Chan grunted before pressing his forehead onto yours, eyes zeroed in on your own.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it is—”

Your pitch grew when you felt fingers skimming over your damp center, biting your lip when you felt one of them circle your clit.

“Hm, sure feels like it. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any wetter…”

A good portion of that was contributed to Chan working you up with his mouth. Hell, you could feel yourself pushing out a drop right now because of his touch.

“You must be feeling good about it—!”

Yet again, he caught you off-guard by prodding between your lower lips, teasing your twitching hole with his index finger.

“Damn right I am.”

He wouldn’t let you come up with another retort, applying pressure until the tip began sinking in, your breath hitching. The sudden intrusion gave way to a pleasant stretch as he pushed even further, up until you felt his knuckle brushing outside.

“Chan—”

Your lover merely hummed, starting to pump slowly as he continued to stare down at you.

“You feel like you’re ready for me, baby.”

Your hips bucked when he sped up for a moment before slowing down.

“I am.”

Chan’s teeth flashed, the impishness contrasting the actions of his hand.

“Nah, nevermind. You’re not ready.”

Frustration began building inside as he continued teasing you, a huff escaping your swollen lips.

“You’re such an ass.”

One of your favorite giggles came out while he pressed his index finger against your entrance.

“Am I?”

Despite the mild burn from the stretch as he added the digit, your hand came up to swat one of his solid pecs.

“Yes! Working me up like this and then laughing—”

This man just loved to torture you, didn’t he? For he decided to go searching and quickly found that rough spot inside that made your back arch.

“Fuck!”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, you don’t sound very mad right now.”

You were about to swear at him again, but he gave a few solid presses that made a lewd sound emit, making your face burn and your hips jerk.

“Godammit Chan—!”

Chan continued to play dumb, peering down at you with a look of mock concern.

“What’s wrong? My fingers not enough for you, babygirl?”

“N-No— I need more!”

Hums and tilts his head, still thrusting his fingers.

“You sure?”

That’s it.

“Chan, you son of a bitch, if you don’t fuck me right now—”

One of his trademark giggles escaped at your attitude.

“Alright, alright, I hear ya.”

Pulling his fingers out with a squelch, you sighed in relief when he went to grab a condom from his nightstand.

“Thank you, baby.”

Chan gave a chuckle as he prepared himself, quick to climb back on once he was fully sheathed. Just as you figured he would get straight to business, he surprised you by stealing a kiss from you. One kiss long enough to distract you until you felt him poking your folds. With that, you couldn’t wait any longer.

Pulling your lips away a bit, you husked against his own, “Come on.”

For once, your lover didn’t have a quip, choosing to give you what you so desired. Either that or he was hiding his own needs well, for Chan began guiding himself inside, pulling an audible moan out of you. Okay, maybe having his fingers beforehand was a good thing; the stretch he was giving you was something else.

“Shit, Chan—“

He seemed to be affected by the way your walls practically swallowed his dick, a knit between sweat-covered brows and his teeth bared as he ground out, “This pussy is so fuckin’ tight— Worth the wait.”

A grunt came out as you involuntarily clamped down at the words, forcing his hips to pause on his trek. But as soon as you loosened, Chan continued to push forward until he bottomed out, leaving you full and yearning for more.

Thankfully, you two seemed to be on the same wavelength now, for he didn’t hesitate on starting up a rhythm, slow but steady.

You were quickly affected by the friction, wrapping your legs around his hard and built waist to keep him as close to you as possible. Soft pants escalated into thorough moans, the sparks deep in your gut beginning to light a fire that spread to every end of your body.

“Mm, that’s it…”

Chan chuckled at your encouragement, running a tongue over his reddened lips as he gazed down at you.

“Just what you wanted, eh?”

Yes. This was just what you wanted.

To have him moving inside of you, rolling those hips just like he was doing on the dancefloor. Every inch of his cock stroked all of your sweet spots and his pelvis grinded against your pulsating clit, leaving you an absolute mess underneath his muscled body. It didn’t help when he began whispering all sorts of praise and filth into your ear.

Eventually, you found your body craving more and dug your nails into the tight muscles on his back.

“Chan—”

“Mm?”

It took a little longer than expected to respond, but you managed.

“Fuck me harder, please—”

Did you mean to sound that whiny? Not at all.

But it seemed to be worth it as Chan’s demeanor changed a bit, some of the humor leaving his expression. From the way you felt him twitch inside, your begging hit a nerve.

A nerve that had him nodding before starting to practically pound into you. You didn’t know what to classify the sound that left your mouth as, but it was loud and it was sharp.

This man’s hips were too powerful. Every thrust inched you further up the bed, to the point where you had to plant your hands on the headboard for support. The last thing you wanted was a concussion.

Well, this was what you asked for and he was gladly giving it to you.

Chan himself was pleased with the change of pace, judging by the more frequent moans and groans leaving him.

“Goddamn, Y/N—”

Fuck, he sounded so good like this. Like a man unleashing secret desires after hiding them for so long. Maybe you should’ve encouraged him to go all out sooner.

His sense of rhythm was also strong in the bedroom, it seems. The way your skin clapped against his added to the pleasant melody that was both of your cries and words jumbling together in the musky room.

Among all of the carnal noises the both of you were releasing, you could have sworn you heard three thumps in succession. Almost like someone was banging on the wall.

Eh, probably your imagination.

Out of nowhere, Chan stilled his hips before beginning to slip out of you. An indignant cry left your swollen lips at the withdrawal, propping yourself up on your elbows to scowl up at your lover.

“What the fuck?!”

You weren’t surprised to see his mouth curl at your response. This guy and being amused by your anger was a combo that you were about to tire of.

Chan reached a hand out to give your hip a pat before scooting back a bit, husking out, “Turn that ass over, babygirl—”

Oh. That’s why.

His request made your brief irritation disappear in a second and you were swift in complying, forcing your body to react and reposition itself on hands and knees. You felt a palm rub over one of your ass cheeks before giving it a light grope, unable to hold back from doing a little wiggle in response. A groan sounded from behind, followed by the blunt head of Chan’s cock pressing against your entrance before sliding back in.

This position had you clutching the sheets, thanks to how his length stroked areas that he couldn’t reach before. Surely if he rolled his hips again, he’d render your limbs useless due to pleasure.

You didn’t have to wonder much longer as Chan continued his pace with little hesitation. The movement ripped a yelp out of you as you now found yourself supporting your weight on your torso, arms losing stability.

“Ch-Chan!”

You heard a laugh lingering with cockiness from behind before he said something else that tickled you.

“Okay, those pants weren’t doing your ass enough justice.”

The compliment made your lips twitch, the boost to your confidence making you give a solid push back.

“Oh yeah?”

Chan was quick to give a solid thrust, nearly knocking you off your knees.

“Fuck yeah.”

You were ready to give another reply until he continued with the solid thrusts; clearly, there was no more room for conversation. The two of you kept at it, the claps of your skin mixing with every little filth and praise spilling out of you and Chan’s mouths. You enjoyed each moment of it until you started feeling a coil building deep in your stomach, forcing you to get louder in your cries.

It must have tipped Chan off as you felt him lean over your drenched back to whisper in your ear, “You gonna come for me, babygirl?”

“Yes, yes!”

A curse left him before you felt him pull out yet again, but he didn’t give you a chance to cuss him out as he flipped you onto your back and guided his cock back in with little patience. He proceeded with pounding the shit out of you again, the flush in his cheeks doing little to tone down the wolfishness of his smirk.

“Good, wanna feel this sweet cunt squeezing me—“

Ugh. The absolute nerve of this man to give you that blinding grin while he was all up in your guts. And then to speak like that?

You weren’t given much more time to be irate before that pang in your gut increased, thanks to Chan returning to rolling his hips like before. Your poor clit received every ounce of stimulation, pushing you closer and closer to that edge. Needing to hold onto something for stability, you were about to grab for his shoulders before remembering Felix’s little hint from earlier.

Shooting your lover a smirk, you savored the curious look on his face before it was wiped off, thanks to the nails that dug into the back of his neck. You could feel whatever parts of him pressed against you stiffen for a moment, paired with the hitching of his breath.

“So it is true.”

Chan didn’t seem to be as amused as you were, brows furrowing at your teasing. He wouldn’t let you scratch his neck again, reaching behind for your wrists before pinning them down to the bed. The move made you gasp, being left at his mercy now.

“It is. Now be good and let me keep fucking you.”

You didn’t fight against his command one bit. As a reward, the tension in your belly expanded until you couldn’t take it anymore. After a particularly thorough hip roll, the rubber band snapped, forcing a sharp cry to escape your agape mouth filling the room.

Your legs shook next to his still-moving hips, pussy squeezing him on and off with no signs of stopping. After a moment, Chan paused, allowing you to ride out the harsh waves with ease. You could barely notice him watching you fall apart, only focusing when he said something that caught your attention.

“Shit, ‘m gonna come, baby—“

Wanting to make that a reality, you tugged one of your wrists free with some force before landing a hand on the back of his sweat-soaked neck again. He didn’t have a chance to scold you, mouth letting out an unmistakably shaky groan at the sensation of your nails running over the skin. Just a few more passes granted you with the lovely sound and sight of Chan reaching his limit as well.

You felt his cock pulsating between your still contracting walls as he spilled into the condom, hips pressed firmly against yours. Watching your lover’s face knit in sheer gratification was worth all the teasing you endured over the last couple of hours.

Once he was through his orgasm, Chan relaxed his lower half on top of yours, taking care to keep the upper half hovering above. You showed your appreciation with a pat of his back. As nice as his ripped body felt against you, the crushing weight wouldn’t have been ideal at the moment.

“Damn…”

His weak exhale brought a feeble giggle out of you.

“You alright, baby?”

Chan huffed, bringing a hand up to brush a rolling bead of sweat off your brow.

“Should be asking you that, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, hoping your knees would quit shaking soon.

“Still kicking and breathing.”

“Hmm.”

Now that your heart-rate was beginning to return to normal, you were growing aware of just how intense the session had gotten. Every inch of your skin was covered in sweat and the muscles in the lower part of your body were about to start screaming for mercy. And between your legs where Chan was still deeply nestled…

“Chan.”

“Mm?”

You tipped your head back, peering at a familiar package sitting on one of the headboard shelves.

“Mind passing one of those wipes?”

When your eyes opened, two questions went through your mind.

Where were you and what time was it?

In the dimly-lit room, you could tell that it wasn’t the decor you were familiar with. You also didn’t see your alarm clock on your nightstand to inform you of the current time. But after a minute, the fog in your brain began to clear and everything started to come back to you.

The thick arm laying on your waist also helped.

Turning your head, your mouth curled at the sleeping figure next to you. Chan was still dead to the world, plush mouth parted as he snored softly. You had to hold back a giggle at the trail of drool running out. At least it didn’t happen while he was on top.

Fighting the urge to grab a wipe and clean him up, you focused on sneaking out from his hold without waking him up. You managed to lay his arm back down carefully, Chan not even budging a mite. You started looking for your clothes, specifically your pants first. The garment laid at the foot of the bed still and you picked them up, reaching in the back pocket for your phone.

You clicked on the home screen .

8:53 AM.

Whoops. You definitely didn’t mean to stay that long.

Time to go.

You glanced back at Chan. You didn’t want to go without saying goodbye, after the night he gave you, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate the interruption to his sleep. Biting your lip, you mulled over it as you quietly redressed.

Once you got your top situated, you made your way to the door, hand resting on the knob as you peeked at him once again.

Should you really leave like this? He did make an impression on you, outside of the bedroom. You weren’t necessarily looking for a relationship with the guy, but you didn’t want this to be the last time you’d see him. Relying on the odds that you’d see him at the club again was risky, too.

Maybe you could find something to write on out there…

Giving Chan’s sleeping form a grateful smile, you carefully opened the door before stepping out into the hallway. Just as you shut it, you heard one opening further down. You looked up to see his roommate appearing, wrapped tight in a cozy blanket. It took him a few seconds to realize you were there, but he was quick to give you a sleepy wave.

“Morning.”

The yawn that followed his greeting made you chuckle, returning his wave.

“Good morning. Slept well?”

Felix shrugged, dark eyes bleary. “Well enough.” Said eyes looked you over before a brow raised. “Sneaking out?”

“Yeah, I think I overstayed my welcome.”

The blond hummed, slipping a hand out of his throw to fix his bedhead. “Understandable. Well, feel free to leave whenever you want, I’m going to go get a brownie to start my day off.”

Before you could make your exit, Felix regarded you for a second before tilting his head.

“Would you like one?”

You blinked, both in surprise and at the fact that this guy was eating a dessert for breakfast. Then again, free food.

“Oh? Um…sure?”

Felix chuckled, a grin forming.

“Don’t be shy, I can always make more. Come on.”

He gestured you to follow him, heading down the hall and towards the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a container of brownies on one of the counters. Your eyes bugged when Felix opened it, showing that it was filled to the brim. No wonder he said to not hold back.

You took two while he picked up three, grabbing some paper towels nearby to lay them on before standing by the island. Once you bit into the pastry, you realized that you were hungrier than you thought. That, and these brownies were fucking delicious.

You were quick to let Felix know, receiving an appreciative smile. Even though you had planned to head on home, you found yourself making small talk with him.

But then he threw out a statement that caught you off guard.

“You guys were pretty loud.”

A crumb almost lodged itself in your throat, cheeks flooding with heat.

“Ah…surprised you didn’t say anything.”

Felix lifted his slender shoulders, not really looking that bothered. “Well, I did bang on the wall a bit, but it didn’t do shit. Just put my headphones on and ended up falling asleep to a movie.”

Damn, were you and Chan that disruptive? Looks like that banging you heard wasn’t in your head, at all.

“Sorry, Felix.”

“Eh, no worries. Better that than him coming home alone and complaining to me how he couldn’t pick a girl up. Although, I do have to congratulate you—”

Felix grinned, eyes scrunching in mischief.

“Sounds like you found that spot on his neck.”

Good thing you swallowed your bite as you burst into laughter at his compliment.

“I should be thanking you for the hint! It definitely made him weak.”

“It always does! Did he drool on you?”

“Nope.”

The blond gave a thumbs up while biting into another brownie. As soon as he finished his bite, he regarded you with caution before leaning in. He motioned you to do the same, your curiosity increasing as you followed his gesture.

“You know—”

The way he whispered made it sound like he was about to tell you something scandalous.

“If he was shit in bed, you can tell me. I won’t say a word. It’s 2023 and I feel like girls need to stop faking it and just be blunt with these lazy cunts.”

You didn’t think you could laugh louder than before, but Felix proved you wrong. After it died down into giggles, you straightened up, wiping a tear from your eye.

“Thank you for the reassurance, but trust me, it was all real.”

Felix sat up and pouted. “Damn, was hoping I’d have something to hold against him.” He sighed, ”If you say so.”

“Sorry buddy, you’re not gonna get it from me today.”

He nodded, all seeming well as his pretty lips curled in humor. The break in conversation reminded you to check the time, exclaiming in surprise.

“Damn, I really should go.” You finished up your ‘breakfast’, brushing your hands clean. “Thanks again for the brownies, Felix.”

“No problem, Y/N. You want any for the road?”

Your eyes narrowed playfully.

“I feel like you’re trying to thicken me up.”

Felix smirked. “Well, someone has to play host while Chris is asleep. You ate those two pretty fast, so…”

There was no way he’d let you leave without one, was there? A sigh left you.

“Fine, if you’re offering.”

The pleased blond was quick to wrap up a few for you, leaving you waiting for a minute. Suddenly, a thought hit you. You didn’t have a way to keep in contact with Chan.

There was no way you could part ways with that wonderful man and be able to sleep peacefully.

“Hey Felix.”

“Hm?”

You grabbed a napkin and a nearby pen, jotting down the numbers from memory. Once Felix walked back over, you handed him the note.

“Mind giving this to Chan for me?”

He took it and looked it over, brows raising in intrigue before he nodded at you.

“Sure.”

You smiled and expressed your gratitude, taking the brownies before Felix led you out to the front door. With a wave and a ‘have a good day’, you headed down the hallway, a sway in your somewhat sore hips.

Who knew that last night would go the way it did? You just might have met your match. Someone who could keep up with your moves and handle you in the bedroom.

If Chan wanted to see more of what you could do, he better take your gift and use it wisely.

Chan couldn’t tell what time it was when he awoke, thanks to those new blinds he bought. All he knew was that there was someone else in his room. And judging by the familiar clacking of a keyboard, he knew exactly who it was.

Prying his bleary eyes open, he stretched, groaning quietly at the way his muscles protested at the action. He sat up in bed, automatically wiping off the semi-dried drool on his chin. The motion must have alerted the other person as they turned their head to look at him.

“Morning, bro.”

Chan grumbled at the chipper greeting as he rubbed his eyes.

“Felix, the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“Picking up where I was so rudely interrupted last night.”

Not having the energy to fire back a quip, the older roommate rolled his eyes. But then he realized something. There should have been a third occupant in the bedroom…

He looked next to where he was laying, frowning when he saw nothing but rumpled sheets, rather than an equally nude body.

“Where is she?”

“Went home, mate.”

Felix’s flippant response made Chan swear under his breath. Fuck, he meant to get your number or something before you left. He figured that the two of you were on the same wavelength after last night’s events and honestly, he didn’t want this to be a one and done. Did you get tired of waiting for him to wake up or…

He fixed a glare at the back of Felix’s head. “Did you scare her away?”

All he heard was the sip of a drink before his roommate answered.

“Nope.”

The flippant response made Chan hop out of bed, storming over to spin the chair around hard, gripping the blond’s shoulders with force.

“Felix, you little cunt, if I find out that you kicked her out just so you could play fucking Fortnite, I’m beating your ass.”

He was clearly unbothered, removing Chan’s hands from his person with laziness.

“Chill, man. I ran into her in the hall just as she was leaving. I had to play host since you were clearly doing a bad job at it.”

Chan raised a brow, his irritation cooling a bit. “Really?”

“Yup, offered her some of my brownies too. Sure did love them, even took a few to go.”

Huh. Well, at least Felix didn’t shoo you away, but it still didn’t assuage his worries. He’d just have to hope that he would see you at the club again. This time, he wouldn’t let you get away without an exchange of contact information.

Chan was ready to back off until he noticed the younger’s mouth twisting into a feline grin.

“At least one of us gave her something to remember this place by.”

Never mind. The anger came back in full force.

“You fucking—!”

He made a grab for Felix, but he slipped out from underneath him and ran out into the hallway. Not caring that he was still in his birthday suit, he chased him until he was cornered. The older man was ready to maim, slowly approaching until the other held his hands up in surrender.

“Wait wait wait, Chris! Before you murder me, I’ve got something for you.”

Chan was about ready to lunge when Felix spoke up. Shooting a look that emitted ‘you’ve got one chance’, he paused as he watched the other reach into the pocket of his pajama pants. He slipped something white and thin out before holding it towards him. Taking it with a scowl, the dark-haired man read over the writing on what he realized was a napkin. Each letter and number made his face mold into one of pure shock.

For it was your name and number written down, complete with a cute heart at the end.

“This is…”

Felix held his hands out to the side, looking a lot more smug now. “You’re welcome, mate. Pretty sure my baking changed her mind, but who knows? You might’ve put in some work last night, too.”

Chan shook his head, smiling a little bit now.

“Dickhead. Thanks for this.”

His roommate nodded before folding his arms and raising his brows. “Now can I please get back to my game?”

The brunette waved his hand as he began turning around, still gazing at your neat handwriting.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go on, I’ve gotta go shower anyways.”

“Yeah, go do that, bro—”

Felix began walking past his enamored friend. “You smell like sweat and smegma.”

Chan didn’t miss the opportunity to smack him on the back of the head, smirking at the cry of pain he let out. He headed off to the bathroom, checking to make sure the counter was dry before setting the napkin down.

He still couldn’t believe it; you actually left your number!

Just when he thought he’d have to rely on a chance encounter, Felix came through with a beacon of hope. Maybe he’d treat the little shit to dinner tonight; he had been airing his grievances on how it’s been ages since they’ve had Thai food. But first, Chan had something very important to do after his shower.

He had to update his contacts and try his best not to text you too soon.

#bang chan #bang chan fic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #skz #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz smut #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #spin you like a hit record

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taurussbabe · 1 year

Note

Heyyy i saw ur taking request for the song related fics and i have to say the 2 fics u wrote were absolutely amazing!!!

Can u write smth related to the song 'all of the girls you loved before' by taylor swift

'Pretty please' by dua lipa

All of the girls you loved before

a/n: Thank you so much for this request, absolutely loved it. Hope you like it anon!! word count: 1.1k

Cryin' in the bathroom for some dude Whose name I cannot remember now (ooh) Secret jokes all alone No one's home, sixteen and wild (ooh)

You and charles have been friends ever since you were kids, your parents were friends with his parents since they were in school, and eventually, that lead to you always being raised close with each other. You were together through everything, when his dad passed and when Jules and Anthoine died. He was always there for you too, no matter how busy his schedule was, so much, your parents started to wonder if there was something else going on between the two of you. You were fifteen and had a crush on a boy in your school, you thought he liked you too, that was until you saw him kiss another girl at some random party, of course, your fifteen-year-old self took it pretty hard, immediately leaving the scene and running towards the closest bathroom and letting the tears fall. What you didn’t know at the time was that charles had witnessed the whole scene and also ran towards the bathroom, storming in, not caring if it was the ladies room, immediately embracing you, holding you tight, brushing your hair out of your face, kissing your head and whispering into your ear, reminding you how everything was gonna be ok, and how he would always be there for you.

A few months later, you found yourself turning sixteen, charles right there by your side as you blown the candles, making secret jokes the whole time. The name of the boy who made you cry in that bathroom, long forgotten by now, the only person in your mind being the Monegasque by your side.

Your past and mine are parallel lines

Stars all aligned and they intertwined

And taught you

The way you call me, "Baby"

Treat me like a lady

“Y/n, can you come here?” you heard him calling you from the living room, making you leave the room who were in to go to him.

“Yes, baby” you made your way to the couch, straddling charles as his hands found his way to your waist.

“God, I love when you call me baby.”

“Yeah?” you ask kissing his cheek and neck, him only humming as a response. “Why did you call me?”

“I wanted to make you a snack, what do you want to eat?”

“Really? You called me here just to see what I wanted to eat?”

“Yeah, why? Did I do something wrong?” his face expressions changing, but you quickly put your hands on both sides of his face.

“No, no, you didn’t. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all, you don’t need to make me anything.”

“No, but I want to, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, mon ange” you hug him tight, kissing his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you close to him.

Every dead-end street

Led you straight to me

Now you're all I need

I'm so thankful for

All of the girls you loved before

But I love you more

“I miss you” you heard on the other side of the line, making a soft smile creep its way onto your face.

“I miss you too, you know that, but you win this race, and you might get a reward when you get home.” You heard his chuckle through the phone and hear a mechanic calling him, letting you know your time with him was over. “Good luck, champ, I love you.”

“I love you too, mon ange.” Was the last thing that you heard and then he hung up.

“Y/n?” you heard from behind you, making you turn around “Y/n Y/l/n?”

“Charlotte? Hi, how are you?” you greeted the girl in front of you, silently hoping charles’ name wouldn’t come up, considering she was his ex-girlfriend.

“I’m good. How are you? I heard you and charles are dating now” ‘and she went there’ you thought.

“Hm, yeah, I’m good” you said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine Y/n, really, I kind of always knew he had a thing for you, besides we just weren’t good for each other, I’m glad you’re both happy”

“Thanks, really, it was good to see you.” You said your goodbyes and headed home so you could watch charles’ race.

“Mon amour, I’m home” You were in the bedroom, and as soon as you heard him you sprinted down the hallway, launching yourself into his arms, making both of you loose balance, causing you to fall on the couch, charles on top of you. “Woah, are you okay?” he asked as he carefully placed a kiss on your lips.

“I’m so freaking proud of you, you did it, charles, what a fucking brilliant race” you kissed him passionately, making him moan into the kiss.

“Thank you, I think I did good.”

“You thought you did good? You did amazingly, you did perfect, I’m so proud of you I can’t put it into words. Hard work always pays off, and you’re living proof of it. I love you so so much, my love.” You said looking into his eyes.

You stayed like that for a while, looking so deep into each other’s eyes you could almost look into each other’s soul, until charles lifted you up and carried you to the bedroom, kissing you during the entire time of the walk. He dropped you on the bed and kissed you one last time before going to take a shower and put on some more comfortable clothes.

“You know who I saw today?” you asked charles, who was still getting ready in the bathroom. “Charlotte.”

“Oh yeah? Did you talk?”

“Yeah, she said she knew that we were together, and she was happy for us, because she always thought you had a thing for me.”

“Oh well, she’s right, I did always have a thing for you, ever since we were like twelve” he said in the simplest way, as if he hadn’t just admitted he liked you since you were little.

“Wait, what? You dated her when you were seventeen.”

“Yeah, but just because you were dating that douchebag.” He walked out of the bathroom, coming to sit next to you, holding onto you has you brushed his still wet curls.

“Well, I’m thankful for everyone we dated before, it lead us to here, and I couldn’t be happier to be here” you stated while his finger drew soft patterns on your skin.

“Me too, mon ange, I’m really happy that we’re here”

#charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #taurussbabe

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Do you write nsfw fics? If so could you write a Price x Reader based off the song “Guys My Age” by Hey Violet please and thank you :)

Lustful Gold and a Crimson-Stained Tongue

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be simple -- an intel Op. in some Russian Arms Dealer's mansion. Hell, you were actually looking forward to it, especially with the way John was undressing you with his eyes. You hoped that the red silk dress you had gotten made it through the night. (18+)

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Attempted SA, NSFW, Porn with Plot, smut, angst, fluff, praise kink, blood kink (?) (Not really but Idk), saliva, lots of fluids, P in V, dry humping, age gap

A/N: This is literally a virgin writing smut for the first time so it's legally obligated to be cringe -- but thank you for giving me the opportunity (I've crossed a line that I can't go back over). I took a bit of creative liberty with the request, so it's slightly different than what you might expect. Anyways, enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Tilt your head to the side for me, Love,” John mutters, eyebrows turned in as he holds a black earpiece in his fingers before placing the device into where you would need it delicately; making sure it wouldn’t fall out, “There we are.”

“John,” You scoff softly, “You’re holding me like I’m going to be crucified and not just going to a dinner party to get intel.”

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t worry about my girl?” He raises a brow, taking a step back from where he had you tight up against his chest, “A piss poor one, I’d say.”

You stifle a laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides as your cheeks heat with love and gratitude. It felt good to be suffocated by his careful nature – even if that didn’t really sound appealing. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Now,” John crosses his arms, nodding his head as the black beanie on his head lightly tilts at the action, “Let me see you, Sweetheart.”

“What, do you want me to do a spin too, you pervert?” You were dressed to the nines, gold gleaming around your neck and wrists, elaborate braids twisting part of your hair to rest in a bun while the rest falls to shroud the black device that lies dormant in your right ear. It’ll come to life shortly – when you finally make your way to the mission sight; the location was some rich asshole’s mansion.

No doubt the party you were going to was nothing more than an excuse to boost the target’s ego with grand displays of money and sultry attendants. It sounded positively enticing, you thought – though, John was making it quite difficult to want to leave with how he was undressing you with his eyes.

Around your body, a tight-fitting red silk dress hugged you just right, accenting everything good about you and showing off enough to entice anyone with a functioning brain. Fuck, the way it wrapped your hips made even you drool; the dripping neckline was perfectly eye-catching as well. John had told you that you looked like a goddess before you had even put it on, but he seemed to want to say more when he watched you slip into it smoothly, the practiced fluidity in your bones helping you move sensually.

The man had been laying naked on the hotel bed with nothing more than a thin bed sheet wrapped around his sculpted pelvis, the rest of the fabric hanging off the side and pooling on the floor. A cigar had been held loosely in his lips, and when you turned to ask his opinion, he nearly dropped it with the way his mouth had opened.

Your ego had taken a steep incline as the Captain’s pupils had dilated, turning that shade of storm blue as dark as the shadows outside the window. Unconsciously, you had rubbed your thighs together to stop the pooling heat that beings to form as his lower half jerked instinctually from the bed. You weren’t even sure he noticed his physical reaction.

“Fuck,” John mutters in front of you, bringing you back to the present. He lets his eyes trail slowly, “Doll, I’d bloody pay you to do anything you want to me.” A smirk filters from your lips.

“You really like the dress, don’t you, hm?”

He doesn’t hesitate, “Yeah, lie of the century, that is,” You raise a brow, confusion leaking into your beating pulse as he saunters closer with a sway in his alluring hips. The packs and objects on his black combat vest press into your upper stomach as he leans into you, carefully shoving you back into the body-length mirror attached to the wall. John leans close, his breath fanning over the hot skin of your exposed neck; the rouge of your painted lips open as your lungs tighten with expectation. You want desperately to shove him back into bed and rip his damn gear off. Or maybe just let him fuck you with it on, really…you lusted over that shit, “I bloody fucken’ love it.”

His lips find your pulse point, moving the gold necklace farther up your skin with his nose, causing your head to slam back into the mirror with a muffled thump. John chuckles as you eagerly open your neck to him more, glancing at your face from the side. Your heart was beating like a lion’s, being able to be seen through the thin silk.

“Eager, are we? I thought I had tired you out not an hour ago?”

You had, You had wanted to say, but only a needy whimper falls from your lips as his teeth graze your skin. The ache from your prior activities was set deep into your thighs and lower body, making a promise to cause hell when you have to walk in heels soon.

But, God, did you love it.

Your hand weaves its way under John’s black athletic shirt, finding the tight available skin and digging your red acrylic nails over it. You force the man forward, his deep-chested grunt leading to a full-body shiver not a second later. Something hard and solid presses into your abdomen and you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, panting as a trail of saliva follows John as he pulls back from your neck to watch you.

“Who’s eager now, Captain?” John’s hands snap to your thighs, smirking as he’s dragging one to his waist. You lick your lips as he presses deeply into you with his clothed erection, making the heat in your core burst into a raging fire at the stiffness, a slick feeling coating your panties. Your thigh comes to rest on his waistline, and he holds it there with an iron hand.

“John,” You whimper as he begins to move you, lightly rocking back and forth as your hips jerk to meet his.

“Fuck,” He groans, pressing his forehead to your own as he grips your waist tight with his free hand. The man pulls your thigh into him with every thrust, fingers digging so hard the skin is already indented, “If only you could see yourself, Love,” A low whimper enters the air, muffled when John connects his lips with yours with heavy open-mouth kisses as his beard rubs over your flesh. The both of you move in sync, using the other to get off as quickly and as cleanly as possible in the limited time. The zipper of his pants connects with your bundle of nerves, making you moan and writhe against him like a bitch in heat. John pulls back to grunt into your mouth as his hips press you farther into the mirror with a particularly hard thrust once more, making sure to hit that spot again. Always so attentive. Your back arches as you keen breathily, hands roaming his abdomen and digging into the muscle there to ground yourself as you rut. The slick in your panties drips down your free leg in a disgustingly pleasurable tear, “Fucken’ perfect in that dress.”

That’s when there’s a knock on the door.

Snapping out of your hazes, you both whip back to stare at each other with wide eyes before your heads turn to the door. The fire stills, pauses, unsure if you both should continue. You want to. Your breasts are pressed tightly to John’s chest, and every breath makes you want the Captain to grip them in his hands and squeeze.

“...You two had better be decent!” Gaz’s voice wafts in from under the crack, making both of your eyes widen comedically, “The rest of us had to plug earbuds in to drown out the sounds from an hour ago. Honestly…the pair of you can’t go a few bloody minutes without fucking?”

Your face heats, twin scorching suns taking home over your cheeks. Immediately, all thoughts of lust are shut off like being doused with a bucket of cold water.

Still leaning into you, John groans, leading his body to vibrate perfectly. You stifle a needy whine as your hips rock once more, slick beginning to uncomfortably drip to the side of your knee. You would have to change your underwear before you left. And redo your makeup.

“Fuck off, Sergeant, before I come out there.”

“I’d rather you don’t come anywhere, Sir.” Slapping a hand over your mouth you try to stifle the loud bark of laughter that finds the air, the shadow under the door slinks off with a finishing call of, “Laswell said five minutes before we leave, yeah?!”

Your chest vibrates with humor, head lightly meeting John’s chest as he lowers your thigh and lets you place your foot on the ground. Laughing, you feel the man’s arms wrap around your body pulling you to gently sway back and forth.

“Damn the boy,” Price mutters into your head, “Should put him on desk duty for a month for that.”

“Oh, come on,” You respond, pulling back to look at him with a smile as your eyes light, “That was funny.”

“Hm,” he rests his bearded chin on your forehead, the small bristles getting caught in some of your baby hairs as he lays a gentle kiss on your skin.

You both stay like that for a minute or two, content as you listen to the heavy beating of each other’s hearts and the slight pants of air falling from your lips. The lustful heat was dead, and in its place duty grew.

It was time to get to work.

—

“Price?” You tilt your head to the side, slipping the gold and diamond earrings on as you whisper into the earpiece, “What are the chances that I can steal some of the appetizers and stuff them into my handbag?”

“I’d say less than probable, Love.” Layered behind John’s amused voice, Laswell pipes up, the sound of shifting bodies letting you know that many people were waiting on you to exit the Limo. You had no idea how they could see you but were put at ease that they were able to.

“You’ll have plenty of time to eat later, Bravo 1-6, no need to worry. Let’s just focus on the mission for now.” You pouted as Kate spoke, newly applied lipstick pulling at your skin as you moved your hands away from your ears and fixed your strands of hair. Under you, the leather seats of the vehicle are insanely comfortable.

“You guys are no fun.” Sighing, your hands stop their fiddling, falling to your lap as you huff, “If the silverware is gold plaited you bet your ass I’m shoving it down my bra – and I don’t care how much you complain, I’m taking it.”

Just as you stop plotting your mini heist, the car door to your right opens with a pop, snapping your thoughts back to the task at hand.

A tall Doorman your age is on the outside, dressed in a handsome black suit and red bowtie as the chilled night air seeps into the car. He holds out a hand to you, and after a second of hesitation, you plaster an innocent smile on your face; eyelids fluttering prettily. It was shocking how fast you could change your outward attitude.

“Oh,” You purr, head tilting, “Such a gentleman. Thank you, Sweetheart.” Placing your hand in his, your jewelry jangles as the Doorman helps you out of the car, carefully gripping your hand in his own gloved one.

“Erm…I-Invitation, Ma’am.” He mutters, face amusingly red as he stares at you; unable to make eye contact for more than three seconds. He drops his hand but leaves it outstretched as you take a step away from the vehicle.

You smirk.

“Of course,” Flicking your tiny handbag open with nimble fingers, your hand delves inside. The smooth surface of a stamped envelope connects with your searching digits, but your knuckles tantalizingly brush the tiny knife sewn into the lining of your bag. With a giggle, you grab the invitation and hold it out. In your grip, it’s held loosely between your pointer and middle finger. You tilt your head as he takes it.

“I’ve heard Mr. Bogdanov throws the most wonderful events – when I’d been told, I forced my father to get me an invitation to the next. Can you believe he almost denied me?” Bringing a hand to your mouth, you cover the convincing laugh that meets the chilled air politely, “Insanity! As if I could miss this!”

God, You think to yourself, this is humiliating. John and the others always get the fun jobs.

“Yes, Ma’am,” The Doorman, “Mr. Bogdanov is always happy to see new faces on his estate. Especially ones as beautiful as yours.”

Your earpiece crackles for a moment, and you swore you heard John mutter, “Muppet,” into your earlobe.

Stifling a violent snort, you shuffle your heeled feet.

“Oh,” You watch the Doorman check the invitation, flicking it open and checking the signature on the bottom with flushed cheeks as he blatantly moves to stare at your clothed breasts, “Flatterer.”

“You’re all good, Ma’am,” He clears his throat, shakily handing you back the paper, “Enjoy your night.”

Snatching the invitation, you smile his way before walking up the red-carpeted stairs ahead, hearing muttered conversations flowing out into the night. You try not to ogle at the humongous house that the Target has, multiple stories and windows larger than a damn tree coupled with white paint. The front garden alone was the size of multiple football fields.

“...This place is definitely in that ‘World's Top Ten Biggest Houses’ video online.”

Gaz’s voice chuckles through the line, making your lip quirk.

“I think I’ve seen that one before!”

“The both of you are chaos incarnate.”

“Damn right, Laswell,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing at the radio silence from John. He was usually hyping you up by now, whispering in that husky voice to leave you flustered. It was your favorite part of these missions – his grumble in your head leaving your lungs heaving and cheeks hot.

So this attitude was very confusing, to say the least, but you can’t dwell on it. The front doors open as you walk up to them; butlers waiting outside for the guests – all excellently dressed.

Their eyes boggle out of their heads when they see you, and skurry to make sure you don’t have to wait outside any longer.

“Thank you, boys,” You sing, waving a hand as you saunter past, enjoying the attention but wishing it was from someone else.

This would have been so much more fun if John was here. He would have made jokes about everyone's outfits with me.

Your chest tightens, and you frown. Something was wrong with your Captain, you knew it. Not able to handle it any longer as your heels click over marble and the laughs and sounds of conversation get closer, you speak.

“John,” You clutch your handbag, eyes flickering back and forth, “You with me?”

“...Sorry, Bravo 1-6,” Kate’s voice is not the one you want to hear right now, “Price said he had to step out for a moment.”

“What–?!”

“Ahh, and who might this be,” Sputtering, the sudden deep Russian voice to your side makes you reel, head snapping to the side, “Such a stunning woman…unfortunately, it seems I don’t know your name, лисичка.”

“A-Allegra Bayley, daughter of Braylon Bayley,” You find yourself answering with the fake name and family you had been given hours earlier, “and who might you…” Trailing off, your eyes widen slowly. Staring at the sharply dressed man two times bigger than a bear, with muscles so large the suit nearly looks like it’ll rip, you feel your hands get sweaty; you grip your handbag tighter. He’s so tall you have to tilt your head up to see his face.

You wish you hadn’t.

Not that the gargantuan stranger wasn’t handsome - in a rugged sort of criminal type of way because his nose had been obviously broken multiple times – it's that you had seen his dead eyes before: staring back at you from the confines of a manila folder Laswell had slid over to you two weeks ago. The Target.

Kazimir Bogdanov, Your heart picks up speed, pulsing like a rabbit’s behind its fur – only you had no fur. The only thing over you was a thin dress of flowing silk and gold jewelry. The tiny knife in your bag wouldn’t do much against him. Suddenly, you desperately wanted John’s thick leather jacket and beanie to cover your skin; confidence slowly leaking because of the glint in Bogdanov’s icy eyes.

No…you just wanted John; his heavy presence behind you, like a watchdog ready to strike at any threat to come near you, only held back by a thin shred of decency that develops in your presence. You wanted him to be there to back you up, but with tight shoulders, you knew he wasn’t – only open-air and the scent of expensive perfume and money encompassed you.

You were on your own.

Kazimir is a weapons dealer with ties to multiple foreign terror organizations throughout the entire world – playing every side and never coming out physically covered in blood because of business. Metaphorically speaking, the man was drowning in crimson.

The number of deaths he had caused was astronomical and rising by the day.

“Mr. Bogdanov,” A sweet smile slips to your lips, but your heart tells you to run. You had expected time to get the layout of the mansion, mingle, and get used to the environment. Hell, you still needed to figure out where the food was! You’d barely gotten through the giant fucking doors! This wasn't good.

The earpiece picks up a sharp inhale from the line, bodies shifting, and a muffled call to someone.

“It’s a pleasure. Please,” You frown, shaking your head and waving an arm, “Forgive my incompetence. The majesty of your estate…well…It’s blinded me. I’m utterly entranced.”

“You said you were Braylon Bayley’s daughter, yes?” Kazimir murmurs, fixing the red tie around his neck with ringed fingers as thick as branches, “I remember he had sons,” Narrowing his eyes, you try your best not to panic, “but he never mentioned a daughter to me.”

“Oh, You know how fathers are. The bastard kept me from everyone,” You reply lightly leaning forward and bringing two hands to the side of your lips, “Business, you know. Tricky stuff.”

“Hm,” The Russian grunts, and his biceps tense for a moment. He watches you like a piece of meat, eyes trailing up and down as he smirks. The various scars over his face twist, “Mr. Bayley has been incredibly generous this year with his erm, donations…I can’t think of a better way to repay him than to entertain his lovely лисичка for the night. Please, accompany me.”

You blink innocently and pull your lips back into a naive smile, imagining John giving you that look instead and letting heat flood your cheeks as a result.

“I’d love nothing more.”

He talks about taking you to a lounge, walking with your hand in the crook of his arm as you pass envious onlookers that burn you with their eyes and sneers. You try not to look so nervous but can’t help the way your heart pounds. The jewelry on your wrists and neck glint as if to try and comfort you; offering winks with their tiny diamond eyes.

As if it were so easy to turn off all of your emotions and be as numb as gold.

Maybe this had been a mistake.

The earpiece crackles, “Get him to talk about his latest deal,” Laswell murmurs to you, “I want details; you can’t leave until he mentions his buyer.”

“Or if you feel like you’ve been burned,” Gaz pipes in and you hear a rustle of fabric, “Your safety is the highest priority, Ma’am. Don’t jeopardize it just for the mission,” Then, jokingly, “The Captain would wring my neck.”

He’d do more than that, You want to answer, but hold your tongue, only sighing as you pass a grand table filled with amazing-looking food. Studying it longingly, Kazimir hurries you past with a comment on how ravishing you look in red – even going so far as to say it's his favorite color. It doesn’t really surprise you.

You want John to tell you you would be okay, but his voice never filters through the wavelengths, never graces your ears like an intimate murmur. Only cruel static.

It only serves to make you more anxious.

Where is my John, You wonder, but can’t dwell on the twisting feeling in your gut before you’re brought to a couch in the corner of the main room, a small group of mingling guests glancing you over before smirking and sending whispers to their dates, Why did I agree to this?

“I must say, Mr. Bogdanov,” You sit when the man holds out a hand for you, motioning you to the soft velvet cushions, “I am quite impressed with the scale of your extravagance. So many rooms so beautifully decorated and furnished. I can’t help but wonder if my father’s donations to your business may be put to use in other places.”

Grinning to show you partially thought it was a poor attempt at conversation, he takes a seat right beside you, body heat making your skin crawl. Kazimir had placed his frame closer to yours than you would have expected. Shifting yourself slightly away, your opposite arm hits the wooden armrest with a dull thud.

The guests leave the room.

When the Russian talks you feel the vibrations of his voice from where he keeps contact with you.

I want John’s leather jacket, You tell yourself this once more before you scratch at your neck. Afterward, you disguise the nervous gesture with the outward appearance that you were fixing your hair. Feeling slick sweat dribbling down your spine, you can’t help but wonder if you had just walked into a monster den without a sword.

“I assure you,” Kazimir murmurs, sliding a hand over the back of the couch and leaning his body into yours, pressing you into the armrest with his vile build, “All investments are going exactly where your father instructed, лисичка. I’m simply the middle man, you understand, yes?”

He laughs, and you swallow the bile in your throat. You attempt a small smile, though, your eyes certainly give you away, not to mention the tension in your body.

Get the job done, Your fingers shake, and you clutch them over your handbag in your lap to try and get them to stop, Get it done and leave. You’ll be fine. It’s gonna be alright.

But his hand was touching your shoulder now, slipping over the straps of the silk dress you had loved. You want to throw up.

In your ear the device jolts to life, your name uttered and nearly missed by Gaz, who begins to plead with Laswell. They undoubtedly know what’s going on. They’re not stupid to Kazimir’s ways with women.

“..Tell her to get the hell out of there! Move in or something – let me kill the bastard myself, Kate!”

“We can’t move in,” Laswell sounds concerned, “We don’t have anyone else on the inside right now – and we need to know where the weapons are being distributed from.”

“Bullshit! We’ll figure it out another time!”

You don’t need to be a genius to know the answer to that comment. There wouldn’t be a ‘next time.’ Hundreds of people could be dead in a day if you don’t find out where Bogdanov’s current stock from your ‘father’ is being sold.

“I can’t help but wonder,” You clear your throat, pushing aside your discomfort and leaning into the man’s hold, letting loose a girlish giggle as you flicker your eyelashes up at him. Just pretend, “Where is it that you’re sending your product? My father never told me and I hate being left out of the loop. He’s such a stickler for me never being involved in the family business.”

Before this moment you hadn’t realized that Kazimir Bogdanov was barely older than yourself. He wasn’t an old man at all, nor was he John’s age. The Russian was perhaps only one or two years your senior.

He looked down at you with dilated pupils, staring at your visible skin and the red off your lips. Bogdanov’s tongue flicks at the side of his mouth.

“Any why would I tell you that, Little Allegra Bayley? It is not ideal to discuss work at a party – you should drink, eat…partake in more carnal pleasures.” His finger traces your shoulder blades, creating small circles.

“Because I want you too,” You smirk, whispering the words out with a slow sigh, “Because I asked so nicely to such a handsomely dangerous man like yourself?”

“Hm,” He murmurs, caught like a rat in a trap. His file had been right.

He had a horrible idea that women couldn’t be involved in a line of work such as his – be smart enough to play his game. He underestimates the lengths you would go to bring him to his grave.

Kazimir is hanging off your skin like a man starved, gripping your flesh with his large hands. Like a blood-drowned mouse in a golden trap made of jeweled teeth and a diamond snare.

“I’m a snoop,” You soften your features, “My old man’s activities are…exciting to me. And I have a right to know, don’t I?” You flutter your eyelashes, putting on a pout.

Your heart was nearly breaking your ribcage open, the bones feeling like they were flaring out like birds wings.

“Лисичка,” Bogdanov leans in so close you could smell his musk, the breath playing off his lips, “Already prying me for information into family business. Not very innocent, are you?” He pauses, eyes lowering to your body pressed against him. He shifts his leg, watching your body move in reaction. He spills, “I believe the products were sold to a woman named Valdana Rojanić in Montenegro. Nasty stuff she plans to do – but it’s not my war, no?”

“Bravo 1-6, get the hell out of there,” Laswell barks down the line, causing you to flinch as the immediate sound of someone else shouting over the line finds your ear.

“What in the bloody hell do you mean she’s already talking to him?!”

“John…” You mutter out loud, eyes blinking as a breath of fresh air enters your lungs at the noise of rushing feet and hands sliding across a table harshly.

“What was that?” Kazimir’s eyebrows crease, face pulling back into a snarl, “Who is–”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bogdanov, but I really have to use your restroom,” Tilting your head in a display of pure regret, you stutter, “I hate to embarrass myself like this, but I have a horribly small bladder.”

You try not to cringe at the blatant lie.

Kazimir pulls back with a dark face, and you stand to shaky feet quickly, clutching your handbag in such a grip the fabric indents.

You make it about four steps before a hand latches onto your forearm, making you suck in a sharp breath as John’s perfectly gravelly voice wafts from the earpiece, oblivious to your panicked pulse and wide eyes.

“Love,” His voice seems breathless as another hand snaps over your mouth to muffle a shout of alarm, “I’m so fucken’ sorry. One word and I’ll blow cover and come get you myself, eh?” A pause and a nervous chuckle, and you can’t respond because you’re bringing an elbow up behind you, snapping it into the Russian’s spleen with a violent blow. Except his arm doesn’t let go, “…Love?” You unclasp your handbag with one hand as black dots swim in your vision. John knows you best – you’d never not respond to him on a mission like this, even if you were angry, “Love…! Shit, Laswell, she’s burned! Sergeant – you’re on me! I want that Muppet’s house on lockdown, now!

—

You sit on your hotel room floor covered in blood. Not your own, of course, but with the way you were shaking, you would think it was.

The locked door handle jiggles, and your eyes slowly travel to it – mind sluggish and still trying to process what had happened. You had killed Kazimir Bogdanov; shoved your tiny knife deep into the sinuses of his neck and felt the spray of his Carotid Artery’s blood splatter your nose and cheeks.

This shouldn’t be getting to you – how many men and women have you killed in your career? Hundreds…no, thousands. It shouldn’t affect you anymore. It doesn’t.

Kazimir was a bad man, You try to reason with yourself as you watch the doorknob once more move back and forth, he deserved what he got. No one will be sad over his death.

So why were tears running down your face? Dribbling to the carpet like little bullets of your own self-loathing? It wasn’t because of the Russian, you knew.

“Doll…?” John’s soft voice comes from under the door, his boots making shadows in the hallway light as they shuffle. His knuckles lightly wrap against the barrier separating him from you, “You still in there? Can you open the door for me?”

You stare at the woodgrain of the door, making patterns and finding faces in the dark lines. Bringing a hand up to your face, you swipe at your tears, only serving to spread the blood into long streaks up your cheeks.

John speaks your name, clearing his throat, “Please, I…I need you to open the door, Sweetheart. I’ve gotta make this right.”

His voice prompts you to move your shaking legs, standing and feeling the silk of your dress caress you like a second skin. You don’t want to wear it anymore, but you don’t have the energy to take it off by yourself.

Padding over to the door, your hand lays heavy on the lock, studying the red stains on your hands as they leave trails on the copper metal. You can hear John’s breath on the other side of the thin wood, the sound of his hand meeting the back of his neck, running over the flesh. He did that when he was nervous, a small tick you had been fortunate enough to learn over the years you two had been together. You knew him like a bird knew the sky, flew along the headwinds of his mind with sturdy wings without fear of divebombing; the two of you worked so well as a pair many already thought you were married.

There was one thing you could know even when you were reduced to this. John loved you; you loved John.

You flick the lock and hear the defending click as a deep silence covers the room. But the tall man outside the door waited for you to open the barrier between the two of you, even though you knew his heart was racing to break it down. Grabbing the knob, you slowly twist until the door draws back, only half of your face visible from the hallway.

John’s face immediately comes into view, a black beanie over his head and still in his dark tactical gear, the black undershirt absorbing all the light that met it. His small blue eyes are creased, and when his gaze travels the gore on your face he frowns deeply, fingers twitching at his sides.

You blink at him when he calmly takes a single step forward, grabbing onto the door frame. He doesn’t ask how you are, but the man was just about the smartest person you’ve ever known. He knows you’re not okay.

“Let’s get all that off you, eh, Love?” John nods his head at you, beard pulling as he tries to give you a small smile to mask the obvious concern at the blankness of your eyes, “Get my girl cleaned up.”

He scans your body, looking for injuries, and you’re brought back to the events in the car that had transpired not fifteen minutes earlier.

You had yelled at him, still dripping in blood as the car peeled out of the estate even as John was frantically moving his hands over your body, checking for open wounds. His eyes had been wild, and he took you throwing your anger at him with a stiff face, looking at the deep bruising over your forearm and the red of your neck seriously. His eyebrows had furrowed as rage swelled. Ripping your hand away from him you screamed with shaking limbs, where the hell were you?!

You were never mad about fucking Kazimir Bogdanov or what he did to you, you were mad that John – your lover and best friend – had left you alone. You had told him before, that on missions like these, you wanted him on the line the entire time; not only for the company but because he gave you a sense of safety in the way he spoke to you that you couldn’t give yourself. Not when everyone was looking at you like a slice of dessert.

John hadn’t been able to meet your eyes the entire ride back, and when you had locked yourself in the hotel room he had offered a small, “Doll…I…” Before you had slammed the door in his face.

Now, though, it felt good to feel his hand on your shoulder, lightly pulling you back into the room as he murmured softly into the air. He let you sit on the bed, guiding you as your bare feet stumble for a moment before your backside hits a soft mattress. You wished you could go back to the time before the mission – when John had laid with you under the covers and trailed his fingertips over your heated skin, your legs wrapped around his tapered waistline as he hit all the right spots and whispered dirty paise in your ears.

Good girl, He had grunted into your neck, panting and biting into the sweaty skin like a feral animal, leaving you sobbing with pleasure, His beard had burned so delightfully as it ravaged your skin, leaving it pulsing. Your body was trying desperately to move in tandem with John’s own devastating pace; hips instinctually trembling to meet his slick-stained pelvis, dripping from previous rounds, look at you, eh, trying so hard to keep up. Keep me in that cunt of yours. My good fucken’ girl. S-so good.

Blinking away the heat that grows in your navel, you shift, noticing John had gone off and returned with a wet rag from the bathroom; his tactical vest was off, and leaning on the bed on the floor. You hadn’t even seen him take it off. Hitting it with your toe lightly, you make it fall sideways with a muffled thump and a clinking of metal.

John attempts a chuckle as he stops ahead of you, crouching down and placing his hands in the middle of his open legs as his elbows rest on his knees. He takes a deep breath in.

“Not a fan, Sweetheart? I can move it farther if you want?”

“Where were you,” You whisper, voice hoarse. Pulling the fraying ends of your strength together you look up at him, “I needed you there with me for this…You disappeared, John.”

You just wanted to understand; just wanted the tightness of your chest to go away.

Your Captain stares up at you for a moment before he blinks, tilting his head to look to the side; away from you. A flash of red-hot guilt overtook his ocean-blue orbs as you see him glare at the side table like he could set the wood alight with his repressed hatred for himself.

“I’m sorry, Love. Don’t…don’t think any less of me, eh?” He chokes out, chest jerking with a humorless grunt, and his face turns back to you. Pausing, you find embarrassment heating his bearded cheeks, eyes unable to meet yours. John takes your hands in his own, bringing the rag up to begin peeling away the dried blood around your palms, “It’s…ah, It’s not an excuse, I know, but I…”

“John?” You murmur, bringing a hand up from his grip in concern to tilt his head. You hold a finger under his chin, liking the way his coarse beard itches you as you prompt him to stare you in the eyes. This was unlike him – John was never… embarrassed. Not like this at least, “What happened?”

John clenches his jaw, taking his hand not holding the rag, and carefully grabbing your digits before bringing them to his lips and holding them there. He lays a gentle kiss before he starts, uttering softly his secret into your skin.

“I just realized that maybe you would be better off with someone who wasn’t…” He trails, “...Someone who could treat you better. Give you what you want.”

What, your face must show your genuine confusion because John lets a tiny smile flicker over his lips before he goes back to cleaning your hand, Where had this come from.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your eyebrows crease, shivering as the rag goes up to your elbow, caressing the sensitive skin and drawing the large man closer to you as his heat sinks into you. His chest brushes your leg, leading you to move your limbs apart and under his armpits to rest your feet on his hip bones. The muscles of his toned thighs tense as you brush over them, and he sends you a glance.

His eyes soften.

“Someone more your age, Love.”

You immediately huff incredulously, not even realizing that you had come out of your stupor at the baffling comment from the man you loved more than anything.

My John? Insecure about himself? Your face twists, is this because of the people who were at the party? No, you can’t have that. Not your beloved Captain.

Grumbling with genuine denial, you grab John’s hairy cheeks, dragging him to you so swiftly that he grunts in surprise; eyes flashing with those flecks of sea glass. Your legs wrap around his back, locking at the ankles, and you feel his broad body flex and writhe as his hands immediately snap to your hips, dropping the rag to the floor with a wet thwap.

John gazes up at you with blown-wide eyes, mouth slightly open as the beanie on his head bounces at the action.

In his gargantuan hands he bunches the silk of your dress which is now shoved all the way up to your waist; creasing it, and you suck in a sharp breath as his beating heart is pressed directly into the fabric of your panties. Your nerves get set alight, heat building to a steady simmer in your gut that makes your thighs flex and your pupils dilate until little of the color is visible.

You bring John’s face up to yours, twiddling your fingers into his beard and running your thumbs back and forth over his cheeks. He swallows thickly as you lean down, stopping just as your lips are able to brush over his own. You keep your eyes locked on his as you growl out.

“Any why would I want anyone that wasn’t you?” Your eyebrow raises as John gapes up at you, “Do you think anyone would be able to make me feel the way you do? The Doorman? The Butlers?” You scoff, and John licks his lips as his grip on your waist tightens. You know he wants to drag you to him, but you want him to wait, “All they did was ogle at my breasts and skin like horny teenagers,” John grunts, eyes flashing dangerously, and his heart is beating so fast in his peck that you roll your hips against his available body, gold jewelry shimmering in the dimed overhead light. The man responds by breathing out a shaky sigh, content with the feeling of you rutting on him. You knew it turned him on, though his bulge was hidden by the frame of the bed below you.

“Do you want to know something, John,” You mutter over his lips, and he hums, chest vibrating perfectly as you suck down a whimper through red-painted lips. He smirks, “Guys my age just don’t know how to treat me like you do. They can’t make me feel like this with just a fucking look.”

John slides one hand down to your parted legs as the other goes to the small of your back, gliding over silk sensually and maintaining eye contact as you both pant into each other. Your hands tighten over his cheeks as his sturdy digits delve into the space between the two of you before they finally press against the drowned fabric of your panties. You had already leaked through them.

He hisses in a breath, and before you can even realize what’s happening, your legs are being gripped tightly, and your back hits the mattress as a gasp escapes you.

“Little Minx,” John manhandles your body, pulling you to him as you let him peel the dress father up your body, pooling just above the swell of your breasts. Your hands grip the sheets as your Captain keeps your legs wrapped around him. He stands.

“John,” You whimper as he grips the edge of his athletic shirt with a heavy hand, ripping it off like the article of clothing offended him. His hat falls with the black fabric to the floor as the broad frame of his chiseled abs comes into view, pale skin marred with scars and burns. The sharp ‘v’ of his pelvis makes you constrict around nothing, “I...”

“Tell me what you want, Love,” He grinds his tented cargo pants against your core, one of his large palms coming down to grip your breasts under the silk as the other plays with the band of your underwear, “Speak to me.”

“I-I’m all bloody,” You moan when his hand grips you tighter, already sensitive skin now feeling like a live wire. His hips continue to rut against you, and tension is pleasurably building as he hits that bundle of nerves every time. Your chest rises and falls swiftly as your eyes flutter.

John chuckles deeply, shaking his head. Already so worked up.

“Oh, Love, I’ve fucked you covered in worse. I’ll clean you up just fine…make sure every trace of another man is completely erased from your skin – from your mind,” He bends over you, hand trailing down your abdomen to meet where he grinds into you. He presses into your covered clit with his thumb, rolling in small circles. You gasp, back arching up into him as ecstasy makes your legs tighten. One of your hands snaps up to John’s hair, running through the locks and tugging at the roots. He shivers, his mouth near the skin of your collarbone, “Until all that’s left behind is me.”

His tongue licks a stripe from the junction of your neck up to your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back as you cry out loudly; the callouses of his fingers hit you just right – the pace perfect as he ramps up your pleasure. Your pussy desperately tightens around nothing, leaking like a faucet with need. Your Captain grips the sheets just beside your head, making sure he doesn’t accidentally crush you with his gargantuan frame. If he asked you would let him.

“Fucken’ beautiful,” John groans, “Fucken’ taste bloody good, Sweetheart…fuck.”

He laps at your skin, leaving trails of saliva all along your neck, cleaning the blood away before moving to your face. He stares at you with a deeply feral look as the coil in your core builds, red hot and making your skin shine with a sheen of desperate sweat. Your thighs quiver as the wetness of your slit makes the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your skin. The flesh of your face scrunches, and your head is loosely rocked up and down from the constant movement of your boyfriend’s hard hips and thumb.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You think, digging your nails into his scalp and tugging.

“Don’t stop,” You whine, “So close.”

“That’s right,” John’s tongue flies over the corner of your lip, making you want to cry at how you want to kiss him right now – but he's already moved onto your cheek, licking long stripes. When the man has his mind set on something, he’s not going to stop until it’s completed. The heat gets hotter, and your eyes snap closed eyebrows pulling in, “Yeah, come on, Love, come on. That’s it.”

He presses his thumb harder, moving it faster to chase that prize at the end of the road, watching in satisfaction as your body responds so perfectly to his every whim; hips moving erratically. You desperately try and meet his pace and, for the most part, achieve your goal, only sputtering when the tense minutes ware on and it all comes crashing down.

Your thin line of sanity breaks, and with a final heavy tug on John's hair that leaves him lowly groaning into your ear and muttering praises, your breath comes out in tight pants as light erupts behind your eyelids. You tense and feel your pussy gush with nothing inside of you, just your Captain’s steady rocking serving as an anchor as you feel your mind go blank with unrestrained pleasure.

“John!” You gasp, just as the man cleans the blood off your nose bridge as you arch violently against his sturdy chest, shaking, “Oh, fuck.”

“There she is,” Hands go to your chin, moving your jaw as your mouth remains open and releasing puffs of air. Your eyes open half-lidded as his finger works you through your high, “There’s my girl. Look at me, Sweetheart. Hm, did so good for me.”

“John,” You whimper, looking up into the sheen of pride that shines in his eyes; legs vibrating as his fingers move from your clit to your hip. The other leg, now tingling and pleasure numb, falls to the mattress with half of it hanging off. John digs tightly into your skin, leaving beautiful bruises behind for you to admire tomorrow, “Please I need you in me. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Hm,” He smashes his lips to yours, teeth clacking together, unable to restrain himself when you have that blissed-out look coating your expression, and you reciprocate as his painfully large erection still digs into you; his cargo pants stained with your fluids in a large wet splotch. Your free hand shakily slides to his belt buckle, tugging uselessly at the metal until John takes notice and tilts his head back, “Just a minute, Princess, so needy for me already?”

“Always,” You gasp, kissing the corner of his mouth breathlessly, “You treat me so well, John, always make me feel so good.” Tilting his head farther up with a nail, you feel his breath still, held in his chest as you leave love bites all along the part where his shoulder and neck meet, “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He melts into you before hastily going down to undo his belt buckle with one hand, allowing you to continue your work of marking him as his hips begin once more to careen into you with instinctual pleasure. Nearly crying from the sharp sense of overstimulation, you let the glossiness coat your eyes but still want more from him, even if it made you go dumb.

Sliding your hands all over his back and digging into the delicious muscles with your nails, you only pause your ministrations when his pants fall to the floor with a thump of fabric; his boxers following. Pulling back, you let your head hit the mattress as John drops the leg he was holding and you splay your hands above your head, letting the chill of your jewelry ground you as you take in the sight above you.

Every time you and John had sex it felt like you were taking him for the first time, the size of him stretching you so perfectly it didn’t take much for you to be reduced to a whimpering mess. It was even better when you were on top of him, straddling his hips and feeling his hands holding you in place as he plants his feet and thrusts up into you; hitting that perfect spongy spot and kissing your cervix.

Staring at him, heat flows to your face, and your lower legs nearly fall together until John’s hands snap to them, forcing them open once more. On his tense stomach, his large cock leaks down onto itself, but he hardly seems to notice. Your heart pounds in your ribcage.

“Don’t hide from me,” He mutters your name, fingers leaving goosebumps behind as they trail to your panties. John plays with the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, leaving you pouting as the seconds drag on. But he just watches you, running his digits over the come that stains the garment and leaks from your hole to the bed sheets.

“What’d I do to deserve you, eh?” John grunts as you make a sound in the back of your throat, “What’d I do to deserve this?”

He grabs your wrecked panties and slowly drags them to your ankles, letting them fall off to the floor to make a pile with his own clothes. Sucking in a breath, you feel the chill of the room meet your now-visible pussy. John’s eyes darken with lust, and one of his hands goes to lightly start pumping his cock at the sight of liquid falling out of you. His eyebrows pull in with concentration.

“Y-you don’t have to deserve me, John,” You whisper, watching in awe as his muscles tense as he jerks himself off at the sight of you; keeping eye contact with those blown orbs. One of your hands slides over your clovered breasts and down over your abdomen, finding your own slick folds before splaying them. Masking a whimper at your sensitivity, your eyelashes flutter as John’s jaw clenches at the visual, “I g-gave myself to you because I love you. You know that…Ah.”

Growling, your Captain snaps a hand to wrap around your wrist before you can begin to rock your hips and weakly fuck yourself at the sight of his leaking cock-head.

“Easy, Love,” He groans, running a thumb over his tip, “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

John’s hand leaves his cock, going to land on your other hand’s wrist as he pulls you to a sitting position. You release a squeak as you almost faceplant into his abdomen.

“J-John?” Muttering with wide eyes, your heart jerks as his hands weave under your knees, the other spanning the back of your shoulders. He picks you up and tosses you up into the middle of the bed, making you squeal and release a set of giggles as you land softly onto the mattress. Your body bounces, hair partially blocking your view before you swipe it from your face.

John chuckles, placing a knee on the side of the bed before moving up and crawling forward, coming to trap you under his body as he places his massive weight against you. Hating the silk barrier between your bodies, you smile and move one of your fingers to clasp the zipper in the back.

“Let me,” The man mutters, laying a soft kiss on your lips before his large hands move behind you, grabbing the metal and dragging it down.

You arch your back to help.

When he reaches the end, he pulls the fabric and your bra over your head; he leaves the jewelry on your body with only a lick of his lips and a glance to tell you he enjoyed the way it stood out on your skin. His cock twitches. John drops the silk to the floor and slots his hips inside the space of your thighs.

“Hm,” He breathes over your flaming cheeks, and you go to wrap your arms around his neck in anticipation, “Not right.”

He flips you over so you straddle his lower body, and immediately the impression of his cock is on your folds, leaving you moaning with want and heat as he leans against the headboard with a smirk. You swallow, seeing the way John watches with a tilted head.

“Fuck, you feel good,” You mutter, moving one hand down to grasp him as the other lands on his chest. You run your fingers over the pre-come staining the shaft and spread it around, angling him as he groans ahead of you. His thick fingers weave through your hair, forcing your head upwards as he starts leaving savage kisses over your neck; biting and making you grip him tighter with a moan, “So big. The perfect cock for splitting me open. No one else could take me like you can.”

“Shit,” John shakes, fingers digging into your side, “So nice to me, Love.” Your hand lines him up with your pussy, moving the tip around your hole before letting yourself begin to sink down.

He fills you inch by inch, and you feel the ache in your hips as you bring your lip to your mouth, biting down to silence the loud sounds that are trying to escape from you. Stuttering, John’s teeth sink into the skin behind your ear as you bottom out a heavy minute later, both of your chests banging against each other as you gasp for breath. The trimmed hair over his pelvis is just as coarse as his beard, leaving you itching to move. Maybe you can ride his face after this – get that perfect beard burn in between your thighs.

“Feel so fucken’ good round me, Sweetheart,” John grunts, not able to stop the light roll of his hips as he moves his lips to yours, sealing them with an open-mouth kiss that leaves saliva dripping down between the two of you to where you’re joined, splattering over his abs, “But I need you to move, yeah?”

So tight, You notice how you’re gripping John’s cock inside you like a vice, stretching so satisfyingly around him that you have to look down to see it for yourself. Your gaze flickers to see with a pleasure-drunk sheen; eyes widening. You find John stuffed so beautifully inside you that you have to restrain yourself from coming at the sight of it, engorged member spreading you open as your slick glistens at the base, How did he even fit?

Your walls flutter in arousal, feeling filled so completely and seeing the bulge in your stomach.

“Fucken’ bloody hell,” John whimpers, head tilting back to slam into the headboard harshly. He fills his chest with air, and before you have a chance to adjust his hips snap up, leaving you yammering in surprise; a loud whine leaves you breathless and falling into his chest for support.

He hits that spot without even trying, moving your body up as he plants his feet and uses you like a fuck-toy. Sweat drips down his nose. Your jewelry clinks together, giving you something else to hear besides the sound of slapping skin and fluids squelching as John pounds into you.

You chant your Captain’s name as you feel one of his hands travel to your clit, flicking it while the other controls your movement. Up and down. The bed creaks as you arch, mind losing all function as your nails drag down John's chest, leaving deep red claw marks behind.

“No one else makes you feel like this, huh,” John growls, his eyes traveling your disheveled frame as he sends a particularly heavy thrust up into you that kisses your cervix. You writhe as he continues, mouth open and letting him do whatever he wants to you, “No one can make you this cock-dumb, can they? No, my good girl needs me to treat her right, is that it?”

His jaw clenches, and he spreads his thighs even wider, making your own respond in turn and letting him hit even deeper.

“Answer me, Love. Come on,” John snaps his hand over your ass, and the resounding sound of the contact makes you tighten around him as your slick paints his abdomen with a clear sheen, “Can’t have you goin’ already on me. Haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

Your eyes roll back for a moment, head limp. You don’t even care who can hear you at the moment as your sounds bounce off the walls before fingers go around your jaw, forcing your head up to stare directly into John’s beautiful blues. His pace slows torturously and you gasp in desperation.

“Answer me.”

“No one!” You yell, eyes wet and glossy, “No one, John! F-fill me up, please,” You whine, words slurring as your body pointlessly shivers; tears track down your face as you beg, “Need your c-come in me. Please, Captain. Feels so good with your cock hitting me just right, paint my insides with your come, please!”

The sounds you were making were downright pornographic, and you swore you heard someone banging on the walls to try and shut the two of you up.

Not that that made you both slow down.

“Gonna leave you dripping with me, Love,” John’s fast pace returns, becoming erratic, hips slamming into your own becoming almost too much with his hand returning to circle your clit. You whine with overstimulation, legs trying fruitlessly to close as that coil builds violently once more, “Won’t be able to bloody walk tomorrow after I’m done with you. Fuck, just how you like it. Gonna leave you drooling, yeah?”

“Yeah…yeah…yeah,” You pant, heart pounding as John’s cock curves up into your womb, “love being cock-drunk ‘cause of you, C-captain.”

“Good girl, that’s right.” Your walls tighten one last time, and as John connects his lips with yours the line snaps as you come on his cock, gushing as he guides you through your orgasm with his still pistoning hips. The sound of the wet thrusting nearly makes you pass out, and as you released a high-pitched keen into your lover's mouth, he does the same.

“Bloody Fucken’...!”

Your own pleasure had triggered his, and with a few sloppy thrusts later, his seed is coating your insides white with a chest-rumbling groan. You feel the combined fluids slide between the ring you two had made as you fit together, pooling to corrupt both of your flesh. But that was alright -- it simply becomes even easier to fuck like that.

John ruts into you still, cock softening even as it seems he could go more rounds. But today had been long. You sit pleasure-drunk on his chest as your body is moved back and forth by those soft, slick, thrusts, your own hips casually rocking as drool falls from the corner of your mouth. Your eyes had gained a faraway look to them.

Your nerves sing with satisfaction, your womb feeling full and dripping with his seed. Nothing made you feel this good; made your legs feel so numb and shakey.

“You alright, Love?” John pants, beard coming to scratch your temple as he whispers in your ear, “didn’t go too hard on you, I hope.”

You smirk, moving your head to kiss his chest, licking over the purple and blue bruises you had given him. He sucks in a breath, and inside of you his cock twitches; your abused walls clenching.

“I’m fine.” You let out a sigh, sucking in greedy breaths right after, “But I think the others might hate us tomorrow. Someone was banging on the wall a while ago.”

John lays a kiss on the side of your head, catching a drop of sweat on his lips as your fucked-out eyes go to look up at him.

“Then they’re really going to like what I do to you next.”

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