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moonchildstyles · 10 months

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hyssop

rosemary part two: y/n made harry want to try, even if he didn't always believe he deserved the chance

wordcount: 11.5k+

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The spring-inspired logo of The Flour Pot gleamed in the Sunday morning sunshine, the front window crystal clear and streak free. With this week's trip being later in the morning after Harry managed to sleep some, the bakery wasn't quite as busy as he'd seen it in the past. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

While many of those initial anxieties he'd felt that first time he dared even stepping onto the sidewalk had melted away like butter in a croissant, there was still a part of him that braced himself when approaching those front doors. The butterflies were an enemy he had control over currently, but they always got bold whenever he was too close to (Y/N). He still kept his hands clenched in his pockets.

Peering through the glass doors, he saw only a pair of patrons sitting at one of the tables, a set of pastries between them with only one fork to share. Both of the women looked content sharing those bites. Slipping inside, the bakery lacked the kind of noise he'd begun to associate with the space. The queue to the front register was only two people long.

But, (Y/N) wasn't there.

The same dark-haired girl he'd seen the last time he traveled through was there along with the boy darting through the pastry case, but there was no bouncing bow or arms laden with heaps of bread. There was a part of him that deflated at that. He knew it was a bit later in the morning than his previous visits, but he figured that she'd still be here. He was only a couple of hours late.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Harry felt extremely out of place in the shop. Without (Y/N) there, there wasn't much of a reason for him to be there—even if the pastries were delicious. Toeing at the ground, he wanted to inch towards the exit, leave before anyone could really notice, but it wasn't busy enough to make an exit without feeling eyes on him.

Before he had a chance to make any plan, dark brown eyes of the attendant behind the register landed on him. She brightened at the sight, flicking her attention back and forth between him and the customer she was helping at the desk. She recognized him.

Just as the next client stepped up to order, the other waiting off to the side for their order, Harry saw her ask for a moment. She told the customer that she would be right with him, she just needed to take care of something super quick.

With that, her long ponytail brushing her back, she disappeared through the cafe doors. True to her word, she was back in a moment, a smile shot in Harry's direction. She was right back to helping her client, apologizing for the delay.

It was a beat later that (Y/N) emerged.

Her cheeks were stretched into a smile, and eyes bright as she spotted him almost immediately. Her plastic gloves were quickly stripped from her hands as she approached him, her hair lacking a bow in favor of a sparkling clip.

"Harry!" she beamed, looping around the counter to meet him where he stood in the middle of the shop.

Harry swallowed down the smile that wanted to take over his features. No one had been excited to see him in years.

"Hi, (Y/N)." His heart skipped a beat when her smile grew that much larger at his greeting.

He followed her lead as she stepped off to the side, out of the way of anyone should the line grow and other patrons enter. She stood with her hip popped, discarded gloves bunched between her hands. "Did you just get off work?"

Shaking his head, he allowed his gaze to take a trip down her form. Flour spotted her top, soft leggings conforming to the shape of her legs and well-worn shoes on her feet. "No, I went home and slept a little before coming in."

(He slept for a little over an hour, but that was better than nothing).

"When did you get off?" she asked, shifting her weight on her feet.

Pulling one of his hands from his pocket, he brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckle. "I usually get off around four or six depending on what time 'm schedule to go in."

"In the morning?" she blanched, stretching her neck with a furrow in her brow.

Harry hummed a confirmation.

"Oh," she sounded, her eyes wide, "I knew you worked late shifts, but I guess I never thought you worked all night. I don't know how you do it; I hate getting up before the sun is up, I don't think I could work like that."

Shrugging, Harry brought his hand up and repeated the brush against his nose to conceal his mouth. The tiniest of curls touched the corner of his mouth, the closest thing to a smile he'd given to another in a long while. The bubbliest non-morning person he'd ever met, he thought.

"Y'get used to it."

"Well, I'm happy you could come in today because I have some stuff for you." Her voice was something like a song, lilting around her words as she rocked on her heels.

Harry wasn't sure if it was his lungs or his heart that squeezed at the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," she hummed, "Go sit down and I'll go get everything. I'll take my break right now too so we can talk a little."

Before he could say much else, she was scooting back to the kitchen, her bound back hair being the last thing he saw before the cafe doors closed behind her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired cashier glance at him, a short smile on her lips as she continued to wipe down the counters.

Harry took a spot towards the back, a few places away behind the couple who paid no other patrons any mind. His restless hands did what they do best as he began to pick at his cuticles, the beds still raw from the last time he plucked at the frayed skin.

By the time (Y/N) was strolling out of the kitchen, the waiting patrons had exited, leaving only he and the other couple filling the lobby. The dark-haired girl behind the desk had huddled into the corner shielded by the pastry case, her phone in her hands as she took advantage of the lull in clientele. (Y/N) had a ramekin with a puffy pastry she was carefully holding in one hand while the other had a plain, square Tupperware case.

She hopped on the high stool in front of him, that table bracing her weight as she carefully shifted with her gifts. With the duo laid out in front of him, a spoon balanced on the top of the Tupperware, she gave him a giddy smile.

"I know it's closer to lunch than breakfast at this point, but I did make you one of those soufflés I was telling you about." As she spoke, she pushed the ramekin towards him, the lightweight top of the soufflé puffed and golden brown. "I also made focaccia last night, and saved you a square if you wanted to try."

"Focaccia?" he posed, grabbing the spoon from her outstretched hand.

"It's a kind of bread," she laughed, the sound light and airy, "You can make it a whole bunch of different ways, but last night I made it with black pepper, basil, and a little bit of parmesan. Have you ever tried it?"

"Maybe?" he shrugged. (There was a period of time back when his sister was distracted with her boyfriend a lot, that his mother didn't know what to do with herself and decided to try her hand at bread making. He could never and would never tell her, but she wasn't very good, so there was a high chance that he'd tried a version of whatever bread (Y/N) was talking about, just a very bad version that he didn't give more than a nibble to).

"Try the soufflé first while it's still warm from the oven, and then I'll show you the bread," (Y/N) decided.

While there was something a bit awkward knowing that (Y/N) was going to watch him eat and wait for a reaction to something she made with him in mind, there was no universe in which Harry was going to say no to homemade food. After being accustomed to frozen meals and canned foods, things like this with real flavor were things Harry cherished more than what was probably normal.

He kept his eyes on his hands as he poked the spoon through the eggy top layer of the treat, strings of cheese clinging to the utensil as he scooped out a bite. A plume of fragrant steam lifted through the air, holding notes of rosemary and thyme with the bite of a salty cheese. Popping it in his mouth, Harry felt that pressure to give her a good reaction disappearing. He wouldn't have to make anything up when he swallowed it down, the praise was going to come naturally.

The bite was custardy and warm, while being entirely light and airy. Hints of the different cheeses were sprinkled throughout, still warm and melty from the steam that had collected in the middle of the pastry. Ribbons of spinach added a bitter bite that cut through the cheese and egg, adding to the fresh herbs that were sprinkled across the top of (Y/N)'s creation. It was perfect—better than the scone even, but Harry had a feeling that anything he ate of her's, he would decide it was better than the last.

As much as he wanted to tell her how well she did, he couldn't wait that long to take another bite. Maybe he was a bit frantic, eager to try another shoveled bite, but the only reason Harry figured as much was because of the huffed laugh that (Y/N) let out. He could still feel her eyes on him, though now he only felt the warmth, not the weight.

"(Y/N)," he started after finally pulling the spoon away from the treat, "This is... I didn't think y'could make anything better than the scone, but this is amazing. Really." He hoped she understood how much he meant what he was saying, even if he held onto his stoic mask.

The booming smile that took over her features had something close to pride sitting in the back of Harry's chest. He liked knowing that he could put a smile like that on her face, even if there was a valid argument he could make stating he didn't deserve it.

"I'm so happy you like it!" Her voice bubbled bright and giddy as she spoke. "They're one of my favorite things to make, even if they're a little hard to deal with sometimes. If you ever want one and it's not Friday, just let me know before you come in and I can put one aside for you."

Having been unable to stop himself from taking another bite, Harry had to rush to swallow it down by the time she stopped speaking. He nodded to her, taking down the eggy, cheesy, salty bite in a heady swallow. "Thank you," he told her again, "That's really nice, (Y/N)."

He didn't know how, but her bright smile seemed to grow wider as she watched him take another heaping bite. Her cheek was smushed against the palm of her hand she had splayed over the side of her face, her elbow propped onto the table.

"You don't have to finish it if you don't want, though. I know it's pretty heavy, and we still have the bread I wanted to share with you," she said, though she didn't make any attempt to stop him when he shook his head.

"I'll finish it," he told her bluntly, a little too invested in the soufflé to care about the huffed laugh she let out at his reaction. A beat passed while she tried to hide how happy she was to see him scarf down her food before Harry began to savor the bites once he made it to the bottom of the cup. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, having almost forgot about the price of the treat.

A knit pinched her brows together though her eyes remained bright. "What do you mean?"

"For this." His own expression mimicked hers with his brows drawing together in the middle.

"Oh," she sounded, the word coming out on a breath, "Don't worry about it. I got it covered."

That had him pausing on the last couple of bites left of the soufflé. "No. How much do I owe you?"

Something stubborn had her eyes hardened when she looked at him across the small table. "You're not paying for this, Harry. It was a gift from me, don't worry."

"'M not taking free food from you, (Y/N). That's not fair after all the work y'did and everything," he argued.

"You are," she countered, a surprisingly firm edge to her voice, "I don't care. I wanted to do this for you, so I think it's perfectly fair. Now finish it so we can have some of the bread before I have to get back to work."

"(Y/N)..."

She didn't let him get very far before he was cut off, "Harry."

As much as he knew she was trying to tell him that he would be in trouble with her if he pushed the issue further, he liked seeing her get a little stern. It was cute seeing her go from the chirping, bubbly tone she used almost exclusively to putting her foot down over something so trivial. He thought she looked rather pretty like this.

He decided, looking at her trying to be stern in her Flour Pot uniform and shimmering nails, that he'd make it up to her somehow, this free breakfast.

Looking all too smug when he didn't argue back, (Y/N) brightened up when she saw him take the last bite.

"Thank you again, (Y/N)," he told her, wiping his face with one of the napkins in the holder on the table.

"Of course, Harry," she beamed at him, practically bouncing in her spot, "I'm just happy you liked it. I was getting nervous because I think I talked it up a little, so I didn't want to disappoint you."

He wanted to tell her that he was almost completely sure that there wasn't any way she could disappoint him. He kept his mouth shut.

She pushed the Tupperware towards him, the lip of the lid grasped between her fingers. "Do you think you still have room to try?"

Peeling back the lid, a square of dimpled bread was revealed to him. Basil leaves were pressed into the surface of the bread, crisped and preserved under a layer of crusty cheese. Flakes of black pepper could be seen throughout the dough and sprinkled over the top. The bread perfumed the air with spicy black pepper notes and the warmth of the cheese and basil. A small section of the container was cupped off, holding a creamy dip, tinted a golden yellow.

"I definitely have some room," he decided, his eyes growing to the size of his stomach with all the food being offered to him.

Fresh bread and a warm breakfast all in one day. She was spoiling him.

"Is it okay if I have a little with you? I made sure there would be enough for the both of us if you're okay with sharing."

"'S your food, 'course I don't mind," he told her, his lips turning into a frown. She was sharing with him, not the other way around.

Harry waited for her to take her first bite, fingers plucking off a corner with a basil leaf imprinted into the top. The bread was light and airy when he took his turn, chewy and soft when he pinched it between his fingers. He watched as she dipped into the condiment she had told him was a garlic aioli. One of her favorites; both to make and eat.

Just as he went to take his first dip into the sauce, (Y/N) had the same idea. Their fingers bumped, (Y/N) pulling back immediately with a soft sound exiting her lips. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until his lungs began to ache.

"Sorry," he said first, jerking his chin, "You first."

(Y/N) hesitated for only a second, her eyes on him before she blinked in a flutter of long lashes. "Thanks," she chirped out, recovering as she dipped her next bite into the aioli.

When it was Harry's turn, he almost felt bad to be eating so much of her food when it should be celebrated from the rooftops for everyone to see and try. The crust on top was warm and crunchy, salty with the help of the parmesan she had spread across, while the middle was light and chewy. A bite was given to each taste with the help of the black pepper.

In an unsurprising turn of events, Harry wanted to say this was his favorite thing she'd ever made before.

"This might be my favorite," Harry settled on, waiting his turn before he plucked off another bite, the warm oil drizzled atop the bread shimmering on his fingers. "I know I keep saying it, but this is really amazing (Y/N). It's been a really long time since I've had anything like this, but you're really amazing at this."

He knew he was rambling, a habit he wasn't familiar with as his tongue fumbled around the words before he had a chance to stop them. He only managed to quit when he shoved another bite of the focaccia into his mouth, the bread all but melting over his tongue.

Her smile was ever-present as she spoke, "Thank you. I haven't been making bread like this for very long, on my own at home and all. I'm not super great at it yet, but it's been really fun and I think I'm getting better. It's more fun than the baguettes and sourdoughs I make here, I think. I get to make it however I want."

"You're very talented, (Y/N)." The compliment felt lame falling from his lips but it was the best he could do before he started going off again, possibly telling her how amazing she was once more.

She chirped her gratitude out, all but glowing under his praise. He liked knowing he could make her feel like that, give her the sunshine look that warmed her features.

The bread between them slowly dwindled to small chunks the longer they sat across from one another. (Y/N) told him more about the bakery and the people she worked with, what she liked making at home and what she preferred to keep at work. She didn't make him talk for more than a few hums here and there, allowing him to soak in her presence and settle into her without worrying about what he could share with her and what would be better to keep to himself.

The longer they sat, more and more patrons flitted into the shop. It started as a trickle, the groups small enough to be attended to before another would step up. The line didn't reach longer than a pair of people. Until the lunch rush came in.

(Y/N) cut herself off when a large group made their way in. Her eyes scanned the growing line and the pastry case that was getting picked through with every person that placed their order.

"I should probably get back to work. I definitely took longer than fifteen minutes with you," she said, looking more than a little reluctant to hop off her stool, "But you can stay as long as you want, eat however much you want." Just as she turned on her heel, a goodbye on her lips and wave on her fingers, he saw her stop in her tracks, turning back to face him. "Thank you for coming in, by the way. My days are always a little nicer when I get to see you."

Harry's hand clenched around the napkin he had been using to wipe his fingers and clean his face, the paper crumbling in his grip. His throat was dry, tongue too big for his mouth as he took in what she saw. How was he supposed to respond to something like that, when he almost wondered if he knew any words at all? Those butterflies were sabotaging him.

Even with Harry's lack of response, (Y/N) didn't look perturbed at all. She gave him that glowing smile once more—bright but only for him. "I'll see you later?"

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered out, a disjointed nod accompanying the word.

That was all she needed to hear before she was turning back to the kitchen. She waved at him, tossing that smile over her shoulder. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, (Y/N)."

By the time Harry felt as though he needed to leave, he felt relaxed enough he could sleep some of the day away. He doubted a nightmare could enter his brain after a moment like this—the vision of (Y/N) in his brain, scented with soft bread and pastries made with only him in mind.

—————

It was a habit now for Harry to park in the same spot by the bakery every time he went into town. Even if he had no intention of sneaking inside and getting a glimpse of a fluttering bow and a whiff of rosemary, he always took his place across the street from The Flour Pot. The fresh air and the extra steps were good for him, anyway.

Getting out of his car, library books at his side, he couldn't help but to glance at the building. He cast a lingering look through the glass, eyes scanning through the pane in hopes of seeing a familiar face. It was an old instinct coming to the surface after so long of burying it underneath his hopes of a different life; he used to do the same, checking on his mother and sister to ensure they were safe and none of his mistakes had found them. The same habit was beginning to form for (Y/N).

Through the window pane, he saw her standing behind the pastry case, her profile to him as she spoke to the dark-haired girl he now knew to be her friend Sabrina. (Y/N) gesticulated as she talked, hands held out with her fingers spread out, emphasizing whatever story she was telling that had Sabrina holding back her laugh behind her own hand.

Harry had to drop his gaze, stitching his gaze to his feet as he walked to keep the smile from creeping onto his features.

Heading towards the library, Harry created a rhythm as he counted the cracks in the sidewalk with loose pieces of pavement kicking up with every step. It was on the sixteenth crack that he heard his name being called out behind him.

He knew that voice.

The plastic covering on his library book crackled when he tightened his grip on the spine. Looking over his shoulder, there was that smiling face framed by those stray strands of hair that escaped her ribboned bun. She beamed at him where she stood across the intersection from him, the dark pavement separating them.

"Wait up!" she called, looking both ways before scampering over the painted crosswalk to meet him. She slowed to a stop in front of him, the straps of her bag sliding off her shoulder. "Hi," she chirped out.

"Hi," he answered, his voice sounding decidedly less excitable than her own even if his chest was thumping,

"How are you?" she asked, "Today's your day off, right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled out, nodding his head, "I jus' woke up, so 's going alright so far."

"Long night last night?" she continued, getting comfortable in the conversation even if it was nothing more than small talk.

Harry recalled the twitch that had started in his eye now that Theo and the others had started trying to chat with him during the overnight shifts since Harry had accidentally opened the floodgates with his questions about (Y/N). "A little bit," he settled on, holding back a sigh, "But 's alright. How about you?"

Casting her gaze behind her to the bakery she'd just run out of, she only shrugged before looking back at him. "I don't like doing mids so they're always long, but I'm done for the day at least," she smiled at him, glancing at the book at his side, "Are you going to the library?"

Shifting his weight on his feet, Harry felt a little more exposed than he felt comfortable with. He always felt much more at ease when (Y/N) spoke of herself or he was able center questions around her.

Swallowing, Harry nodded.

(Y/N) perked up at his answer, almost bouncing in her spot. "I didn't know you went to the library and everything," she started, "I just finished at the bakery for the day, would it be alright if I tagged along?"

Another invitation, but one that he was to extend to her.

It felt personal in an odd way to invite her to accompany him, to see him pick out different novels and how he interacted with people that aren't her. The universe around them seemed to only extend to The Flour Pot and the grocery store—the only places where he was allowed to exist around her.

But, if this was their universe, then she was the center star. She beamed up at him, the kind of sun a creature like him would warm himself under, trailing pathetically behind. How he is supposed to say no to that?

"Sure," he mumbled out, "A-Are y'sure y'don't want to go home?" If it were him, after a long shift, he wouldn't even entertain the idea of doing anything other than heading home right away.

"I have too much energy to go home," she bubbled, inching closer to him to match his route to the library, "I had coffee this morning, so I'm all over the place. I'm worried about what I would do to my living room if I go home right now; I'd probably rearrange everything and decide to redecorate with money I don't have."

Dropping his gaze to his feet, Harry hid the twitch that tugged at the corner of his lips.

He fell into step beside her, slowing his paces as they trekked down the sidewalk to the library on the corner. She tugged on the strap of her bag, the lengths seemingly constantly falling from her shoulder.

"When did you get home last night?" (Y/N) asked, her voice floating over the sound of the cracked concrete under their feet.

Harry shrugged, shifting his books into the opposite hand leaving the one closest to her swinging at his side. "I stayed a little late and made it home by four."

(Y/N) shook her head, fixing the strap of her bag once more. "I'm starting to think you're a vampire, Harry," she chided, "I don't know how you do it. I like to stay up late and everything too, but I only like the nighttime because I have nothing I need to do."

"You get used to it," he told her. Harry could feel his features softening at her bubbly remarks.

"Sure," she said, lilting her voice into a tease, "Anyway, what are we looking for at the library today?"

Bringing his hand up to brush a knuckle under the tip of his nose, Harry felt that exposure again. "Jus' returning these, and probably check out a few more."

"What are your favorite kinds of books?" (Y/N) bounced in her steps beside him, glancing up at him with that sunshine face. "I didn't know you liked to read so much."

Just as Harry brought in a heavy breath through his nose, the steps to the library doors were in front of them. The proverbial bell that save him, he decided. Instead of giving her any kind of answers he was able to grab the stainless steel door handle and pull it open. "After you," he murmured to (Y/N).

The laugh that fell from her lips was enough to keep his chest from constricting so tightly. He hadn't even meant to make her laugh, but he'd take it whenever she was willing to give it.

(Y/N) waited just inside for him, only stepping towards the front desk when Harry was beside her. Ms. Klarke looked at them over the green frames of her glasses, brows rising with her eyes widening for only a moment before she fell back into that same pleasant expression she always greeted Harry with.

"Hello, Mr. Styles," she started, something in her eyes flashing before she moved onto his companion, "and Ms. (Y/N)."

"Hi, Ms. Klarke," (Y/N) chirped.

Harry felt out of place for a moment, listening to them speak to each other with the kind of familiarity he hadn't been invited into for years now. He only offered a small wave to the librarian in greeting, "Hi."

"How can I help you two today?"

(Y/N) looked to him immediately. Harry's hand started sweating around the plastic covering of his borrowed book. "Jus' here to return these and get something new," he mumbled once he reached the wooden desk.

"Already?" Ms. Klarke asked, "I'm going to run out of books for you soon, if you keep this up." She swiped his books off the counter, tapping away at her computer before swiping them under the scanner. "Lucky for you, though," she continued, "I did get some new ones I put out yesterday on your shelves if you wanted to look there first."

"Thank you," Harry said, feeling shy now that he had someone at his side. He hadn't had anyone there to run errands with in years.

"By the way," (Y/N) piped up, her eyes on the librarian, "We're bringing back some of those special croissants at the bakery, Ms. Klarke. This Sunday we'll have some of the currant ones and the fig sandwich ones, if you want to come by."

Ms. Klarke's expression brightened like Harry had never seen before, a hand landing on her hip as she looked at (Y/N). "Thank you, dear! That's so exciting, thank you for letting me know."

"Of course," (Y/N) beamed, offering up extra information to Ms. Klarke while Harry kept his eyes on the grains of the wooden desk.

He felt like a potted plant, standing in the middle of the interaction. At least this was saving him time before (Y/N) would follow him into the shelves and watch as he picked out new books to try.

Soon enough, the conversation ended with Ms. Klarke prompting them to look around, (Y/N) looked to Harry to lead the way.

"Where to first?" Her gaze dropped down the opposing wings of the library, each end marked with flags showing off different genres.

The shelves were packed with books, some visibly old with cracked spines and barcodes that had been replaced more than once, while others were vibrantly bright with fresh packaging. Spaces were left here and there for new arrivals to make a home, but it seemed like a place like this wouldn't ever run out of space no matter how many volumes were shoved into the empty spaces.

"This way," he said, shoving his now empty hand into his pocket.

Harry trailed through the shelves, not even bothering to look up at the markers as he went. He knew where he was going, even if he took slow steps as if contemplating where to go next.

The mystery section was the last one to amble through before reaching Harry's destination. The dark spines with words like murder and cold case. He didn't bother to look too close at the editions. Mystery wasn't a genre he enjoyed anymore, not since many of the subjects became the things he was trying to run from not escape into.

Bypassing the space, Harry led them to the shelves just an aisle over. The romance section.

Among the stacks were the stereotypical shirtless covers with overtly sexual titles, the kind of books that would have been on the roster of a women's wine and book club. Interspersed through were the bright covers Harry was more familiar with, blocky titles with drawn covers and bestselling authors.

He could hear (Y/N)'s footsteps behind him, following him into the section he took his time getting to. The pat of her feet stopped just beside him.

"You like romance books?"

Swallowing, Harry feigned an attempt to get a closer look at a book as he crouched down. He didn't want to see her face if she had any other thoughts about his selection. "It's easy to read," he told her, eyeing a volume with gold lettering over a dark blue cover, constellations decorating the binding, "Happy endings and all that."

"That's why I like them, too," she said after a beat, her voice soft to match the ambiance of the library, "There's always so much going on, it's nice to read something happy and soft instead of focusing on all the bad."

An invisible pressure that had been pressing on his chest waned at her words. While there wasn't much opportunity to share his preferred book genre with others, Harry hadn't ever wanted to. He always figured it was a little embarrassing to admit to reading kissing books. Of course (Y/N) wouldn't have any kind of problem with it, though. He should have figured.

The static of her presence shifted as she began her own perusal of the shelves. A beat of silence settled between the two of them, only the whisper of another patron heard down the aisle.

Swallowing, Harry felt his heartbeat in his chest. "I also like to read fantasy stuff sometimes," he told her, feeling all too nervous to be sharing something so trivial about himself.

Her response came in the form of a small hum, "Really? What kind do you like?"

Distracting his restless hands, Harry plucked the blue book from the shelf, the plastic covering crackling under his fingers. "Kind of like Dracula and those kinds of things," he mumbled, pretending as if he didn't feel her eyes on him, "They're hard to read sometimes, jus' because the language is hard to understand, but I think they're pretty interesting."

"I don't know if I could read any of those monster books, honestly," she said, huffing out a laugh, "I think I would give myself nightmares if I read them after dark, but they do sound really interesting. I want to know if it's still as scary now as it was back then."

The thought of (Y/N), perky and bright as she was, sitting down with a book like Dracula or one of the other great gothic horrors, had Harry almost breaking into a smile while looking at the book in his hand. He'd be interested to see her reaction to something that dark.

A process Harry was far too familiar with started then: the seemingly endless browsing of library shelves. Even after picking out the trio of books that would keep him busy for the week, he didn't find any kind of rush to head out immediately after. (Y/N) meandered with him, finding her own interesting reads before restocking them on the shelf. Harry could hear her mumbling something about needing to get a library card.

"So this is what you do on your days off?" she asked once they reconvened around a shelf of autobiographies.

Nodding, Harry had his eyes forward as he spoke. "Usually. I visit you, the library, and sleep. Nothing exciting."

"That sounds so nice, though," she all but melted, "I feel like I'm so busy all the time, even when I'm not at work. I know I'm lucky to be doing a hobby of mine for work, but it does take out some of the fun of baking for myself, you know? And it used to be a kind of stress reliever, but now it just feels like I'm doing my work again."

"I'm sorry," he told her, brows knitting in the middle at the explanation. He'd never really thought about it like that, if he was being honest. He always figured that if you're doing something you love, you never work—or whatever it was that quote said. "I've never thought about it like that."

"I didn't either before I started," she shared, "But, it's okay, really. I still enjoy baking and my job is easy because of that, I just don't have the urge to bake in my free time like I used to."

"As long as you're happy," he murmured. He felt as though it was a secret he was sharing with her between the stacks, that he thought at all about her happiness.

Her finger paused on the spine of the book she was tracing over, a falter in her route. Looking up at her, he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Do you bake or cook or anything like that?" she asked once she seemingly recovered, her attention now placed on the autobiography of an eighties songwriter.

Taking in a deep breath, he kept himself from drawing his gaze over her profile. His attention was forcefully placed on what looked like a memoir of a philosopher. "Not really. Baking is too scientific for me; all the measuring makes me feel like I'll mess it up," he offered, "And, I don't really cook anymore."

"Anymore?"

It was an innocent question. The wording he used was something anyone would pick up on, so he wasn't sure why he felt nervous knowing that she picked up on it. He swallowed, throat bobbing around the building words.

"Yeah, I don't cook much anymore but when I lived with my—um—my mum we used to cook together a lot." Though it was little more than a sentence, this was the most he'd talked about his past to anyone in over a handful of years. He just hoped she didn't ask about his mom.

"That's really sweet," she said, looking up from where she was reading the back description of one of her books, "What did you like to cook?"

Relief touched his chest at the new subject matter. It didn't matter how long it's been since he and his family had to scatter themselves around, it was still hard to speak on them when he never got to process the grief over losing them. This was easier, speaking about her indirectly, even if he could still feel that well of emotion growing heavier in his stomach.

"We liked to make this soup together a lot; it had rice and chicken sometimes and other little things. I think I was too young to really pay attention to what she was putting in before she had me doing something else. It was that and a lot of grilled cheeses, and Sunday dinners, and just... things she knew I liked."

Harry felt himself shutting down when he started uncovering more and more memories in the kitchen with his mother. Those moments were what they had left up until things changed, her always having him help even when he was old enough to do more than wash the produce and stir the pot. His defense mechanism of shutting down kicked in, shutting him out of his own memories and own recollection of those days.

"That's really cute," (Y/N) murmured, looking at him with something in her eyes that looked entirely too soft to be directed at him. Her gaze lingered before it dropped back to the book in her hands. "I've always been okay at cooking, but before I started at the bakery, I used to make cupcakes all the time."

Cupcakes. That was much easier to focus on. He almost wanted to thank her for changing the subject.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," she hummed, sliding the book back into place on the shelf, "I used to try all kinds of weird flavors with different frostings and little designs in all different colors. It was so fun, but now the idea of doing something like that after I get home from work makes my hands hurt before I've even started."

A furrow pinched at Harry's brows. That same instinct he had that urged him to check on her earlier piped up once again. "Do your hands hurt a lot from work?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged, facing him with the tendrils of her bow fluttering behind her, "If I'm working on the bread case that day, then yeah. All of the yeast stuff that needs me to really work with it and everything, that hurts my hands the worst, but it usually depends on the prep."

It was the way her face dropped when she said the word prep and how quickly she pulled out her phone afterwards that had that concerned instinct flaring once more. Even as she tapped away at whatever it was that lived in her phone, her attention stitched elsewhere, he still squared his shoulders as if to show her he could help. "What's wrong?"

"I almost completely forgot I have to go in for an overnight this weekend. Sabrina was supposed to, but she has a concert that night she doesn't want to miss," she sighed, finishing whatever it was that was on her screen before putting her phone back into her bag, "It's basically just a prep shift while we're closed so the opener is ready to put things in the oven. I haven't done one in so long; I don't want to."

"You can't get out of it?" Harry pressed, feeling worried over how much she didn't want to do it.

Was there more he needed to be concerned about? Was she hiding from something? Was someone making her do this? How was he supposed to help her if she didn't tell him what was going on?

"It's honestly not that bad, I'm just being dramatic," she smiled at him, relaxing some under the intensity of his gaze, "These are the kinds of shifts that hurt my hands the most, but it's nice going on when everything is closed. I don't have to be in uniform, and I can just listen to music and be by myself for a little while."

By myself. That pinged in Harry's head a little too loudly. He understood what she was getting at—the kind of solitude that had him gravitating towards his own overnight shift—, but that didn't ease him into the idea of her being alone overnight in the bakery.

"I'll be like you that day," she told him, kicking her toe lightly against his own Vans, "A vampire getting up before the sun is up, and everything."

He wanted to lighten up, especially at the small touch she offered him without reason, but he still was working overtime in his head. "You'll be alone? No one else is coming in with you?"

"Yeah, but it's not so bad," she said, inching out the aisle with Harry following her lead, "I'll see one of the other girls when I come in after we close, but after that it's just me." He was sure she could tell he wasn't completely eased at the new centimeter of information. "I promise it's not as bad as I was acting. I don't even think I'll need to drive that day, so I won't need to worry about parking or anything either."

Though Harry knew she was trying to reference back to when she told him that she wasn't very good at parking and always made herself nervous when she had to pick a spot in the overflow lot by the bakery, he was focusing too much on the fact she wasn't planning on driving at all.

"What do y'mean?"

"I think I'm going to walk to work that day since it'll be so quiet, anyway. It'll help me relax a little afterwards, I think."

Harry almost stopped in his tracks. She planned on walking to her overnight shift. The shift that exclusively deals in dark nights and little to no light? The one that encourages those that feel too comfortable in the dark to come out and mess with someone like her? The spines of his chosen books crackled at his tightening grip.

"You're going to walk?"

"I live in a townhouse a few blocks over, so it's not a long walk or anything. I would do it more often, I just hate usually have things to do afterwards that I need to drive for."

"What time do y'get off?" The question rolled off his tongue before he had even decided he was going to ask as much. He hoped he wasn't coming off as creepy as he sounded.

"I think I'm scheduled until two, but I usually stay a little longer just to make sure everything is resting well before I leave." The information was offered to him with no fight. Another red flag to Harry's too cautious brain. Worst case scenarios began to brew in his brain with villains who made sure to exploit her trusting nature.

He brushed a knuckle against the tip of his nose, taking in a deep breath. "If you're willing to wait a little until I get off, I can walk y'home."

It was (Y/N)'s turn for her steps to falling in the meandering trail they were curating through the stacks. She looked at him with an incredulous look on her face, brows raised and eyes wide. "Really?"

A determined set had his features in hard lines. A furrow scrunched Harry's brows, mouth set into a hard line with a jaw to match, gaze stitched to her own. He didn't waver even when he faltered over his words. "I...I don't like the idea of y'walking alone in the dark."

The incredulous mold of her features melted away to something much more shy and flustered. A small smile curled her lips, her eyes softening as she looked up at him through a flutter of lashes. She was the closest thing to the human embodiment of the butterflies that made their home in Harry's stomach.

"You don't mind after working all night?"

"No."

Her smile grew some at his simple answer. "I think I'd like that, then. Thank you, Harry."

Harry only dropped her gaze to keep her from spotting the small curl of his lips over the sound of her voice wrapping around his name like silk.

—————

Harry had his eyes glued to the clock stationed above the computer in the stock room. The second the hands thunked into position, detailing out three o'clock, he was punching out. Not a minute later. He wasn't going to be late with someone waiting on him.

He promised (Y/N)'d he'd be there to walk her home, and he wasn't going to be a second late.

It was barely 3:02 a.m. when he stepped out into the rain-soaked parking lot, scaling the length to his car. All night had felt like a countdown, Harry near constantly checking the time on his phone to ensure he would finish with his boxes in time to clock out right away when the time struck. Other than a wave over his shoulders, he didn't waste time playing into the chatty goodbyes of his coworkers. (Even on regular nights, he didn't understand how they could be so eager to socialize at three in the morning after a full shift).

After pulling out of the parking lot, the drive to her bakery felt like five minutes with the way he was driving. He especially didn't want her to wait long enough for (Y/N) to get any wild ideas about waiting outside the front doors for him. But, as he pulled up to the building, The Flour Pot sign darkened, there was no one there.

Peering through the windows after he picked his usual parking space across the street, he saw only a tiny light. Knowing what he knew of the layout, it looked as if it could be one the light to the kitchen or a back office, but the shine could easily be mistaken for a glare from oncoming traffic.

That was where (Y/N) was. Safe inside.

The drumming in his chest settled at the knowledge. He hadn't realized he had given so much weight to the scenario where he would pull up to her already walking home without him, some faceless entity trailing her, opening its maw to reveal sharpened fangs before swallowing her whole. (He'd been thinking about checking out Dracula again since their conversation in the library, but after this he figured his imagination was a little too active for something like that).

Now it was his turn to wait. She had warned him that she would be later than her scheduled time of two o'clock, and he had no qualms about waiting it out for her. He was a patient person, a virtue Harry and learned in his old life, but this was one of the first times he felt content to wait for someone. As long as she didn't leave without him.

Harry settled into his seat, soft music filtering through the speakers.

——————

Almost an hour later, from the corner of his eye, Harry saw movement from inside the bakery. The light in the back had been flicked off moments before he saw a comfy dressed figure slipping out of the front door.

(Y/N) had her hair pulled back, a loose shirt on with soft leggings and her ever-present Vans on her feet. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, hands full of her keys and her phone. She took her time locking the front doors.

Through that hour of waiting, fatigue had settled in Harry's bones, making his movements much more lethargic than normal as he readied to meet her on the sidewalk. Until he saw her pull out a pair of headphones from her bag, slipping the buds into her ears before turning in the opposite direction of the shop.

Though he didn't want to scare her, Harry had to quicken his pace and catch up with her as soon as he could. She didn't seem to hear the thud of his feet over the pavement and splashing through rain puddles until he was close enough to call her name. (Any kind of creature could have snuck up on her with her being so distracted like that. The thought sent a frigid chill down Harry's spine).

At the call of her name, Harry's hand inches away from grazing her arm, (Y/N) spun around, hand to her neck with a squeaking scream clogging her throat. Realization came a moment later, her widened eyes and startled stature melting away when she took him in.

"Jeez, Harry, you scared me," she breathed out.

"Sorry," he told her, hand dropping back to her side, "I didn't want y'to leave without me."

"That's right, oh my god," she bubbled off, replacing her headphones back into the pod carrier, "I almost completely forgot you're walking with me. I'm sorry, tonight's been a really long night."

"'S okay," he said, stepping that much closer to her over the cracked concrete. "At least y'didn't get too far before I caught you."

"Yeah," she smiled at him, nudging her shoulder to keep the straps of her bag up, "Thank you again. Even though I almost forgot, it means a lot."

Harry only nodded his head, that odd feeling of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth returning at her words. It wasn't something he'd experienced in a long while, but (Y/N) seemed to be the only one that could pull it from him.

Falling into step beside her as they started on the couple block walk to her home, he saw as she flexed her fingers as her sides, her phone being discarded to float in her bag instead of in her grasp. "Are your hands okay?"

Flexing her hands out in front of her, (Y/N)'s joints were visibly stiff with spots of flour decorating the hem of her sleeves. "Yeah, they're not too bad, actually. I've definitely had worse." She ran the pad of her thumb over the meaty part of the other. "I'm really only sore right here, but I'll be fine."

Her voice was like a melody over the sounds of the night. Rain showers had cleansed the town earlier in the night, leaving their footsteps to be complimented by the stick of raindrops clinging to the rubber soles of their shoes. Leaves rustled around them as drops slid down the surface, arcing down every leaf until joining a puddle created on the concrete around them. Everything smelled wet and fresh; clear. (Y/N)'s refreshing presence fit in perfectly.

"'M happy you're alright," he said, his own hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Peering at her at his side, he saw her looking to the sky. He slowed his steps to not leave her behind. "Am I allowed to know what y'made today?"

"Of course," she laughed, looking at him with the same kind of wonder she was giving to the starry sky, "I prepped a lot of shortbread tonight, so Sabrina can make them into tulips later, and even more croissants. I did a few other little things for the bread case but I think the croissants got me the worst today."

"Yeah? Why do you think that?"

"It's all the layers," she started, leading him in taking a left out of the main town, "It's a lot of rolling it out and making sure I get it all done before the butter starts melting in between. I've gotten a lot better at the timing since I've started, but it's still a lot to work on all at once."

"I didn't know that. 'M sorry." He now suddenly felt bad for enjoying any of her treats. He didn't like the idea of her hurting just for a sweet to start his morning.

"Don't be sorry, it's okay. Someone has to do it," she chirped out, mimicking the birds that were beginning to wake up around them, "How was your night, though? Did you just get off?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't really feel like telling her he'd been waiting for over an hour outside the bakery for her. "I got off a little earlier, but yeah. It was an easy night, jus' boring. Longer than I thought it would be."

Her bag bounced against her hip as they walked, her eyes like the starlight when she looked at him. "Unpack anything fun?"

Dropping his head, he brushed his knuckle against the tip of his nose to conceal the small twitch on the corner of his mouth. He knew what she was getting at. "I mean, I did unpack some cookies tonight."

(Y/N) had them cross the street before turning into a suburban area, full of small houses. It was like a gingerbread house community Harry thought, everything similar but distinctly different with the way every inhabitant decorated the outside.

"What kind of cookies?"

He had to look the other way this time to keep her from seeing that smile. He didn't know why, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to see him like that; as if she would call him out, like even she would know he wasn't supposed to be happy like that.

With a shrug and his composure in place, Harry told her with a flat tease, "This raspberry kind with white chocolate, I think? And one of the other guys unpacked some fancy cheeses, too. At least I heard anyway."

She was silent beside him for a moment. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me, or if you really forgot that those are two of my favorite things right now."

"Are they?"

That had a peal of laughter falling from (Y/N)'s lips. She drifted close enough then to bump his hip with her own, looking up at him with faux offense. "You think you're so funny, don't you?"

Looking at his feet, the puddles he disrupted with his steps and the clinging wetness that filled the cracks in the pavement. Peering at her from the corner of his eye, he spotted her still looking at him, a smile crumbling her facade.

"A little."

(Y/N) only laughed and shook her head, bumping his hip once more. She mumbled something under her breath about how of course he did.

Straying from her path, (Y/N) bumped Harry's hip once more, her bag pressing into his side. His steps never faltered, eyes forward and a twitch in his lips. He forgot what it was like to be teased and have fun with someone.

The silence that fell between them was filled with the clear, dewy slick of the rain under their feet. The gingerbread neighbourhood he'd seen down the street was now around them in their cookie cutter shapes and frosting decor. Short white picket fences outlined the perimeters of the small front yards, the houses stacked side by side behind.

(Y/N) stopped in front of a row of three units. A set of pastel colored curtains in the window of the one bookending the building gave away exactly who lived there. A dull cream paint was brushed over the panels with a muted blue trim and front door. It was a complete replica of every other townhouse on the block.

The personal touches came in the form of a sunshine yellow bird house hung on her small porch, leaves and twigs poking out of the front hole. A welcome mat was placed in front of her door, the pattern one of daisies and strawberries though the colors had now been muddied and dull from every time a pair of feet wiped themselves off on the fibers. Around the side was a window with a flowerbed hung underneath. Instead of blooms and bright petals, Harry spotted brown leaves and wilted stems. She tried her best to keep those plants alive, he was sure.

"This is mine," she said, looking up at him with starry eyes. For the first time since he picked her up, he saw those lines of fatigue around her irises, exhaustion tugging at her features.

"I'll see you soon, then?" he asked. He didn't mean to sound so abrupt, but he wanted her to get some rest. As much as a part of him wanted her to linger outside with him, to spend some of these usually lonely hours with him, it wasn't fair to keep her from sleeping. She wasn't like him.

Nonetheless, a soft smile touched her chapped lips. "Definitely."

Despite the pause that would allow her to head inside and end her night, (Y/N) lingered for a beat longer. Reaching a hand up to press those stray baby hairs out of her eyes, she looked at him through the fan of her lashes.

"Harry?"

He swallowed. "Hm?"

She looked sheepish in that moment, struggling to meet his eyes with a shy smile on her lips. "You can tell me if this is too much, but I was wondering if I could have your number, maybe?"

Harry's voice stuck in his throat when he processed what she said. His hand clenched in his pocket, his phone suddenly heavy in his back pocket.

A nervous hand pushed back hair that wasn't in her face when the silence stretched on a little too long for comfort. "I don't know, I'm sorry, I just think it might be nice to know when I'll see you again, instead of just waiting? And, I'm really bad at remembering to tell you about the things I see that make me think of you or things I think you'd like and all, so it would be cool to tell you before I forget."

Standing there in the clean air after rainfall, a dew touching his skin with birds beginning to sing around him, Harry felt frozen. His heartbeat didn't quicken, his blood didn't rush, his hands didn't shake. He had been plunged into ice, stopping him in his spot with a breath of air stuck in his lungs.

(Y/N) wasn't supposed to ask him that. She wasn't supposed to want to see him, to find things in the world that made her think of him—she wasn't supposed to think of him at all, really. How did he get here?

How had he tricked her into seeing anything more than a standoffish man who didn't need anyone but himself? Even with these stolen moments together, he couldn't imagine he would enter her mind in the same way she had been able to do to him.

A shuttering blink had Harry's eyes clearing by the time he opened them to find her still standing there. In a millisecond, words tumbled out of his throat, his hand fumbling for his back pocket. "Y-Yeah, of course."

In clumsy fingers, he held his phone out towards her. The device had a hairline crack along the side of the screen, a case that had seen more wear-and-tear he figured most people would allow, and a generic Lock Screen. He didn't bother opening it up and taking her to the needed app. There was no security to get through on there, nothing for him to hide in his squeaky-clean existence.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him with a shy smile on her lips. She was bashful under his gaze, gingerly taking his phone and swiping through the screens and tapping on what she needed, a short tremor touching at her fingers. "Is it okay if I text myself from your phone so I have your number too?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded his head, stuffing his hands back into his pockets before he had a chance to pluck at his cuticles again. "Maybe—um—y'can let me know the next time y'have a shift like this, and I can walk y'home again. Maybe."

A breathy laugh fell from her lips at his stumbling words, her gaze flicking from the phone to him. "Definitely, I'll let you know. I don't get scheduled for these often anymore, but you'll be the first to know if that changes."

Harry couldn't remember the last time his body reacted this way—the frozen limbs, the waking heart, the stunted lungs. Definitely never under such sweet circumstances, he knew that.

Though he felt like he could have been standing there long enough to see the sunrise then set again, it only took a moment for the text she sent to herself to go through. She took her own phone out then, surely looking at the text and saying Harry's number for herself. There was something especially bright in her gaze when she looked up at him to return his own device, her phone being wrung between both of her hands.

"I'll see you again soon, then?" she asked, toeing at the ground. She didn't attempt to fix the sliding strap of her bag.

"Yeah," he sounded in the quiet of the slow morning, a nod of his head.

He expected her to then spin on her heel and head inside, a goodbye said over her shoulder before he would trace his path back alone. Instead, (Y/N) lingered, her hands growing busier on her phone, playing with the corners of her phone case. That nervous pinch in her brows returned.

"C-Can I hug you?" she asked, voice almost as small as the dew drops on the grass of her yard, "It's okay if you're not a hugger or anything, though, I just thought I'd ask 'cause..."

She trailed off before any real explanation could be given, a sheepish shrug in its place.

If he thought he had been plunged into ice water before, Harry swore he was frozen under the throes of an avalanche now.

"No—um—y'can. 'M okay with it." His voice felt thick in his throat, smearing over his tongue before falling out for her to taste too.

(Y/N) brightened like he had given her something sweet, a treat she couldn't have made herself.

Harry couldn't remember the lead up or any of the details before she had folded her arms around him. She had reached up, looping her arms around his neck while Harry's settled around her middle. His hands spanned the planes of her back, ducking down with his nose touching the crown of her head, ruffled strands of hair tickling him.

From the outside, there was nothing special. She didn't squeeze him particularly hard or press her whole body to his, she didn't spill any secrets into the column of his neck. But, this had to be one of the most profound moments in Harry's recent life.

The last time someone hugged him, he had to have been a teenager. He'd forgotten what it felt like to feel that kind of gentle touch.

She didn't linger for too long, drawing away after she had cradled him for long enough. The absence of her form left a ghost of heat on Harry's body. He almost wanted to clutch at it like it was really her. He'd settle for the warmth of her gaze.

"Thank you for walking me home and everything, Harry." Her smile grew as she spoke. "It made my night."

He could have crumbled then. Whatever was happening to his body and his brain, he wasn't sure. It felt good, though.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he murmured as she took her slow steps back to her front door. His hand tightly clutched his phone in his pocket. "I-I'll text y'when I get home?"

It was like the sunrise occurred right in front of him the way she perked up. "Yes, please! I might be asleep, but I want to make sure you made it home okay." That bubbly smile was tacked onto her lips as she absently fiddled with the doorknob. "Goodnight."

Harry stayed on the concrete until she was safely inside, a wave being thrown over her shoulder to him before the door was sealed shut behind her. It was then when he was alone that he allowed a smile to break out over his features.

Though only the ground under his feet saw it, the smile was for (Y/N), only.

His phone was warm in his palm when he pulled it out, something he was willing to convince himself was still from (Y/N). Sliding open the lock screen, the message thread she had started was still up.

Up top, her name was punctuated with a lotus flower and a croissant. The one message she sent to herself was a heart emoji. Though he hadn't been the one to press send, seeing the text in the blue bubble on his side the screen, made his heart tick. It was easy to pretend he was the one that sent it in the first place.

The whole walk back to his care he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

—————

hyssop represents purification and hope; letting go of the past and allowing a better future

eepppp! super excited to show you some different parts of rosemary h! patreon is now a little more than halfway through the story now, so if you cant wait you can def sign up there and get to know more of their story! thank you soooooo much for reading and following along! so sorry if theres any mistakes but please let me know if you have any fun ideas or requests or predictions!

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literaticat · 8 months

Note

Hi, Jenn! I was wondering: I know supply chain issues are still a thing, but how much lead time do publishers usually need for a YA book? I heard you need to finalize everything a YEAR before publication? Is that still true?

This is not a supply chain issue per se, it's always been the case that there needs to be a long lead time. Typically the due date for a (non-illustrated) book is around a year before pub date. Ideally, it's then able to be made into galleys/ARCs around 9 months before pub date, and it's ready to print, absolutely no more changes, around 6 months before pub date. A typical timeline might look something like this:

Book sells in mid-late 2022 with a mid-2024 pub date. Contract comes late 2022, and edits ensue in January 2023. There are a couple back-and-forths, final draft is due June 2023. Book goes into copyediting in June, and there are a couple rounds of pass pages where mistakes can be fixed, etc, in July/August, and it is proofread and absolutely done by October 2023. Then it goes into the long queue for printing. Once it has printed, sometime in early Spring 2024, then the final books get shipped back to this country (literal ship. very slow boats.), sent to warehouses around the country, and then distributed to bookstores and wholesalers, each step of which is a whole weeks-long process, and god help us if something happens to a ship or a truck or whatever along the way.

And then in June 2024 - Happy Book Birthday!

Meanwhile also in January/February 2023, the cover is starting to get talked about, the author gives input, they choose an illustrator (or whatever). By June there are sketches, by the end of summer the cover is final, by September the ARC is being distributed (the ARC is generally made from first pass pages -- ie, there still may be some mistakes -- they can't wait for the final-final. That's why they say "NOT FINAL" all over them).

Why does the ARC need to be done 9 months before the book is out? For two reasons: Bookstores need a lot of lead time. The catalogue for Spring/Summer 2024 probably comes out in August/September 2023, and the publisher's sales team is selling Spring/Summer 2024 titles to bookstores in Fall 2023. So all that marketing material (like ARCs, the catalogue copy, the cover, etc) all needs to be in place BEFORE the sales reps get out there and bookstores start placing their orders. Also, review outlets want at least 6 months lead time as well, and we REALLY want reviews!

It might vary a bit by publisher, but this would be what I'd consider a perfectly normal, average timeline for a novel. It *could* certainly be LONGER — and probably WOULD be longer — for a picture book or anything illustrated, and the supply chain issues and whatnot of last year did mean lots of things got pushed because even with a generous timeline they simply were not ready when expected.

It couldn’t really be a SHORTER timeline and still be a normal book: If it were to go faster than this, it'd be a "crash" book -- this can happen for sure, I've had books come out and be on shelves the same year that they got offered on -- but it adds a layer of expense and drama that publishers are not undertaking unless there's a very good reason.

ETA:

Also bear in mind: Yours is not the only book. So while all this is happening for your book, it's also happening for dozens of other books at the same time -- and still more books are at some other stage in the process while this is happening for you. I think it's easy to think like "ugh, why does everything take so long" -- and this timeline might give you some insight, but it still feels like a very long time! -- but remember, it's not like "oh, we have this one book we are working on, let's take three months getting it from point A to point B because we are slowpokes who like to screw with authors" -- rather, it's "we have dozens (or for a huge publisher across many imprints, HUNDREDS) of books coming out in the same season, and ALL of them need to be ready and to a place at a certain time, and it keeps happening, month after month" -- it's like a whole logistical dance that takes many people to pull off, and frankly it's amazing to me that it works as well as it does as often as it does.

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mushroommanstan · 2 years

Text

Shigaraki Ball Play Drabble:

Shigaraki x reader

Warnings: ball play, hand job, cockwarming at the end, all in all pretty fluffy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opened the door to shigs room, the soft light of the tv illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room as he played some video game, like always.

You sighed, tired. You knew just what you needed to relax after such a frustrating day. Shig glanced over to you as you trudged over, no doubt excited seeing your burnt out posture, spreading his legs slightly and granting access. How thoughtful.

You got on your knees infront of him, careful to not block his view, and reached over, pulling the zip of his jeans down. You could see the outline of his junk through his black boxers (yes, he does infact wear boxers guys), and you pressed your face against his clothed, half hard package. It was so warm, so comfortable. You stayed like that for a moment, your forehead softly resting against his soft groin, before he cleared his throat and you took that as a queue to move on.

You lowered the waistband of his boxers, his member springing out and grazing your face as it twitched expectingly. You grasped the shaft gently, feeling the smooth skin as you ran your thumb over the sensitive tip, back and forth slowly in windshield wiper like motions, as your eyes settled on the main course. His heavy sack.

You pressed your nose against it and felt him shiver. His musk invaded your senses and you didn’t exhale until all you could feel was him. Continuing the motions with your hand you let out a deep exhale as your body slumped, and you let the pink of your tongue slip out from between your lips and begin stroking up the side of his balls. You felt so thankful for him letting you do this, and based on the way he was shuddering from kitten licks evolving into you taking his fuzzy sack into the warm embrace of your mouth, you could tell it was his pleasure.

He moved his hand from the controller to your hair as he felt himself getting close. He patted your head, signaling you to come take your prize before it stained the seat. With one last suck you lifted your mouth from his balls to his tip, sucking harder and moving your hand a little faster. Those gentle touches were careening him over the edge, and with one swipe of his tongue over his slit, he couldn’t hold back as his speed slid down your throat with a grunt.

You happily drank up all he had to offer, the sticky, salty and bitter cum dripping down your throat. You groaned at the taste. Delicious. Finally, Shig sagged back into his chair. You licked your lips of any remaining cum, before climbing into his lap and kissing him on the forehead.

You both softly muttered “thank you” at the same time, and you giggled before taking his length in your hand once more. You moved your panties to the side and slid him into your warm cunt, before melting into his warm embrace. Everything about him was so warm and comfortable, and you let the pleasant feeling of fullness lull you to sleep. Once your soft snores filled the room, Shig smiled softly, turning off the tv and joining you in slumber.

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etherealvoidechoes · 17 days

Text

An Unlikely Bond - Pt. 2 of 3

Parts: 1||2(You are here)||3 - Links will be updated as the chapters are posted. Currently in the queue.

May be posted on Ao3 and FF.net later.

Content warnings for the usual language. Accidental mental invasion. Part three is where they're violence via memories which includes murder(and faked suicide(it's more murder.)

Approx. 2k.

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

Days had passed since the incident. Zhang had pushed it to the back of his mind but was still actively avoiding interacting with Geist, though he knew he needed to apologize for his outburst.

Seemed like it was just his psionics acting up and not Geist pulling some psionic trickery to guilt trip him for the psionic training sessions he had been skipping out of spite.

But he still wanted to stew on what had happened. It all just felt off in a way he couldn’t describe. He was sure he felt Geist’s touch on his mind when the voices started, but there was barely a trace of his touch when searched. Maybe it was just another odd quirk of psionics, or Geist had learned a new trick he wasn’t sharing. No. Geist had his quirks but believed the man wouldn’t tempt his luck with the Commander, keeping something like that secret with how some soldiers and staff were weary with the psions at the base.

————

The Hazard Course. The favorite place for all Gene-modded soldiers to put their more physical mods to the test.

Zhang was assisting Training Officer Conrad, per Commander Reeves’ request to put the new round of Gene Modded soldiers through their paces. Specifically, the ones with the “Muscle Fiber Density” leg mod. Zhang didn’t mind assisting, as it gave him something to do around the base and kept his mind occupied. It was time to scale some cliffs.

“Come on y’all! Y’all can’t keep up with the old man?” Conrad heckled the soldiers that were falling behind Zhang, who was close to the top of the cliff face and was about ready to step off, completing another circuit. He had barely broken a sweat.

A few shot back that they were still disoriented as they were either freshly out of the Gene Labs or were still getting used to the new sensations coursing through their bodies.

“Tch! Tch! EXCUSES!” Conrad wasn’t having it. “And he was leaping bounds like a jack rabbit right out of the tube with 3 other mods in his newly tweaked SYSTEM! What’s y’all’s excuse?”

Zhang was back on the ground floor before he jogged over and leaped up to the platform Conrad was barking his remarks from. He let out a few chuckles and shook his head.

“Go easy on them. It took me some time to warm up before I was ‘leaping like a jackrabbit.’” He said.

Conrad silenced his mic quickly. He smirked. “They don’ need to know that. Besides, when those pheromones and adrenaline kicked in, you were hopping all a‘bout. And you were still movin’ faster than them with two of those mods conflictin’ for a bit.”

Zhang tilted his head back and forth, trying to remember the day. Some details were faint since so much had happened since then. “True… Still, it’ll take them a bit before they’re running circles around me.”

“Tch, heh, heh. I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. “Now get back in there!” He unmuted his mic. “Do I need to get Corvo to whip y’all slugs up to speed?”

A collective groan could be heard, but that made everyone pick up the pace.

Zhang just rolled his eyes. What a character the old instructor could be.

He leaped off the platform and headed back over to that wall. With a coach and spring, he was already at the 8-meter marker and assisting whoever was failing to clear their first jump fully.

It took a few more rounds before most of the fresh batch could clear their first jump without missing it by a few inches or botching the landing, but as the training continued, all were growing confident in their new abilities.

Another set of rounds was done and Zhang no longer had to assist anyone and just kept a careful watch as the soldiers made their ascent and helped or playfully sabotaged each other.

Zhang had parked himself on the second-highest overhang and was watching a few soldiers make a race out of their latest round of climbing.

“Heh, youth.” He chuckled to himself as he watched them.

Taking a moment, he had his fingers around this neck, checking his psi-dampening collar. His eyes flashed purple for a moment. “Hm.” Everything felt in order. The collar was sitting just right. No new dings with how training was going today. And that faint, barely irritating disruption was sitting at the back of his mind. Good. Nothing to worry about.

He smiled to himself. Digging his fingers into the rocky soil. Legs kicked back and forth as he took in the fresh, hot canyon air. He was content.

He watched the soldiers go on, making mental notes here and there. He would pass on to Conrad what each one had to work on. Some were still hesitating, stepping off the ledge, which was causing them to fumble their landings.

“Have to get over the fear of heights.” He noted.

As he made these observations, he didn’t notice a faint static sensation grow in the back of his mind that was slowly shifting to a more familiar psionic tug. One tug, two, three, he finally noticed as it shifted into a skull-splitting series of thumps, causing him to hiss in pain. A hand flew to his head and the other quickly dug into the ground.

The blood between his ears was pulsing with a near-deafening ring. “What… the?” His collar was fine. What was going on?

Concentrating, he searched for the source, only to find a blur of sensations shifting within his mind and psionics.

Another sharp piercing sensation hit his mind, making him hiss again. He felt a shift in the sensations. A connection began to form and so did a voice. One all too familiar to him.

“Geist.” He growled. “Not this again.”

Just as he had finally pushed the incident to the back of his mind, all the rage from that day came rushing back.

Grinding his teeth, he worked to still himself and his infuriated thoughts. “Calm, calm. Don’t need an outburst.” He was glad no one noticed his hissing. “Let’s see what he wants.”

It took a moment to steady his mind and refocus his psionics, as this connection was still causing him pain.

“Strings, patterns, weaves…. Hm.” Geist was muttering under his breath. “Just when I think I figure it out, it proves me wrong. A new leaf emerges. A new petal unfolds. The tides wash away the sands, erasing my expeditions but revealing something new. Something exciting.”

Zhang continued to focus on the connection. So far, he was only picking up Geist and no one else like last time. He was having difficulty making sense of the cryptic words Geist was speaking but could figure out it didn’t deal with him or training.

As quick as that anger came, it was disappearing. Maybe it was his psionics messing up again and not Geist forcing a connection to him.

He let out a disgruntled sigh. Was this a sign of his psionics becoming unstable again? How were they going to get this fixed?

“I yearn for the days I was not given this curse.” One of the few times he lamented this psionic potential being found in him.

But no time to lament. He wanted to see if he could close off this connection before it caused him more problems. He still had training he needed to assist with before he could pay Geist a visit.

As he focused on the connection to sever it, Geist’s voice grew louder in his mind.

“More weaves and patterns across the Earth. A mass expanse. Everything is connected to, flowing into and out of a Void. One flourishing with life and another devoid of it. A gap. And…” Geist passed. As he did so, Zhang felt a surge of power in the connection. “Hm… hm?” Seemed Geist did too.

There was a pause before Zhang felt a tentative touch, Geist’s touch, reach out and flow through the connection. It quickly overpowered Zhang’s attempts to close it off, causing some psionic feedback, much to his frustration.

Dammit. Zhang mentally recoiled, but did his best to keep the pain under control. For the moment, he held back his power to avoid any more feedback.

“What is this? I’m in the isolation chamber. There should be no connections to anyone but the Earth and Void.” Geist almost sounded confused, if not concerned, as he searched out this connection to its source.

But as Geist reached the source, he paused again. “Wait…” He weaved his way through the connection again, carefully picking the familiarity of the strings to this mind. “Z-Zhang?”

Just ask Geist made the discovery, their connection was abruptly cut.

A whirl of psionic swirled inside Zhang’s mind before it all finally snapped.

“Gah!” He gasped, lurching forward. He barely stopped himself from tumbling forward. “What the hell?” There was always something strange going on with psionics.

“Hey!” Someone called out. “You alright up there?”

Figures I’d slip with those growing backlashes. He shook his head a few times before letting out a gruff snort. “I’m fine. Feedback from the adrenal glands.” A little lie.

Zhang craned his neck back and forth as he gave it a good rub. He could feel his mind and psionics slowly ordering itself back in place after the spontaneous psionic connection again. His mind lingered on Geist’s connection. The man seemed just as surprised as him as he had discovered the connection.

“Hm.” He chewed on his tongue. Why was there always something wrong with psionics? He needed to find Geist. This couldn’t wait.

Pushing himself off the ledge, one last rush of adrenaline ran through his system before he touched the ground. He made his way over to Conrad first.

“Something just came up.” Zhang made a simple gesture towards his head. “Have to go.”

“Ah, gotcha. Go on and get!” Conrad simply nodded.

————

Zhang was halfway through the base before he felt a familiar psionic ping in his mind before a more audible ping rang out around the corner. The next second Geist came around the corner. The man looked a little frazzled as his eyes twinkled with purple energy. There was no dampening collar in sight.

“There you are!” He exclaimed, quickly hushing himself in order to avoid drawing too much attention.

“I was heading to you.” Zhang paused in his tracks. A brow was raised. He was half waiting for the Bases A.I. to go off, mentioning the psionic activity. “Did you..?” He felt like he didn’t have to explain.

Geist swiftly nodded, like his head was going to fall off. “Is this what happened days ago? Collar on?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Though this was somewhat different. More painful on my end.”

Geist paced around him, finger tapping away at his chin and mumbling under his breath. “What could this be? What could this be?”

So far, nothing was ringing a bell in Geist’s mind. This just made him worry more, which increased his pacing. He turned his attention back to Zhang. The man’s puzzled look didn’t help ease his mind. He reached his hand out towards his hand, psionic energy jumping between his fingers. Wait, no. Not here. Not safe for the others. He cut his psionic energy for a moment and just let his hand fall on Zhang’s shoulder.

“I feel I need to explore your psionics. See if They are planting seeds of madness. Isolation room. No time to tell the Commander and Psi Division.” Geist said.

At the mention of Them, Zhang grimaced. It had been some time since those Elders had touched his mind again with Their bids to make him betray XCOM. Did They have new tricks up Their sleeves? Better to find out now than before, he was an unknowing thrall. “Teleport away.”

Geist tightened his fingers on his shoulder. Psionics energy flowed from him to Zhang before faint wisps appeared around the two.

The next second, they disappeared with a ping.

#writings #Xcom #Xcom 2 #Xcom wotc #Fic: Wandering Souls #Shaojie Zhang #XCOM Zhang #xcom geist

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neneeroo · 2 years

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"The beauty of light when it shines across a dark and starless sea… A dream that from the soil of worlds now lost to sorrow, life will spring forth once more…"

Something I made through tears and an aching heart while waiting in Endwalker queues back in December. Decided to touch it up not too long ago.

[DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, MODIFY/EDIT, OR USE MY ART WITHOUT MY PERMISSION]

(IG and TW: @neneeroo - you can also find them in my bio!)

#FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #Endwalker #Meteion #FF14 #Final Fantasy 14 #Elpis #Elpis Flower #Illustration #Digital Art #Final Fantasy

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phantoids · 1 year

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I posted 20,147 times in 2022

That's 19,866 more posts than 2021!

1,681 posts created (8%)

18,466 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@areus-in-a-little-cave

@cupsmp

@griancraft

@proudfreakmetarusonniku

@lamina-tsrif

I tagged 5,163 of my posts in 2022

#void echos - 1,911 posts

#live void reaction - 195 posts

#maria sonicfandub - 107 posts

#tescos queue is like the void - 99 posts

#dsmp character dynamic poll - 77 posts

#prev - 59 posts

#cher cerhoney - 53 posts

#the-g-m - 38 posts

#void talks about writing - 29 posts

#/j - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 100 characters

#𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖆 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖍𝖆��𝖗 𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊

I sent 2 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

DREAMSMP CHARACTER DYNAMIC POLL ROUND 3 FUCKERS

HEY IT'S HERE I DID IT.

ROUND 3, YOU GET HOWEVER LONG I SLEEP TO DO IT. PROBABY 9 HOURS. VOTE DISCDUO. DISCDUO SWEEP. LET'S GET DISC V CLINGY.

293 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

hi. techno calling out to the tech crew during the whole theseus speech part. he goes to do his speech, and the light isn't on him so he's like 'hey light over here please i'm gonna look so cringe if it isn't right' and then the light moves to tommy and he's just like 'NO. light HERE i'm the one doing the speech i gotta look dramatic.' and it goes back and forth until it lands on techno and he just goes on like none of it happened.

415 notes - Posted December 7, 2022

DREAM SMP CHARACTER DYNAMIC POLLS ROUND 4

Fucking kill me it's 2:30am and i'm out here making this shit. I've got school in the morning.

Here's your round 4, have fun. Also if we get disc v clingy i will write smth a little special for all of us to have a ready read of yk???

Rig it. Do it. Just reblog when you do.

478 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

FOUR CTOMMY FINALE STREAMS AND CCLINGY LORE!?

855 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Okay fuck it I'm making this post.

So, we all know the dsmp fandom, especially on twitter, has a bit of a problem with leaktwt and often lots of controversy springing from stuff obtained by kiwifarms. I'd like to talk about this, because it's been pissing me off for months and it's getting ridiculous.

Please stop trusting information like this, or at the very least be cautious with how you interact with it, take it with a large grain of salt or maybe even a handful, don't take it at fucking face value and consider to yourself: why did they obtain this information and how did they obtain it.

Especially the how, because I've noticed the amount of illegally obtained data, from information unobtainable without some form of hacking to a lot of cases of spear phishing. Spear phishing, for those who don't know, is a targeted form of phishing against a specific person; phishing is often described as trying to obtain personal or sensitive information, and here the definition is applicable as digging through years worth of information otherwise inaccessible to the average user without purposefully searching everywhere for it, specifically information from or about a specific person.

This happens a lot, we see many cases, from the people who keep doxxing ccs, to the more recent things with certain information from Steam about Wilbur being made public despite the fact it's inaccessible without some sort of digging or manipulation, and now with (I believe, idk i've not really been looking at it for obvious reasons) the whole Tubbo thing and I believe that was leaked private messages of a friend, I could be wrong there. Either way, there's been so many cases of doxxing, leaked private messages, information inaccessible on the front end of things and it's getting to a genuinely worrying point.

And this isn't because I care about content creators, but I do care about upholding data privacy. Yes, even if they've said shit in the past, please don't go digging and digging because that does fall into spear phishing, and at the end of the day it is very dubiously legal at best. This is something we're taught about in fucking cyber security courses, for even further perspective on how bad it is. Not to mention, often this information is dug up by infamous leaktwt or kiwifarms, which are pretty known for bad faith digging up of shit.

These people dig it up for clout, they dig it up for attention, they do not care who gets fucking hurt and often bringing up old shit is going to harm more people than it fucking helps. It's even worse when you try to hold someone accountable for something someone else did, especially years in the past like it's their fault.

Just, please, stop supporting this, stop circulating this shit like morning gossip, because you're not only hurting people for no good reason, it's also often spreading illegally obtained information from people who commit cybercrimes on the regular. It breaks data protection laws, it breaks someone's fucking privacy.

Content creators are people. Respect their privacy, for fuck's sake, and stop egging on leaktwt/kiwifarms, because at the end of the day you're just telling them it's perfectly fine.

And their campaign of digging things up and harming people in bad faith doesn't end at your favourite cis white boy. They will harm minorities, and they already do, just for clout and fun. Stop it while you can before it gets out of hand, and make it clear they aren't welcome, because the fandom doesn't make it clear enough.

This isn't, of course, to say you cannot be critical of information found about ccs, but please don't allow a side effect to be encouraging or inadvertently making leaktwt/kiwifarms believe it's safe for them here, and that they are supported. Be critical when your fav is found to have said awful shit in the past, give them time to clarify, but also just... be a little critical about how accurate that info is, and who is supplying it. If you find yourself thinking 'now is this really legitimately obtained?' then maybe don't spread it, because it could be fake but a lot of the time it's already been addressed and is simply spread in bad faith.

And sure, they're exposing shitty stuff right now, but what happens when they doxx someone's address for fun?

Data privacy is important, it affects everyone, and even the worst people deserve to keep it. Sure, law enforcement and courts might be able to obtain this stuff, but you're not law enforcement nor a court and you're not entitled to personal data whenever.

1,199 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false #okay this is hilarious #also tthe cybersecurity post is number 1 who cheered!!!#big fan of two of my top posts being the dynamic poll (can't believe cclingy won)#and then it's a post i made literally yesterday.

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firesofdainix · 2 years

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October 24: Betrayal | Falling Apart

I lied I got caught up with my queue because this thing was so long I wished I wasn’t joking.

@morrotober

AO3 Version

A little moment for my conceptual fanseason that deals with Departed Realm and Wind Lore with the touch of a Morro redemption.

Hideaki has no idea what he’s talking about.

The First Master of Wind was a delight to be around with.

Ebony dark hair spills from the restraints of the bun that is currently around his hair— it was never tameable, never staying tied to his hair for quite a long time because the currents of the wind get to it faster than its general stability to be confined. Morro and the First Master of Wind had taken a dive towards the Breeze Canyon in the Fields of the Elementals. It was a fun place where all the past Elemental Masters of Wind can spend leisurely time alone, without being pestered by the other Elemental Masters. It was a wide, bottomless — as Morro knows; he could never see the bottom before a gust of wind blows him off course — ravine, but it was fun because instead of taking the time and curiosity to figure out how the origins of this canyon, he was jumping and letting the gusts of wind do the flying for him.

It was the first time Morro had laughed sincerely in ages.

When Morro had been transported in the Departed Realm, all he could see was darkness; a numbing sense of burning pain in his body, and the static noise around him.

When he comes to, as if consciousness has taken him back into the new world he has kept himself in, he is in a decrepit, dark, and depressing valley along with shades that change indescribably from purple to green. These shades were not like any that existed in the Cursed Realm— sad, regretful, their faces morphing to a face of regret, howling about how the flaws in their life were the reason why they have made the worst choices possible in the life they had lived. Morro, at first, was horrified by them; how they would erupt in the grossest sobs possible because of the dreams given to them by the Realm, forcing them to confront the truth they had always denied.

But then, he grew to only become annoyed by them, then tolerant over their needless, ceaseless crying. While he’s had his fair share of these terrible dreams (which often leaves him feeling more angry and depressed), he did not erupt into this overwhelming case of sadness that his heart is currently exhibiting. Morro supposes that, in all his years in the Cursed Realm, he’s become accustomed to only projecting his anger towards anything he is confronted with.

Yet, there is no anger within his system anymore; like the water washed it all away when he died.

There was only a ghost of anger, remaining inside a deep, big and empty shell.

All he felt was this… growing sense of numbness springing forth, and not even sadness could save him from feeling these sensations.

It was, honestly, a little overwhelming to think about. He did not think the anger that he has always haplessly fed since he's become accustomed to the Cursed Realm would just… fade away, as if the Departed Realm willed it to disappear as if the wind has carried it from his own soul, extracting his bitterness, as if he will make way with the sadness in his life.

The only thing that the Departed Realm has successfully done was to remind Morro who he is now serving. True, he is free from the Preeminent (he doesn't even know where she was taken; she had been a supreme Realm before dying, but whatever he knows is that her fate was not pretty) and her controlling, hurting clutches. He occasionally huddles up in the more shrouded parts of the Wells of Regret — as he now came to know familiarly — away from the Departed Realm's roaming hands as they start to bring forth those horrible, horrible dreams of divergence, and away from the Pond of Images and the other purple shades who becomes victim to these dreams.

He refuses to become as miserable as they are. Morro is a strong young man, even when he has to relent and offer the Realm Crystal back to the hands he once yearned for.

Even when he feels his own will and emotion breaking.

During the next few months he's been in the Wells of Regret (well, he feels like it was a few months; time seems to blend like colors in this Realm, to the point it was nauseating) he had been wandering around the part of the Wells of Regret in which buildings that were mourned about were situated in. He'd been thumbing through the old scrolls and books of the Library of Hono Mizu, attempting to find some sense of commonality in his new afterlife. If you take away those horrible dreams, you are left with nothing.

No Preeminent to pressure him into training.

No cursed ghosts constantly harassing him.

No anger to fuel him.

He was just… there.

And this makes him feel insignificant, afraid of losing his autonomy until all he can remember to do is cry about his regrets. He is different, and he knows that.

He feels sharp eyes pricking his back like sharp pins and needles, perhaps a dagger when he is being generous. He doesn't jump or feel the creeping tension, however; it was a familiar sensation, one that brings him Comfort.

Taking a moment to steel himself and not look too relieved to see him, he turns to stare at Hideaki with a stoic glare.

"I didn't know you were subjected to being in this area," Morro tells Hideaki, as the young man shifts into a long owl, to a crane, and finally, his human appearance.

"I didn't know you were as well," he replies, sounding tired, but relieved at the same time. His voice, like cherry blossoms, fills the library. Morro feels a blizzard forming, a side effect of Hideaki's abilities. "The Wells of Regret is big, after all."

Morro hums, striding towards the young man. Like him, it seems the Departed Realm has taken a toll in his appearance. While he still needs to shapeshift to various of his inhumane forms before settling to his final appearance, which was a tall slim young man in his late teens, with strawberry red hair ties tightly into a high braid that touches the ground slightly, variegated eyes that flash a thousand colors connected to the season he's currently exhibiting (which is almost always winter), a crimson red robe with cold blue and purple highlights, and sickly green armor, such as shoulder blades and wristbands keeping his regal look. It was a reminder that he was the husband of the Cursed Realm itself. He has, uncharacteristically, a small, casual look on his face, as if the years of tiredness and remorse in the Cursed Realm did not exist.

Like this damn Realm was paradise for him.

Bitterness surges in Morro.

"But you weren't sentenced to wander in this realm only." He concludes, which elicits a warm look of acknowledgement in Hideaki. His eyes change to the cherry blossoms falling in the spring, pink and beautiful.

In all the years Morro has been in the Cursed Realm, in close contact with him, he's never uplifted that blizzardous winter he's exhibited since he met him. It was as if the winter had thawed, finally making way for spring for the first time in a thousand years.

He nods. "Yes. I was actually here to retrieve you. The Departed Realm told me you only listen to me, so…" He lets Morro piece together what he is getting across.

The old Morro would have thrown a fit about the blatant condescending message the entire realm was currently exhibiting towards him, but he wasn't the old Morro now, is he not?

He only elicits an annoyed growl, making it clear he disagrees with the notion, but he still holds Hideaki's hand, just like old times.

"I listen to no one," Morro replies, before he and Hideaki disappear into one of the gateways where Morro was not allowed in initially.

A snort sounds from his old companion. "I know."

When Morro opens his eyes, he is not greeted with the purple and sickly green hue of the Wells of Regret anymore; rather, a bright and beautiful paradise awaits him when he walks.

He feels grass beneath his ghostly feet; gasping, he stares at himself.

He was, for the first time in his life, solid.

"What…?" He speaks, and he doesn't hear the mutinous echo that's been accompanying his voice for decades. He stares at his hands, the thing he has the most access to seeing. It was a warm olive brown, like he once had been.

He looks at Hideaki, who gives him a delighted look. The Departed Realm seemed to have, ironically, revived a long-dead side of him that Morro never had the chance to see.

"You know this was going to happen," he deadpans, and Hideaki gives him a shrug.

"I wanted you to be surprised."

"How kind of you."

This part of the Realm is, disturbingly, cheerful and bright, unlike the drab gray, purple, and green of the Realm. It is so contrary to the general aura of the Realm that had once been home to every desperate shade that he finds himself unsettled.

At first.

Morro had been too busy admiring as he feels, for the very first time since he's died, the grass bending to his will without even dying at some point around him. It tickles the palms of his feet, finding himself mesmerized with a beauty he thought was not his, to even listen to Hideaki's explanation fully. He does get the gist of it; when he was engulfed by the water the Water Ninja summoned like an arms' breath, she had summoned a tide that wiped all ghosts out. When Hideaki came to, he was in one part of the Well of Regrets, deliberately separated from Morro and his wife. Then he reunited with his actual, real family (Morro hopes his own was stuck in the Punishment Fields), before being granted access to the Fields of the Elements.

There were an overwhelming number of people, varying in Elemental Powers, playing across the green, grassy fields, the sun (that Morro never thought he'd see again) shining down at them. Through his own human eyes — a concept that he finds strange to think about as well — he finds himself watching various Elemental Masters spending leisure time as they interact, perhaps even talking with a long, long, egregious line of ancestors Morro is sure they will not remember names of, before stopping altogether.

He was still holding Hideaki’s hand (as if he were a lost child, but he’s gotten over that sentiment, somewhat) when he comes across this realization.

His companion clicks his tongue, but once he glances at Morro’s empty expression, it shifts to concern. “What’s the matter?”

“My father,” Morro says bluntly, having become as honest as this realm is to him. It’s a curse. “Is he here? He’s a Master of Wind like me.”

His companion makes eye contact with him, and it clues him in almost immediately. “Your father is in the Fields of Punishment, along with your other sisters.”

Morro feels a twinge of satisfaction at this, although it was a little faint. “So… my father doesn’t visit this area?”

“Oh, he does.” Hideaki must have felt Morro twitch, because, he says, “In an hour or so. If you want to flay him alive the way you did your sisters and mother, do so.”

The young man considers this prospect for a moment, before shaking his head. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. Now can you please tell me why I’m a human? Aren’t we all ghosts?”

Hideaki’s expression shifts into something of discomfort. “Hm, it’s a complicated matter as well. I don’t know how it works, other than the more logical concept that this is one of the places that is Paradise in the Cursed Realm. We are in Paradise for every Elemental Master.”

Morro frowns, but he shrugs, accepting that as a temporary answer. But his mind is already working out about how the methods and system of this Realm is, over whether or not this was an illusion and—

Suddenly, as if winter breathes upon them all, Hideaki’s grip on Morro’s hand hardens, frozen cold.

The young man suddenly yelps, feeling frost creeping through his hands. He glares at Hideaki, hair whipping to face him. “Hey, what gives?! Let me go—!”

“A new arrival?” A voice that sounds as if it wills whoever owns the voice to kill all the life in the entire world starts to speak. It was cold, soft, whispy, even. It was like Hideaki’s, but instead of that depressing, aloof formality, it was the kind of manic whispering that fills Morro’s ears when he feels as if there is nothing but him and his thoughts, letting them fester. It was oddly uncomfortable, but for entirely different reasons, it makes him feel a thrill running through his bones, an odd analogy of being unsettled… but fascinated on who he is currently speaking to right now. But he is currently not enjoying it, when the entire weather dropped a hundred degrees thanks to Hideaki’s ability.

“Morro,” Hideaki says his name so coldly, as if he were just a tree frozen and dead in the winter, that Morro almost balks at the sound of it. He is sure he’s never done anything to make him this angry. “What are you doing here, around these parts?”

The young man turns to look at him with an affronted expression. “Excuse me? You were giving me a tour around the place! Why are you acting like—”

“I’m not talking to you,” he replies, eyes narrowed. Morro grumbles about these multiple interruptions. He finally lets go of Morro’s hand, and he can feel the warmth slowly returning to his palms. “I was addressing them.”

Morro, confused about who Hideaki is trying to address, turns to actually look at the person Hideaki is so disgusted to meet.

And then, Morro does a double take, gaping like a fish.

Because the person standing in front of him is…

They put an arm around Hideaki’s shoulders, and he stiffens. “Well, that’s not a way to greet an old friend, Aki. Where’s the embrace? The warm greeting? Did the Cursed Realm take away all that politeness along with your optimism from you?”

Hideaki tries to skirt out of his grip, as if he was able to make him stick to him. “Perhaps it did.”

Meanwhile, as the two of them carry on with their tension-filled banter, the cogs on Morro’s head starts to spin; purple, iridescent skin that glints in the sunlight, ebony dark hair that flows, looking more like a ghost’s hair than general, and green-gold eyes that flow with blue wisps.

If he has a heart — which he probably does in this form — it would be beating to this sight.

“You’re—” He interrupts their conversation, as they both turn to him, remembering that Hideaki did not come alone. “You’re Morro, the First Master of Wind.”

The young man holding Hideaki as if he is their prized possession smiles. “I am.” His eyes saunter over to scrutinize the young man in front of him. Morro gulps as he stands frozen, as if he was still in Hideaki’s enchantment. His body was visibly shaking, but not from the familiar fear that overtakes him when he is talking to the Preeminent. It was, more or less, a thrill kind of shaking, as if he is currently meeting his idol that he’s named himself after. It was an experience he did not think would happen, after all the years rotting in the Cursed Realm.

While it is plausible that Morro (the first Morro, that is; he is now becoming confused) would have died the day he reached twenty-five, simultaneously cursing his bloodline with a limited lifespan, he would not have thought he’d be taken to the Departed Realm. He did not believe he would have died, just like that. There is a reason why his fate was so… muddled, unclear even. Not even the wind that belonged to him lets him know how he died.

The young man turns to Hideaki, “Who’s your friend? You didn’t tell me you got a new acquaintance. You didn’t even introduce me to the charming young man.”

Morro swallows; The First Master of Wind thinks he’s charming?

“His name is none of your business,” Hideaki replies, glaring at him with poison.

The current Master of Wind turns to look at him with a seething, embarrassed look. “Hideaki, you didn’t tell me that you’re friends with the First Master of Wind!” And he should have introduced him to them as well!

Hideaki shakes his head. “It’s a… shameful event in my past. Don’t worry about it.”

Morro stares at him with an outraged look. “Don’t worry about—? You ass! You told me that you’ve never met the First Generation of Elemental Masters despite the fact the First Spinjitzu Master seemed to know you when you were projecting your tale! How much have you hidden from me?”

The strawberry-haired man shakes his head, looking as if he was struck with sadness. “This is a past I didn’t want to relive, even if it means having to relay the story of why I was stuck in the Cursed Realm in the first place.” He finally slips out of Morro I’s grasp, much to his dismay. “This man… he is not what you think of, Morro.”

“Morro?” The First Master of Wind repeats, leaning over to the young man in front of him.

The short-haired man gulps; his favorite historical figure is currently near his face (!!!)

“Yes, I—” Morro clears his throat, averting his gaze to keep himself from thrumming with excitement. “I am named after you. Well, I named myself after you, thoroughly because you are my role model in life but—”

The First Master of Wind barks a laugh, as he puts his hands on the young man’s shoulders. He stiffens in shock at the touch; his idol was touching him without a care in the world!

“You feel… powerful,” they say, breathing in and out, as if he can immediately feel the aura that Morro emanates. Of a young man that had his potential ripped away from him, by himself. It was spoken so mysteriously, enigmatic even, that Morro feels power as his own role model acknowledges him to be potent. “As if the wind speaks of your own achievements.” He gasps, and their eyes turn back towards Morro. “Tell me, do you still control…?”

He does not finish his sentence since Morro already knows what he’s going to say. He always wanted to show off in front of people who believe they already know of his abilities.

The air in this afterlife was supple, plentiful, even. And Morro loves the feeling of the breeze, effectively making it clear that, ironically, there is life in the afterlife other than the despondency and regrets that has always already afflicted his life. Feeling the wind between his fingertips, a sure sign of an everlasting power, he starts to weave his fingers into his own element.

The First Master of Wind gasps. “You can.”

Morro smirks, unabashedly proud. He hears Hideaki sigh in the back.

“The Element of Wind is something… I won’t let go of,” Morro tells him, ambivalent feelings making way to his face. No matter how many times the Departed Realm has, implicitly, told him that letting go of the Element of Wind for it to return to his master is the right choice, he was not capable of it. The only thing that made him special in his life, after all the hardships he had to endure, will it be taken away from him just like that? He summons his wind again to keep him grounded. “No matter how many times this Realm will try.”

Hideaki grows concerned, but Morro I only nods in acknowledgement. In pride, even.

“I understand that notion,” Morro I tells him, sounding sympathetic. “I dislike the idea that we must give up our elements for our descendants to have them.” Morro had been busily admiring his idol that he forgets to see the blatant hunger in his eyes as he stares at his hands. “I covet those who still have their elements.”

Hideaki coughs, and the two Morro’s turn to look at him.

“Apologies, but I am still currently giving Morro a tour around the place,” he says, holding Morro’s hands again. He scowls at the young man, like a child being denied his presence. “So, if you don’t mind, we’ll let you stand idle on your merry way, while we—”

“Morro,” the First Elemental Master of Wind interrupts Hideaki, who grumbles in response, “The Wind Canyons are excellent this time of year; would you like to see them?”

Morro’s eyes grow wide; an opportunity to spend time with the First Master of Wind?

He lets go of Hideaki’s hand, which the other man did not like, as he, gaining composure, steps forwards. He has to hide his excitement in order to look and sound dignified to him. “I would— I would love to.”

Morro I smiles, so like the Preeminent in many ways. Not like Morro cares, already seeing him through rose-tinted glasses. “Excellent choice. Follow me.”

So, a few months later, he and Morro I are idly having fun, committing any type of shenanigans he’s never had the privilege or luxury to commit in his old life. It was a revelry he did not think exists for a ghost-like him; to both have a person he admires like him as well as being his closest companion for these past few months. He thought he would have gotten bored, like the growing sense of numbness he felt in the Wells of Regret, but all he could feel was an ecstasy of emotions and dreams rolling into one. There were no regrets, no amount of internal thoughts dissuading him from holding Morro I’s hand as they continue to come up with new ideas and plans to make Morro smile.

It was the time he feels the most happy with, ever since Wu had taken him in and raised him as his own.

He doesn’t even feel that bitter anymore, remembering his master. All he feels was the sadness of what could have been.

There is nothing that could ruin his perfect relationship with his ancestor; even Hideaki’s warnings and concerns fall behind deaf ears, either to conjure up a way to excuse his actions, or he would rather not hear what he has to say when it comes to the imperfections of his idol.

Perhaps he was just… jealous, that Morro finally has someone else to speak to.

One day, when the imaginary sun that stretches upon the lands was thinning, signifying rest time for the Elemental Masters, Morro I beckons him to his own home. It was a small cabin situated in the furthest part of the Wind Sector in the Field of the Elements, made up of old wisteria flowers and wooden shack. Despite the dilapidation of the home itself, Morro feels ecstatic, having found the opportunity to meet his idol's home for the first time. The contents of the home was sparse and comfortably spacey in the inside; there was a hearth in the center of the room, surrounded by a few cushions and a lone bookcase filled with worn and old books that will never obliterate as the years go by.

Morro stares at the books with utmost satisfaction. “I did not think you were into reading.”

His namesake scoffs. "I was one of the smartest men that the First Spinjitzu Master relied on. I have the ability to deduce his opponent's next moves and how I am able to out-strategize them." There was a tone of manic bitterness in his voice, as if he is retelling his story with a hint of a snake's poison. Morro has always thought he was a misunderstood figure in history, with how he is often vilified and made a bad man to make the First Spinjitzu Master the hero, the saint.

If Morro was being honest, the more he learns of the First Spinjitzu Master, the less he has become tolerant of the man who created Ninjago. He is not sure if he can look up to him when a lot of people have been unconsciously hurt by the man himself. He supposes he can let the others worship him idly, if that is how they want to see the man.

Even Morro I has, confusedly, praised his old friend as if he still walks the earth, with a starry-eyed look in his eyes, brightening the purples of his skin. It was puzzling Morro, to be honest. But then again, they had been best friends, before the whole incident with those thugs (which, Morro still firmly believes they deserve it). "You seem to love the First Spinjitzu Master." He has the vaguest idea why Morro I can still have the space to love him, when he banished them from roaming his lands.

"The First Spinjitzu Master is the reason why we're all alive," Morro I states, with that same starry-eyed look, complete with a fixated, slightly manic grin on his face. Morro fails to tell him that is incredibly ironic in any given situation. "It is why, even after all this time, I have not given up on finding him."

Morro looks at him, confused. "Find him?"

Morro I nods, grinning from ear to ear as he moves towards the bookcase, taking one of the books with a worn cover, his eyes resembling that of the Preeminent's stare when she is having one of her delusions again.

For the first time since meeting his long admired idol, he feels this illusion, this boundary that has never truly lost its fluidity returning to him, slowly, but subtly, fade away. There is a reason why boundaries must be situated between people, after all.

“The First Spinjitzu Master’s final resting place was in a cavern beneath the ocean,” Morro I says, and Morro attempts to mask his flinch. He feels his sins crawling on his back, like spiders aiming to string him in a web of lies. He did not want to be reminded of that particular stunt, but it sure is a guilt he did not want to relive. The other man holds up a hand, “You do not need to bother hiding your crimes. It was broadcasted when the Departed Realm had an influx of ghosts never seen before since the Great Devourer.”

Morro curses, looking away. So much for keeping anonymity in this hell of a Realm. “Well, I don’t suppose you’re not angry with me for taking the Realm Crystal?”

The man chuckles. “I am not! How can I be, when you’re only doing what your master tells you to do?”

Morro nods, but he doesn’t miss the way Morro I’s hand trembles. He changes, or veers the subject back to his search once more. “So… why are you searching for him?”

This seems to have made that obsessive flair return to his eyes, as he sighs. “Because the First Spinjitzu Master is the most flawless being in the universe, and deserves to live a happier life.”

The current Master of Wind scoffs, “What? That man exiled you! I don’t think he deserves a full life!”

Morro I stares at him, and he almost stumbled backwards; there was a cutting edge to it, dangerous and low. “I suggest you don’t speak ill of my friend, youngling. It will do you no good.”

The boy gulps, but he nods. He often forgets that Morro I is also a strict individual with a stern personality, especially when offended.

He continues, his voice low. “I’ve been studying about the elements, ever since I was trapped in this desolate place, destined to reflect upon my horrible rights and wrongs. I only did what I must do, after all. Even if it means… others will pay the price.”

Morro doesn’t know what to say about that. “I… suppose I can relate to that.”

The Keeper chuckles, a wistful smile that was dangerous cutting his lips. “I know you are aware of that sentiment. The Elements must find their origins and place in the world, you know.” He then scowls at the floors. “And the origin of their power comes from the First Spinjitzu Master.”

The Human frowns. “... Excuse me? I’m pretty sure the elements came from dragons in the First Realm, and not from the First Master entirely.”

The Keeper’s chuckles explode into a… concerning the mix of insanity and anger. “They are, but the person who brought this in a Realm which is always conjuring storms and winds… let’s just say, they are from him. The man who used the Core Elements to create the continent we know today.” His eyes turn towards Morro, crazed and wild. Morro takes another step back, his impression of the First Master of Wind dwindling rapidly as if he is currently bleeding out. Whatever he is talking about, he better stop right now. Morro conjures wind on his palms, preparing to, perhaps, unwind the situation, prepared to defend himself if he ever does try any funny business.

Ah, so that’s why Hideaki is concerned.

He forgot to say that his old friend was, perhaps, a little unhinged.

“What’s your goal?” Morro says, furrowing his brows.

Morro I raise a brow. “Well, initially, my goal was to get out of this decrepit Realm.”

Morro’s eyes flare, as he summons an overwhelming amount of wind to blast it over the Keeper’s direction. While they did not have their own power any longer, they — with a smug look on their face — step aside, allowing it to destroy the less sturdy structure of the house. “You’re joking,” Morro says, as he summons another one of his more destructive winds for damage.

“Why would I be? I already have the things I need.”

“Which is?”

They hum. “Why should I tell you? I only need your Element to conjure a perfect escape plan.”

This immediately gets Morro to back down, discharging his Elemental Power out of concern. But in place of this suspicion and wariness, a fit of newfound but familiar anger he’s never felt since coming to this Realm starts to snake on his shoulders, followed by the taste of betrayal. All the pieces immediately fall into place; he was smart like that. Too smart for his own good, too prideful to actually back down. “You’re— you were only using me, were you not?”

Morro I claps, and it’s the most horrendous sound ever in the room. “Of course I did! What did you think of me, that I’d approach people undeserving of the First Master’s power and mercy, especially the man who defiled his grave?” He says the last few words with a wave of wrathful anger that even Morro feels guilty about himself.

“But Wind and Water don’t belong to him!”

“It doesn’t, but he saved all of us from Wojira!”

“He didn’t, that was—”

“ENOUGH!” Chains appear out of nowhere, tying Morro. He only lets out a gasp before his limbs are covered with — thankfully not vengestone — shackles, summoned by his namesake himself. He felt nauseous that this is the man whom he got his name from. There was a tepid and parlous glint in his eyes, and it wills him not to look at it. It was the same look the Preeminent had given him when he was promptly misbehaving. Wow, this man was such a fanboy to a core. “I tolerated you and your boisterous temper long enough. It is time to reap what I sow.”

Hearing the revelation that his own role model did not seem to like him hurt.

“What even is your motivation?!” He demands.

He laughs. “I shall resurrect the First Spinjitzu Master, by obtaining every element that he’s ever created or summoned! He shall rule the continent once more! Only he is deserving of the Elemental Power!”

The young man in chains stops thinking for a moment.

That was a… terrible plan.

Morro nods, still struggling with his chains as he does so. “Okay, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That I still have my Element.”

He smirks before he outstretches his hands and lets a funnel of wind blast between his lithe fingers. This impact blows the other man off guard, untangling the chains as he does so. Landing gracefully back to the grounds, Morro starts to run without looking back.

But, he does hear their monologue. It doesn’t comfort him in any bit.

“You fool!” They speak, sounding victorious. “You’ve summoned enough Wind to directly help me with the next step of my plans! Ninjago will fall when I’m successful!”

He falters, gasping as he almost trips, or that reckless display of escape. Right, he forgot about that. Now everyone’s going to blame another worldly apocalypse on him, a retired villain who just wants to reach the penance the Departed Realm is currently offering him. Great.

He knew he should not have been dependent on his Element to fight. Why didn’t he keep heeding both Wu and Hideaki’s advice?

“You forget I’ve done the same thing!” Morro shouts back, a little annoyed at himself to properly think of a proper comeback. “What makes you think you can resurrect an old pile of bones?!”

The First Master of Wind cackles, and it is unsettling, haunting, even. It was worse than the Preeminent’s as if he is currently choking on the air that his element has provided him.

“Oh, you’ll see, young man! You’ll see how I’ll resurrect him!”

Morro keeps running, letting their voice fade out.

#manji wips #morrotober #morrotober 2022 #morro wu #morro ninjago #ninjago ocs #ninjago oc #oc ninjago #ninjago oc: hideaki fujimori #ninjago oc: morro i #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fanseason #i'm not even sure what to call it yet

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fiskerlindsay46 · 1 day

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ribbonzregretz · 2 years

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small boys be upon yee, anyways ive decided that because i can ive both decided on my baby grumpus design & showcased it with my grumpus ocs [also yes briony has horns, i added those to his design recently]

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thetoxicgamer · 10 months

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‘We need to get our s**t together’: NRG Dhokla intent on avoiding previous LCS playoffs pitfalls

Summit's Fiora became monstrously fed within 20 minutes of yesterday's 2023 LCS Summer Split match between NRG and Team Liquid. NRG would eventually have to face off against this raid boss—one for which Dhokla accepted full responsibility—if they desired even a remote chance of defeating Liquid and therefore modestly improving their standings. Thanks to a handful of overextensions from their opponents, NRG were able to avoid Summit almost completely, letting them stare directly at a hard-fought and well-earned victory. Yet even as his teammates collectively sighed in relief that a back-and-forth 30-minute game had ended in their favor, Dhokla couldn’t shake the feeling that much of this could have been avoided. “For me, after we won, it was like ‘what a sense of relief’ just washed all over my body,” Dhokla told Dot Esports. “At the same time, I was like ‘damn, I really messed up where we even needed to be in a position like that.’ I can’t really believe that we won, but I’m really happy we did.” Top laner Dhokla is one of the few remaining pieces of the most recent CLG puzzle that transferred to NRG following the team’s acquisition in April, returning alongside jungler Contractz and mid laner Palafox. Just a split ago, this trio was crucial in CLG exceeding any and all expectations set among LCS players and fans alike, emerging from the regular season at the top of the standings with a synergy that the team had not previously expressed together. Now, more than halfway into the 2023 Summer Split with qualification into the LCS Championship on the line, NRG have only four wins to their name—including one that ended the short-lived undefeated streak of the reigning champions, Cloud9. NRG appear more than willing to go for flashy plays early, but as the mid and late-games approach, the synergy between the five members seems to falter as their focus shifts from major objectives to smaller victories that impede their momentum immensely. Dhokla attributes NRG’s current fluctuating performances to communication issues that have yet to be fully resolved by the team internally, particularly in terms of getting the team’s new bot lane ahead. While the members of NRG are willing to do early bot tower dives that could potentially result in major leads, the top laner emphasized how “almost game-losing” messing this up can be and has been for the team in recent weeks, placing high importance on this as an issue that needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. But Dhokla isn’t keen on looking that far ahead just yet. He feels these issues need to be addressed presently before NRG can even think about a playoff run—especially after they were the second team to be eliminated from the Spring Playoffs despite their success in the regular season. “I’m not sure what our future is right now, but we really need to just get our shit together,” Dhokla admitted. “When it comes to playoffs, we’ve kind of folded. I’m concerned about ironing out our issues as best as we can before playoffs, because, in reality, no one really remembers the regular season, and you feel a lot of regret if you don’t play well in the playoffs.” As part of the change from CLG to NRG, the team welcomed an entirely new bot lane in the form of FBI and IgNar, two seasoned LCS players with multiple accolades to their names—including visits to LCS finals and previous World Championships. Outside of their synergy on stage, Dhokla noted that the two have meshed with the existing trio very well, acknowledging FBI’s positive energy that keeps the morale high among the members of the team that contributes to an overall “positive atmosphere” and IgNar’s shot-calling nature in scrims—which Dhokla hopes IgNar becomes more comfortable with on stage with time. From top-five finishes in multiple LCS splits to dominating NACL seasons and even winning a split of Champions Queue, Dhokla has achieved numerous career highs throughout his half-decade-long career in the North American professional scene. But compared to his success during the Spring Split, Dhokla does not yet feel that he’s proven himself to be that same player thus far, acknowledging how little time there is left to show the rest of the LCS scene and himself that he hasn’t lost that spark—even if he feels that may be a bit cliché. “I don’t think I’ve had the best split so far compared to last split, but personally, I just want to play better,” Dhokla said. “I haven’t shown what I can do, so I just have to level up my gameplay before playoffs, pretty much. That’s what every player is going to say, but there’s not really much to do besides that. Just play better.” NRG will look to continue their upward climb in the 2023 LCS Summer Split later today when they face TSM, who they are currently tied with in the standings at 4-6. Read the full article

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chaosintheavenue · 3 years

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Van Buren’t

#stuff #late night shitposting #no idea when this will spring forth from the queue but know that it was written at 4am #origin story: I once saw it typo'd as this and now whenever I hear about the cancellation this comes to mind

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monstersandmaw · 3 years

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Male naga x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here’s the next in the commissions queue for a lovely person who wished to remain anon. It’s set in my fictional town of Old Trollbridge, which some of you may remember from one or two Patreon stories (same universe as Starfall Springs), and it’s basically an old university town inspired by Cambridge here in the UK.

I fell completely in love with our soft naga boi, and I hope you like him too! Also I want to visit the reader’s plant and potions shop so badly!!

Content: male reader who is also a wheelchair user, a shy and squishy naga professor, fluff and giggles and some nsfw.

Summer rain in Old Trollbridge was usually soft and gentle, but that day it hammered against the thick glass of the picture windows, running down in rivulets and distorting the flagstone street outside into a watercolour blur. Plants dangling from hangers in the windows seemed almost jealous of the tufts of grass and wayward weeds outside as they strained their leaves and runners towards the windows. In the odd gust of wind, the black wooden shop sign, adorned with a stylised potion bottle and a mandrake plant, swung back and forth.

With a plant pot wedged carefully in your lap, you moved around your shop, restocking the shelves and cabinets, moving down the wide corridors of space between cabinets and displays with familiar ease. Just as you set the new plant on a table and adjusted it so that it sat just-so, the door opened and someone slithered in, dripping and shivering.

You turned to look over your shoulder and did a conspicuous double take at the sight of the naga who was shaking the water from his eyes and assiduously trying not to leave a mess on the floor of the shop.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted when he saw you watching him. “Nagas always make such a mess when it rains.”

It took you a moment to kick your vocal cords back to life to respond. He was gorgeous. He wore his long black hair, streaked through with a vibrant, forest green, tied back off his handsome face in a scruffy bun, and his thin, round, gold-framed, glasses were streaked with raindrops. From behind them, green eyes blinked bashfully at you.

His thick tail - the apparent source of his embarrassment - was coiling slowly up beneath him in an obvious display of discomfort, and it was flecked with mud from the wet street outside. Your eyes took in the diamond, mosaic patterns of hypnotic greens and blacks that almost perfectly matched the forest-green of your shop’s colour scheme, and you tried not to stare. From the clothing covering his slightly chubby human torso, the naga looked every bit the absent-minded academic that seemed synonymous with Old Trollbridge University, from the crisp, white shirt to the green jumper with elbow patches, despite the warmth of the rainy summer day. His skin was warm and tanned, and bore freckles across the cheekbones and nose.

You smiled warmly at him and set your hands to your push rims, lifting the casters of your chair just a fraction from the floor in a modest wheelie for emphasis as you said, “Why d’you think the floor’s tiled?”

His shoulders slumped in relief and he laughed softly. “Thank you. Carpets on rainy days are a nightmare for me…”

“Are you looking for something in particular, or should I leave you to browse?” you asked, still smiling at him.

The naga sighed and to your unexpected delight, his tanned cheeks flushed slightly.

“Yeah,” he said with a despondent look down at his tail. “I’m hoping you've got a scale tonic. Mine’s just looking so…” he sighed again and waved a graceful, ink-stained hand in the direction of his thick tail, “… flat lately. Is that something you stock here? Only, I’ve been to the apothecary over on Kiln Street and she said they only stock medical salves, not ‘cosmetic’ ones…” Head down, he blushed deeper and rambled on, “As if wanting to look nice isn’t ‘serious’ enough for her…”

He just looked so despondent that you would probably have developed a salve just for him, but you nodded. “Her loss. I think I’ve got just the thing for you though. Here…” and you turned and headed across to the other side of the shop. You felt his eyes on you as you made your way, and tried not to wonder if the beautiful naga was interested in humans; he was a customer after all…

On the left side of your wide, airy shop, you kept the plants and various terrariums — with a spellworked, soundproof cabinet for those blasted screaming mandrakes — and on the other side were rows of neatly arranged salves, ointments, distillations, and essential oils, all made from the various plants in your care. The workroom at the back of the building, with its copper stills and glass alembics, had become your sanctuary, and you knew your whole collection like the back of your hand.

Drawing to a halt in front of a display of tins, you picked one up and held it in your lap for a moment, waiting for him to approach before handing it to him, all the while keeping your other hand on the push rim of your chair, fidgeting back and forth slightly. Watching him slither over to you, you felt the undeniable pull of attraction and reminded yourself yet again to be professional. He was every bit your type, and had the kind of bright, shy smile that set your insides fluttering.

“This should do the trick,” you smiled up at him.

Again, you noted the ink stains on his fingers as he reached forward to take it from you, and when your skin briefly touched his, you found that his hands were soft and slightly cooler than your own. It made you wonder what it would feel like to have those cool hands pressing down on your body, skimming over your chest and down to your hips —

You cleared your throat and nudged your wheelchair just a fraction further back from him, partly to allow him and his already gorgeous tail a bit more space, and partly to get your mind back on track.

He read the label and nodded quietly, his slit pupils dilating in a rather adorable way as he focused the list of ingredients.

“It’s got jojoba oil and vitamin E in,” you explained. “It should help to condition your scales.”

To your surprise, he flushed and giggled a little. “I’m not doubting you, but, well if you’ll pardon the pun, I’ve run into a lot of ‘snake oil’ in the past…”

You bit your lip at the appalling pun and then snorted out a laugh, unable to stop it. “Well, I can promise you it’s specially formulated for nagas, and I’ve had good reviews before. You can read them on my website…”

“So it literally is snake oil?” he pushed and you rolled your eyes. “I’ll take one,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed at having taken the dreadful pun so far. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure,” you said as you made your way over to the counter and, on a whim, slipped a sample pot of hand cream into the paper bag with his salve. “On the house,” you said when he looked uncertain.

The smile you got in response sent your heart ricocheting around your chest for a moment. He looked so delighted that you could only conclude he’d never been given a freebie in his life before.

It was with a twinge in your chest that you watched him leave your shop after he’d stowed his purchase away in a battered old leather messenger bag that was already groaning with books and dog-eared papers. You offered him a final smile as he paused in the doorway and looked back at you. “Thank you,” he said with his hand on the doorframe. “I’m glad I found your shop. I’ll… I’ll have to come back some time.”

“You’re always welcome,” you grinned, silently praying he’d find a reason to return.

Doing inventory for the rest of the day didn’t seem so bad after your encounter with the cute naga, and the following week passed in a blur of alternating sunny spells and torrential rain that was typical for the time of year in Old Trollbridge. On the Friday though, a minotaur broke one of your display terrariums and refused to pay for it or help clear up, so your mood was understandably still a little dark when the brass bell above the door rang while you were still washing the compost and vermiculite off your hands in the back room.

Emerging into the main shop again, your eyebrows rose and you drew to a sudden halt when you saw the figure peering into a new stick insect tank you’d bought the day before. It was the adorable naga again. This time, with the weather being blazing hot, he wore only a short-sleeved shirt that clung to his curvy body quite closly, and his hair was plaited back to create a waving pattern of black and green that hung down to his shoulder blades.

He twitched when he sensed you and then laughed awkwardly, fangs flashing for a moment. “Hi,” he said, a little breathless.

“Hi,” you replied. “Everything alright with the salve?”

“What? Oh! Oh, yes, yes! It’s wonderful,” he said, flustered and gesticulating enthusiastically with his hands. “Wonderful! My scales have never felt or looked better, thank you.”

Feeling playful, you raised your eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you used all of it up already?” It was an effort not to compliment him and stray into open flirting; he seemed like the kind of guy who would fluster easily, and you ached to watch his cheeks darken again.

“No, not quite,” he chuckled, and then he licked his lips. His tongue, as with most nagas, was forked, and the fleeting glimpse of it sent a thrill down your spine. “I… I noticed that you sell plants too?” he said and then tailed off awkwardly.

“Yup,” you chirped, eyeing the vast display of evergreens and ferns, succulents, ficus, cacti, and herbs and medicinal plants. “There’s usually something for everyone.”

“Perfect. I want something for my office, but I must confess that I’m a bit of a plant-killer… Nasty habit of over watering things…”

“You’re not alone. Most people kill their plants with too much water. You’ll want a fern then. Or maybe mint? They like keeping their feet wet.”

“My office is a bit dark and dingy, unfortunately,” he sighed.

You pushed off down the wide aisle between display tables and cabinets and halted in front of a modest little Boston fern in a white ceramic pot. The naga slithered over to join you and stood so close to you as he inspected it that his elbow briefly brushed against your shoulder. His breath caught for a fraction of a second and a little shiver skittered down his whole body, though he tried to disguise it by leaning forward and picking up the plant.

“It’s adorable,” he smiled, raking his fingers lightly through the fronds. “Like those little troll figures with the hair…” He immediately turned tomato-red at that and croaked a private groan. “Anything in particular I should know?” he asked, his warm tenor much raspier than it had been before.

“Not really,” you shrugged, and instead of rolling back a little to spare your neck the effort of craning up to look at the tall naga, you stayed put — stayed close — just to see how he’d react. Gesturing at the plant, you said in a low, quiet voice, “There’s a tag with some more detailed instructions, but basically don’t put it in direct sunlight and don’t let the soil dry out completely, and it’ll be fine.”

You watched him swallow thickly and then a tiny smile graced his mouth. It was the kind of mouth you wanted to kiss, and when your gaze dipped fleetingly to his lips, he flushed and his tail coiled tightly on itself for a heartbeat. “Thank you,” he whispered, unblinking for a long moment. Suddenly he cleared his throat and shifted back.

He paid for the plant and practically fled the shop after that, and your black mood descended around you once again. Apparently you’d pushed it too far, and he wasn’t interested in humans after all.

To your surprise though, the naga became a regular customer after that. Once a week like clockwork on a Friday, he appeared in your shop doorway in search of another plant or a new salve, to the point that he ended up bashfully introducing himself as Deian the third time he returned. “It’s become my weekly treat,” he mumbled as he picked up his new pilea peperomiodes and cradled the strange little plant in his hands while he lingered to talk to you. “Oh, and I was hoping for some more of that scale salve I bought the first time I was here? I did finally finish it…”

After two more months of visiting your shop, Deian surprised you one afternoon just as you were closing up early. Your stomach rumbled as you slid the keys into your pocket and you swivelled on the spot, about to head up the street to your favourite cafe, only to come face to face with the beautiful naga.

“Oh,” he chirped, looking from you to the shop and swaying back a little, like a cobra entranced. “You’re closing? Everything ok?”

Mustering up a tired smile for him, you nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d finish up early… I skipped breakfast and lunch so I’m starving, and I’ve had about two customers for the whole day anyway. I’m heading to Appleblossom Kelpie up the road.”

Deian seemed to deflate a little, floundering and looking lost. “Oh,” he breathed, and then looked down at his hands.

It was only then that you noticed he was carrying a plant pot with a rare, blood-red orchid. “Deian?”

“I… uh…” he blushed. “I found this. Well, my friend studies exotic plants up at the botanic gardens, and I thought… well… I saw it and thought it might be something you'd like. Not for your shop though, I don’t mean for you to sell it. I mean… it’s for you… For… yeah…” His tail coiled up around him in a protective loop and your heart went out to him.

Perhaps he did like you after all.

Right on the point of reassuring him, you paused and your stomach gave a huge, angry growl, and Deian looked up at you in surprise. With a snort, you said, “Don’t tell me you felt the vibrations of that.”

“I… I did, actually,” he laughed. Then he took a huge inhale and said in an almost unintelligible rush, “Can I buy you lunch or would you prefer to go alone?”

A lopsided smile pulled at your mouth. Oh he really was adorable. “I’d love that, thank you.”

Deian brightened visibly and beamed at you from behind his gold-framed glasses. “Wonderful!”

The pavement wasn’t quite wide enough for both your wheelchair and Deian’s thick tail, so he slithered off into the road when there was no traffic, and when you reached the door of the bright cafe with its chalk-painted furniture and scrubbed wooden floorboards, he held it open for you with a shy smile. “You want me to move a chair out of the way for you?” he asked with a blush that could have burned the freckles right off his face.

“Thanks,” you smiled and rolled into the space he’d cleared for you at the table. He then moved another aside from the spot opposite you, and coiled his tail up beneath him and sat on it like a stool.

Over the course of your late lunch, Deian opened up a bit, revealing more of that giggly, awkward, shy personality that had drawn you in to start with. He was a junior research fellow at one of the university’s oldest colleges, and he’d just turned in a paper that he’d been working on since he’d finished his PhD. He had an older sister, who lived on the outskirts of the town, and with whom he was pretty close.

Time slid by in an invisible, fluid blur while the two of you talked, and as you rested your forearms on the table, idly running your fingertips around the rim of your cup, you found his eyes drifting down to your hands over and over again. Then, making you jump, he reached out suddenly and turned your watch-face towards himself and gasped. “Oh my gods is that the time? I’m supposed picking my niece up from her dance class in fifteen minutes! I’m so sorry! I had no idea we’d been here so long!”

He looked so distraught that you didn’t quite know where to begin to reassure him. “It’s fine,” you said. You could still feel the cool imprints of his fingertips where they’d brushed your wrist, and it rather stole your attention for the moment.

“I look after her on the evenings when her parents work the late shift,” he said as he searched in his enormous leather bag for his phone. “Listen, before I go, can I give you my number?” he blurted, cheeks reddening adorably.

With this final proof that he really did like you, you let out a relieved chuckle. “Sure. My phone’s in my bag,” you said, indicating the compact backpack hanging from the back of your chair. “Feel free to fish it out.”

“And… just so you know… I’d…” he paused halfway through bringing your phone out, screwing his eyes shut before blurting, “I’d really like to ask you out on a proper date.”

“I’d love that,” you said, and watched all the nerves drain out of him in an adorably expressive rush. He sagged softly and gave another laugh, shaking his head at himself.

Breathily, Deian mumbled, “I’ve never dated a human before, and… I wasn’t sure if you were just being polite and tolerating me… you know, coming back to your shop and bothering you over and over…”

“I kind of thought you were just being nice,” you admitted, and the ensuing moment of silence and realisation was broken when the pair of you burst out laughing.

“I thought I was being obvious…” he groaned as he took your phone from you to type in his number, briefly calling his phone with it. “My sister says I’m so shy that it’d take a flashing neon sign for the guy I’m crushing on to notice me…”

“Oh I noticed you the moment you entered my shop,” you grinned, just to make him blush, which he did right on cue. “Go collect your niece, Deian,” you said as you took your phone back from him. “We’ll sort something out later.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“And thanks for the plant,” you added as he slithered out of the door with surprising speed.

A month later, and it was clear that Deian was obviously besotted with you. How you could have missed it was something that both of you still found funny even all those weeks later.

Tactile and physically very affectionate, Deian seemed to love kissing you, but he never took it further, even in the privacy of your home on the evenings he spent there with you. He seemed shy about being with a human, so you gave him the time he needed.

“So…” he faltered over dinner one night at his rooms in college. He had a modest suite, and he hadn’t been joking about it being dark and poky, but it was accessible for both you and him, and he’d made it cosy and welcoming by filling it with plants from your shop and a large number of cosy lamps and strings of lights.

“So?” you prompted, leaning over the table and picking up his hand. He shivered and his eyelids fluttered, as they did almost every time you touched him. He lost his focus for a moment while you let your hands play over his knuckles, but when you smiled and kissed them, he cleared his throat and remembered that he’d been about to say something.

“So, I… Well, actually I mean… Uh… So you know that paper I turned in a while ago?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, still stroking his ink-stained fingers.

“Gods, you make it hard to focus when you touch me like that,” he whispered.

You looked up at him playfully. “Should I stop?”

“No.” Deian’s pupils soared wide and dark in the softly-lit room, and he gazed adoringly at you for a long moment before continuing. “Well, I actually won an award for my research, and college wants to throw me this big fancy drinks evening to celebrate…”

“That’s wonderful,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m so proud of you!”

His freckles disappeared into the blush you’d been expecting, and his tail writhed softly under the table, the tip of it nudging against your right wheel. His expression, however, turned a bit awkward.

“What? You’re not pleased?”

“I am,” he said quietly, modestly, “But I really hate that kind of thing. I… I don’t want to go.”

“Would I be able to come with you? Would that make it more bearable?”

His whole body lit up and he beamed at you, reaching forwards and taking both your hands in his, squeezing with surprising strength for such a gentle naga. “Would you?”

“Of course!”

He bit his lips, eyes shining. “Alright then, I’ll go. Thank you.”

The evening itself was actually surprisingly relaxed, given the dress code. You met Deian there, and nearly blanked out at the sight of him in his formal clothes; green and silver that brought out the green of his tail, eyes, and hair in a way that caught your breath.

He, however, seemed almost overcome by the sight of you in black tie. He froze and his jaw slackened when he spotted you, and he came over to you as if if he were in a daze. “Dear godssss,” he hissed, speech slurring in a way that you didn’t think had anything to do with the half-empty glass of champagne he was holding. “You look incredible.”

It was hard not to preen when he was staring at you like that, and maybe it was your turn to flush hot for once.

“I’m not going to survive the whole evening,” he said emphatically after he released you from his one-armed hug.

You shrugged. “Ah, come on. It’s just a drinks party with the elite academics of Old Trollbridge University. How intimidating can they be?” you asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Not because of that,” he muttered in a low voice, leaning down again to speak in your ear. His breath tickled your earlobe and he very carefully darted the tip of his forked tongue over the shell of your ear. You felt the blood rush south at that and when he spoke again, you felt your cock twitch with interest. “I’m going to have a job keeping my hands off you, and keeping my arousal private, for very long.”

Your jaw dropped; Deian was never that forward.

You raised your eyebrows as he drew back, and conspicuously eyed the point on the underside of his tail where you knew there was a slit. Under normal circumstances, it was invisible, but when he grew aroused, you knew he got wet, and if he got worked-up enough, his two cocks might even start to show.

“Better make your rounds efficiently then, hadn’t you?” you purred and watched his eyes roll as he bit his lip.

He left you for a while after that, and you spent some time chatting with a friendly satyr until he reappeared and set his empty champagne flute down on the table and leaned in close. “Now. I need to take you home now,” he whispered with his hands on your shoulders before moving off towards the door.

“Your place or mine?” you teased. You deliberately took your time following him, propelling yourself forwards with slow, languid strokes, hands adding friction to your push rims to slow you. He didn’t even bother to answer as he slid towards the door and you set off after him, chuckling fondly. Apparently all he’d needed to get over his shyness was the sight of you in a tux.

The short stretch of flagstone path between the college master’s rooms and the little corner of the quad where Deian had his suite of rooms was balmy and warm, but the heat under your collar had little to do with the weather. The steady, rhythmic swaying of Deian’s hips as he led the way drew your eye down his body, right to the dark green tip of his tail, and you suspected that tonight he would let you touch him anywhere you liked.

Deian fumbled the keys as he unlocked his rooms, and then turned to look at you. “Gods,” he exhaled, pupils dark and eyes glinting. “Is this real? Are you really mine?”

“You big sap,” you scoffed, secretly delighted. “Yes, I’m yours. Now get inside before I get too distracted by how gorgeous my boyfriend is…”

He opened the door and disappeared inside, leaving you to push it closed behind you as you followed after him. He murmured your name as you entered the bedroom and he already sounded wrecked. With another glance at his slit, you saw that he was glistening, some of it even rolling down the paler scales of the underside of his tail, and he was breathing quickly, nervously.

“Hey,” you asked. “You ok?”

“Just… a bit… you know…” he said with a skittish laugh. “Like I said, you’re the first human I’ve ever been with, and… I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you, or…”

“Do you trust me to tell you what I want?” you asked, voice low and even as you slowed the wheels of your chair and lined up beside the bed.

He nodded. “Yes.”

With a smirk, you eased your feet off the footrest and shifted to the front of the chair. He watched you closely as you transferred to the bed, but he didn’t offer to intervene. You slid off your shoes and socks, but left your shirt and trousers on and then straightened up to look at him.

“Deian, undress for me?” you asked, and he complied, revealing the softness of his torso and the deliciously smooth transition where his human skin melted into the snake scales of his tail. “Perfect,” you breathed. You couldn't help it. “You’re gorgeous, Deian. Come here…”

He approached the bed reared up over you.

“Undress me?” you asked, hoping to make him more comfortable.

It wasn’t quite the smooth disrobing you might have ideally wished for, but his awkward, earnest smiles went straight to your chest as he worked out how best to move you where you didn’t have the strength in your limbs to do it yourself. He lifted your legs carefully onto the bed, helping you hitch your hips up enough to strip you, and then he undid the shirt buttons too, his face intense and focused as he ignored your obvious arousal in favour of undressing you completely.

You laughed softly when he was finished and reached forward to plant a kiss on his nose. “Don’t look so serious,” you chided with a smile. “You’re doing fine. You’re not going to mess this up, Deian.”

“I just want it to be good for you,” he mumbled, cheeks turning pink.

“It will be, I promise,” you said, placing your finger and thumb under his chin and bringing him closer to kiss you. “It already is.”

When you looked along the length of his body a moment later, you found that his two cocks — both a beautiful pale green and ridged on the undersides, with darker areas at the tip and down the top — had fully emerged from his sheath and were leaking profusely. You stared openly and they twitched under your scrutiny, drooling pre-come down onto the sheets as he gave a little whimpering moan.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked.

“What do you want?” you replied. “I don't have much movement, but I can feel everything…”

You got the sense that there was in fact something specific he wanted, but he was too shy to ask for it, so you kissed him to try and distract him. You kissed him until his eyes rolled and he half fell on top of you, tail writhing and coiling idly, and his cocks came to rest between your thighs. He broke off with a gasp at the contact, tipping his head back and keening, rutting his cocks against your legs. “I want you inside me,” he finally gasped. “I want you to fuck my sheath… But only if you —”

If you hadn’t already been achingly hard, that would have done it for you. You growled and gripped his scaly hips pulling him closer to you, nodding. “Yes,” you managed to whisper. “Gods, yes.”

His spine sagged in relief and he pressed his forehead momentarily against your collarbones. You let the weight of it ground you before running your fingers down his spine. He had a line of tiny, dark green scales that ran up the centre of his back to the nape of his neck, and you'd discovered already that they were extremely sensitive. In fact, Deian was extremely sensitive all over. Apparently it was a naga thing, but you got the impression it was also a Deian thing.

“Line yourself up with me,” you murmured, and he obeyed, using his muscular tail to support his hips for a moment while he lined his cocks up with you.

The slickness of his hard lengths instantly made your back arch, your whole body going tense with anticipation, and a loud moan tore itself from your lips.

“Feels so good, Deian,” you reassured him when he paused. “Gods, please…”

The little huffing laugh that followed seemed to take the last of his nerves with it, and he kissed you, relaxing. You ran your hands over his soft torso, enjoying the curves of his body. A lot of nagas were all hard planes and lean muscle, but he was chubby and round and every bit of him was inviting and gorgeous. You worshipped him as he rocked himself on your cock, never quite letting you slip all the way inside his slit while he worked himself closer and closer. The ridges on the undersides of his twin cocks felt incredible as they rolled over your own, and you found yourself gasping and heaving the closer you got.

“Deian, please,” you grunted. “Please, I need you to… I can’t…” you growled, nearly inarticulate with pleasure.

And then he moved in a particular way, and your cock slid right into his tight, slick sheath. The sudden heat of his body surprised you, and you fitted like he had been made to take you, and as the muscles of his silky sheath clenched tight around your cock, you knew you weren’t going to last long.

Deian’s head bowed forwards and his hair fell down around your face as he started to pant and hiss, hips spasming erratically. “Oh my godssss,” he moaned, fucking himself on your cock. He started to tremble all over a moment later. “You feel so good. I’m going to come,” he said, and a flush began to roll down his face from his cheeks right the way down to his collarbones and soft pecs. His round belly stroked against your torso as he rocked his body against yours, bringing himself as close to you as possible; as if he couldn't get enough of you.

He clung to you with an intensity that stole your breath, and his cocks twitched and left pre-come all over you as he sank further down onto your cock. Tension and pleasure built in you as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, urged on with each rocking thrust of his sheath around your cock.

“Oh gods, there, there,” he chanted, and his tail began to coil around your legs in a corkscrew, holding you in place as he constricted, his whole body tensing as his orgasm started to sweep through him. “I’m going to come, I’m going to —” and with that, he came.

His back heaved, his hips stuttered, and around your cock his sheath contracted, squeezing so hard your vision whited out. He dragged your orgasm from you with the force of his own, covering you in his release as he gave himself to you with a wordless cry.

Breathing hard, Deian finally unclenched his tail from around your legs and began to kiss at your neck and shoulders. “That was perfect,” he whispered, consonants soft and slurred. “You’re perfect. I love you. Oh gods, I love you.” He sounded half delirious, and you started to laugh with the strength of affection you felt for him.

Snaking your arms around his torso, you pulled him back down on top of you, relishing the cool weight of him atop your body despite the mess he’d made of your stomach, and you kissed his neck, just below his ear. You felt the shiver run down his body, right the way to the tip of his tail. “I love you too, Deian,” you said between kisses.

In answer, he squeezed you into such a tight hug that you actually wheezed, and the pair of you dissolved into giggles with Deian’s face pressed against your neck.

___

Stay tuned for a couple more commissions, folks. If you enjoyed reading this one, please consider reblogging it, since that’s the best way to help out creators whose work you like on Tumblr!

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#naga #male monster #male reader #mlm exophilia #male naga x male reader #male naga x reader #naga x reader #old trollbridge #starfall springs #naga boyfriend #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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lou-struck · 3 years

Text

Strawberry Thief

Keigo Takami x f reader

- Your rooftop garden has been subjected to a crime, now you must take matters into your own hands to find the culprit.

WC 1100+

Sorry if you saw this already, I forgot to queue it.

You’ve always had a green thumb, there was something nurturing about caring for a plant and bringing it forth to fruition till it was ripe enough to bear fruit. So after moving into your apartment, you basically begged your landlord to let you use the unused roof of the complex to make a rooftop garden. Your landlord was a cute older gentleman and he said yes once he saw how good you were with plants and how darn good your cookies are (A little bribery never hurt anyone).

This rooftop was your baby, every day before work you would make sure to water before the sun came up and any weed that grew was quickly struck down. Your crops always yielded good spoils, but the real showstopper was your strawberries. They always turned out huge and juicy thanks to your hard work. But as time went on, you noticed that your plants were producing less and less of the favorite fruit.

Was it bugs? You didn’t think so, with all your monitoring there is no way an insect infestation or a spare slug was able to pass through your impenetrable border. In fact, it looked as if your strawberries had been clipped right off of its stem, carefully and neatly.

You were the only person to have a key to the roof aside from the landlord, who never would bother to climb that many stairs so your Strawberry Thief remains a mystery. At this moment you were more curious than anything else. So you decided to find out what exactly was happening to your sweet red berries.

One summer night when the air was warm and the sky was clear, you decided to sit in the shadows of the rooftop waiting for something to happen. For an hour or two, there was nothing, until there was a small movement and a dark streak heading toward your garden beds. Springing to your feet you go to see what it was only to see a single red feather take to the sky with one of your berries stuck to it. It happened almost too quickly that if you blinked, you would have missed it. But now you seem to know who exactly has been taking your berries, the Winged Hero Hawks. Knowing that there wasn't anything you could do that night, you decided to head in for the night feeling relieved that your berries were not really in danger. But maybe you could have a little fun with this knowledge and just mess with the Hero for a bit.

The next evening after weeding and watering your garden you got to work. Your plan was to make a quick barrier around your Strawberry plants with garden-safe material so as to not hurt them. This would prevent the Bird from getting into your plants anymore. Finishing up, you put your hands tougher feeling very proud of the work that you have done. Unaware of the figure behind you. Turning around, your face hits something solid, looking up you meet the handsome face of your strawberry thief, the Winged Hero Hawks.

He smiles down at you warmly with a hint of mischief in his honey-colored eyes. “Hey there, How's your evening going?”

You look at him very confusedly. “You took my fruit,” you say quietly almost hoping he didnt hear you.

“I guess I did, he says rubbing the back of his head. “If it’s any consolation, I didnt think anyone would mind that one or two went missing.” he says almost embarrassed to be caught.

His bashful reactions make it easier for you to compose yourself. Feeling emboldened, you decide to mess with him a bit. “I thought Heros were supposed to uphold the law, not go against it.” you laugh sitting down looking at him intently.

“I guess that wasn’t very heroic of me then.” he grins “How can I make it up to you, miss…”

“Y/n, It doesn’t matter to me that much I just wanted to know who was taking them, besides,” you say leaning back, “I thought Heros could afford their own produce, if this isn’t the case then by all means keep at it.”

“But yours taste so much better than the one’s at the store!” he exclaims earnestly. Your face heating up at his words. It’s hard to be angry at someone like him, someone so free and charismatic.

“Are they really?” you question.

“Absolutely, but I am sorry for taking them though, I won’t do it again,” he says shifting his weight, his wings slightly rippled with a small breeze. His feathers are so beautiful to look at, you’ve really never seen him up close like this. You are staring a little too much.

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m glad you like them. But they weren’t ready yet,” you say snapping back to your senses

“What do you mean? It was one of the best strawberries I have ever had,” he questions, raising a think brow.

“Don’t you have a patrol to do Hero?” you ask attempting to shake off his question.

“I just got off and was trying to grab a little snack for the road. Before I got distracted by a very pretty gardener.” he winks.

“Do you think you can change the topic by flirting your way out of it?” you ask not being able to hide the blush on your cheeks.

“I don’t know, is it working?” he asks although you arent sure, there seems to be a flash of nervousness across his face quickly replaced by a cutely crooked grin.

“I’d say it is.” you say smiling back at him.” But, it still doesn’t excuse the fact that you don’t believe that the strawberries could’ve been better.”

“You still want to show me?” he questions, its quick but you can still make out a relieved smile. Perhaps the media is a little bold in their claim of his womanizing tendencies.

“Only if you want to, as I said before, they aren’t ready yet.” you tell him unable to keep the smile on your face.

“When would they be ready?”

“Tomorrow....” you say unsure of his response

“Hmmm, interesting.” he croons “Then will I see you tomorrow night?” a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I guess so.” You breathe out not believing that this is happening to you.

“I look forward to it.” he smiles wishing you a goodnight as he takes off leaving you awestruck staring after him till he becomes a small speck lost to the brightness of the moon.

#my hero academia hawks #bnha fluff #my hero academia #bnha #Hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo x reader #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami x reader

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ffion451 · 2 years

Text

Honesty: A KSJ | KTH two shot (m) Part Two

Summary: Life in London is not easy for Taehyung, especially where Seokjin’s girlfriend is involved.

Pairings: Seokjin x reader, maybe Taehyung x reader (no spoilers…)

Warnings: 🔞 not suitable for minors, adult themes throughout. A fair bit of smut, references to violence and domestic abuse

Genre: Angst, smut (in part 2)

Word count: 4.8K

<<< Back to Part One

Part Two

CHAPTER SEVEN: Embracing Honesty

Safely on home turf, you hide from your friends and the truth as long as you can until it catches up with you.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” squawks Jin.

Taehyung pinches the bridge of his nose, “Jesus man, draw breath,” grumbles Taehyung, “Who even speaks that fast? Just call her.”

Jin starts to get redder in the face, and for a moment Taehyung wonders if Jin might slap him, “No, that would spoil the element of surprise, which is crucial in my plan!”

“Anyway,” Taehyung confirms quickly, deciding to calm things, “I checked all the communal areas.”

Jin sighs, “Did you check ALL the areas?” he demands, pacing back and forth in their twin hotel room.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “Yes. Twice.”

Jin groans in frustration, striding to the bathroom to splash water on his reddened face. As he turns to pat his face dry he catches sight of the large, fluffy robes neatly hanging on the doors: Jin’s eyes light up, and he flings a pair of complimentary slippers at Taehyung as a sudden realisation dawns.

“Get changed,” Jin demands, “ I know where she is: we’re going to the spa.”

**********

You are prepared to face many things that day: you know there’ll be Jin’s wrath to deal with when he arrives, you know he’ll come, as much to reassure you as to tell you off for transferring the room payment straight back to his account. All of that you can face, though you’re apprehensive about the questions and accusations that will also accompany him: Why did you run? Why Edinburgh? Why Kate?

You know you’ve been a fool. You know coming here was foolish. It’s not even about Kate, it’s about being in a place that holds no memory of Taehyung, a before-place. It’ true that memories of pain and grief line this city’s streets but for now it’s an ironic refuge from the love you’ve chosen to run away from. You know that won’t satisfy Jin. He’ll want to know why you’ve run from Taehyung, but he’ll have to join the queue, because you have no idea either. You lay your head back in the hot tub, close your eyes, and let the bubbles go to work on the tension knotting through your body.

As your troubled mind twists in on itself, you don’t even notice when you’re joined in the hot tub, until you’re pulled from your reverie by a familiar voice.

“Well, don’t you look relaxed after leading us on a merry hunt around the bloody UK!” teases the familiar voice, with the merest hint of annoyance.

Your blood runs cold through your veins, despite the warmth of the water around you: Us? Cautiously, you raise your head and open your eyes. Fuck.

Yes, you were prepared to face many things today, and not one of those things was Taehyung.

**********

Taehyung focuses all of his energies in maintaining a resolute, expressionless face as he looks at you. It’s evident to him, that despite Jin’s accusation, you clearly are not relaxed; everything about you screams tension and he’s surprised that when you hear Jin’s voice that you don’t spring from the hot tub, as tightly coiled and tense as you seem to be. You and Jin are focused on each other, sat mutely beside you Taehyung tries very hard not to let his gaze drop below the surface of the water: you’re obviously quite modestly dressed, a simple one piece, but a swimsuit is still a swimsuit, especially when he has never seen you anything other than fully clothed (except of course, in his imagination).

He doesn’t even register that a conversation has happened until Jin is kicking him, “Is that ok?” Jin asks.

“What?” he replies vacantly.

“We are going to have a chat in the sauna about all of this. Go swim,” he says.

“Sure, um, yeah, ok” Taehyung manages to say as his brain struggles to catch up, it’s not made any easier by watching you climb out of the hot tub, his eyes focused on your wet, shining skin and every single curve and line of your body.

Then, suddenly, you’re looking at him quizzically as you wrap a towel around yourself.

“Are you ok?” you ask with concern at his strange behaviour and vacant expression.

Fuck this, thinks Taehyung, embarrassed that he’s been caught acting like a horny teenager, Two can play at this game.

He runs his hands through his hair, shaking the dark curls from his eyes as he climbs out of the hot tub, taking care to adjust his trunks so that they sit just low enough on his hips. He cocks an eyebrow at you, and in a low voice says, “I’m fine. Are you ok?”

He doesn’t miss Jin’s smirk as a deep rose hue crawls up your neck and across your cheeks as you take all of Taehyung in, his glowing honey skin, his sharp collarbone, his narrow waist, the droplets of water clinging to his happy trail leading… your mind becomes temporarily blank, “Yup,” you squeak out desperately before rushing to the sauna.

“You’re a cruel man, Tae” laughs Jin, stepping backwards as he follows you.

Taehyung can only smile, “Remember your promise. When you’re satisfied she’s ok, make sure she goes back to her room so I can talk to her.”

Jin steps forward and slips Taehyung the key to your room that he’d secured from the front desk, “I’m a man of my word,” he winks before departing to the sauna.

Taehyung eases himself in the pool, and as he begins to swim lengths in the pleasantly cool water, all he can think of is you underneath him.

**********

You feel more relaxed than you have done in a long time as you make your way back to your room.

You’d just had a glorious couple’s massage with Jin and you can still feel a glow in your oiled limbs. You’re looking forward to relaxing in your room for a few hours before having to face Taehyung at dinner: a conversation you still have no idea how to have.

You’ve explained it all to Jin: you ran in panic, you came here, to Edinburgh, because before Kate was the sister of your awful ex, she had been your best friend and knew you well. Since your split, she has had nothing to do with her brother and you felt in no danger. As you explained all this to Jin you realised that you only wanted to see her to talk about Taehyung, to seek her opinion. She knows your soul, she feels like the right person to talk through your feelings with.

You have never felt about anybody like you feel about Taehyung, the pull towards him is so strong that it scares you. You know that there’s a strong attraction there and that doesn’t trouble you, there probably isn’t a woman alive that wouldn’t want him. What bothers you is that your heart seems to physically ache for him… you don’t know how or when you fell so in love with him but it frightens you. Jin’s solution is that the only way you’ll understand your feelings for Taehyung is to talk to Taehyung himself about them. If you were less nervous, you’d accept the sense of that, but as things are now, the idea terrifies you because how could he really feel the same?

As you swipe your key card against your door, a wave of guilt hits you and you sigh, feeling terrible about the worry, time and expense you have caused both Jin and Taehyung. You’re also mortified that Jin will have told Taehyung all about your past with Gregor: another conversation you don’t want to have with Taehyung.

You’re not embarrassed of what happened, the years between and therapy helping you to understand finally that it was never your fault. What worries you is that Taehyung will see you differently: How will he view you now? Will he pity you? Will he be afraid to touch you?

As the door clicks behind you, that voice that does hundreds of things to you calls out, “That’s a big sigh.”

You spin around, and there, sprawled in his complimentary robe on your bed, lies Taehyung. You scream in shock.

**********

Taehyung’s plan to be composed and cool is thrown straight out of the window as he clambers off the bed to silence you before hotel security are called by a neighbouring room.

Before he knows it, he’s stood before you, both of you in your hotel robes, his hands clasping your shoulders and looking at your pale, shocked face in concern. He guides you to sit beside him on the bed and you can only nod in assent.

His plan now ruined, Taehyung continues with wild improvisation and hopes for the best. Yet, the truth of it is, he knows you so well that he knows exactly how to manage you now. He knows giving you options would be insane, you need for him to make this easy for you so you can feel in some kind of control of the situation.

He begins with your name, using the same seductive, low, velvety baritone that he knows affects you, he’s watched you shudder enough times, “Can I talk to you about us, please?” his tone making it obvious that he’s pleading with you for a chance to sort things out.

You seem to have recovered yourself now after your shock, but choose to simply nod, seemingly not quite able to trust your voice just yet.

He begins by apologising for how he’s treated you, trying to explain why he became so fixated on the idea of you being unfaithful to Jin.

He wants you to know how he was desperate to pull you from the pedestal he had put you on, determined to find some way, some path, out of the maze of love he has built around you, which was ever-closing in on him.

His eyes begin to fill, “I am pathetic, I know I am,” he sighs, “You just don’t know how long I’ve loved you, or how much it hurts to fall so hard for someone you can never have.”

Your heart breaks for him but a small smile tugs at the corner of you mouth because you do know exactly how much it hurts. All the time he’s been talking, Taehyung’s has held your small hands in his large ones and kept his focus on them, but now he dares to look at you.

When your eyes meet, he’s surprised to find yours glisten with tears just as his do.

“Do you really love me?” you say the words so quietly he thinks they might be a whisper.

He echoes what he’s already confirmed to Jin, “More than I knew was possible,” then he asks the question he’s most desperate for a reply to, “Do you think you could love me?”

You’re smiling at him and freeing your hands from his. He panics for a moment, but then you hands are pushing his hair from his face and tracing the line of his jaw.

“I already do,” you say softly.

He can feel your nervousness in your trembling fingers, but he realises that you’re gently guiding his face forward but that you’re too nervous to go in for a kiss, desperately hinting that you need him to make the move: he has no intention of disappointing you.

All the lies, all the heartbreak, misunderstandings, confusion and longing have led to this moment, have led to your face, so beautiful to him, hovering so close to him, your eyes wide and full of hope and fear. For so long, Taehyung has fantasised about you looking at him like this, as though his face is the only one you ever want to see. He’s dreamed about being the centre of your existence as you have been his.

His lip quivers with emotion, “May I kiss you?” he barely whispers; he needs to be certain that it’s what you want.

A tear overspills your lash line; he’s swift to catch it as you answer him, relief flooding through you, “Please…”

Without hesitation, his soft lips find yours as you surrender to each other.

**********

After your massage, Jin lazed at the spa some more, having a few more treatments and took his time enjoying the pool and steam room. He feels virtuous and vindicated in his decision to bring you and Taehyung together - Why shouldn’t he treat himself a little, or a lot? Th train ride was unbearably long, after all.

Now, as he gets out of the shower in his shared room with Taehyung, he prepares to get dressed but his attention is caught by a rhythmic thudding coming from the room next door. Eyebrows knotted, he approaches the wall and hears muffled, but recognisably deep groans that could only come from Taehyung and the resonant and distinctive sound of skin slapping skin as bodies come together.

Simultaneously amused, relieved and disgusted, he dresses quickly and heads to the bar to call Ed from there, firing a text to both you and Taehyung: Quiet the fuck down you disgusting creatures. I’ll be in the bar. Let me know when it’s safe to come back up!

**********

After the initial awkwardness of the kiss, you moved through a series of stages: the stiff discomfort changed to gentle, trepidatious affection, which gave way to romantic longing fulfilled and the easy rhythm of two people whose hearts beat for each other; eventually that two gave way to desire and growing lust. Shyly, but hungrily, your hands started to wander over each other’s bodies, pulling at clothes in a need to get closer. After the hilarity of trying to get you out of your wet swimsuit, the mood between you and Taehyung rapidly shifted from being like embarrassed, experimental teens to two ravenous adults who knew exactly what they wanted from each other’s bodies, fuelled by the confidence that the other feels exactly the same way.

Now laying on your hotel bed, with Taehyung hovering above you the reality of your situation sinks in along with his teeth: he bites into the sensitive flesh of your neck as he starts to bloom bruises into your skin, demonstrating that, finally, you’re his. Your body erupts in goose flesh and you giggle and moan simultaneously in both embarrassment and arousal.

Taehyung’s desperately hard cock is pressed against your lower stomach as he lays over you and you feel him grind it gently against you in response to the noise you’ve made and it causes another nervous giggle to escape your lips.

Taehyung reluctantly separates himself from your throat, taking a moment to admire the deep purple marks he’s left and props himself over you, elbows either side of your body, caging you beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” you blush, “I’m so nervous.”

He smiles, “Don’t be sorry, don’t be nervous,” he smiles, kissing you gently and licking your lower lip as he breaks away, “I’m going to take good care of you,” he rasps, continuing his slow grind, now exactly where you need it, the friction inflaming your clit.

You chase his mouth hungrily, and as his lips part you explore the inside of his mouth eagerly with your tongue, he tastes sweet and somehow spiced and you’re greedy to feel his tongue play against yours, wrapping one arm around his lithe body, the other finding purchase in his thick hair.

You’re so carried away by the kiss that you almost don’t notice one of his hands snaking it’s way between your bodies as his fingers part your folds, seeking your hard bud.

A shudder and a gasp confirm to him that he’s in the right place, and he slowly traces his fingers around it, enjoying your responsive moans into his mouth. You seem to kiss for an age. You don’t notice his movements speed up, lost in a haze of pleasure and him, so your orgasm hits you out of the blue, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you groan deeply, your vagina pulsing around nothing.

Taehyung knows you need something inside you and so as you ride out the last few spasm of joy, he begins finger fucking you, sliding and curling two fingers inside you experimentally until he hits on the rhythm and position that has you clutching desperately at him.

He breaks from your lips, lust fogging his thoughts and guiding him to speak exactly what he’s thinking, “Fuck, you’re so tight, can’t wait to feel you around my cock,” he says licking his and your lips.

His words make you clench around his fingers, a blush growing again but your core is lit on fire. You didn’t really know you liked dirty talk but fuck, you do now… though you know that Taehyung could recite from a drilling manual with that deep voice of his and you’d still be gushing wet for him.

Taehyung loves how you react to his words. He’s a talker and he loves the effect he’s having on you, he hopes you’ll reciprocate in kind but he doesn’t want to push you. You become desperate to feel him: you want to praise him back. One of your hands now flies between you as run your palm firmly down his chest and stomach, until you reach the throbbing base of his cock; you shudder at the sheer size of him.

“You’re massive,” you breathe out appreciatively, “Better than I dreamed…” you don’t miss the needy whine that escapes his lips or how his hips jerk desperately into your fist as you begin to run your hand up and down his length, using your thumb to smear the precum on the tip. You enjoy the feeling of every vein and ridge, desperately imagining what it will feel like inside you.

Taehyung has been dying for contact and groans gutturally in relief as you fist his throbbing cock, “So you dreamed of me?” he manages to eek out.

You nod, grinning at how quickly he’s melted. Still, it’s not enough for you, you want more of him, you want to taste him, to see all of him, and so you take advantage of his sudden stupor to push him onto his back. The next thing he’s aware of is the feeling of your lips kissing his cock as you continue to jerk him off, the other hand playing with his balls before your turn your mouth to them.

He moans in delight, trying to form words, managing to stutter, “fucking hot,” “so good,” before babbling a series of grunts.

You look up at him and he looks down at you. His eyes glazed with sheer lust, “Your cock is beautiful,” you say as a clear statement of fact as you sink your lips down his length keeping your eyes fixed on him.

In reply, he places the fingers that have just been up your cunt in his mouth sucking them lazily as you suck his cock, “Your cunt is delicious,” he manages to say as you begin to suck him earnestly. Taehyung knows if he lets you continue he’ll blow his load sooner than he wants but he struggles to remove you as you try to drive him over the edge.

“Such a slut for me,” he groans as he pulls you away from him, drawing you back up the bed and underneath him. He fists his cock lazily as he brings the tip to your clit as he looks to you for consent.

“Do you want me to wear a condom?” he asks, “I’m clean but I’ll do whatever you want.”

You want to feel every vein as he drags inside you so you shake your head, “I want you as you are, I’m clean and I’m on birth control.”

“So, what is it you want?” he teases.

“You,” you say unashamedly, bold now in your lust-fuelled craze, though as soon as the words are out of your mouth you both realise the deeper meaning.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he growls as he pushes the tip in.

Starbursts of pain erupt behind your eyes and you clench your jaw in order not to cry out. Torn between the desire to rail you and panic at the pain you’re so obviously in, Taehyung looks at you for reassurance, his eyes wide.

“I’ll adjust,” you hiss between your gritted teeth, “Please don’t stop…”

Taehyung feels like he’s sinking into a soft, warm vice; it’s a struggle as he pushes forward into you. He feels on the edge already, but he holds himself back, sinking in until his body is flush with yours. You hiss and pant as he looks down at you, waiting for you to get used to the sting and stretch of his thickness forcing you open.

“Is it too much?” he asks.

You shake your head, but he suspects you’re lying, “You’re fucking huge, Tae,” you moan.

He laughs, “And you’re so fucking tight,” he counters.

After several hissed breaths, you speak, “You can move,” with a nod and quick pecked kiss you the tip of your nose, he starts a very slow, steady pace.

It not long before you’re wrapping your legs around him, trying to draw him in deeper and faster. He crashes his mouth into you again as he continues to fuck you slow and deep, ignoring your pressing thighs, each thrust ramming the headboard into the wall and drawing moans from you as he groans desperately. He’s not lying, you are a tight fit and the warmth and wetness of your walls around him is driving him crazy but it’s also more than that. Taehyung loves you: he’s loved you so long and so hopelessly that he can’t quite believe that he’s here with you, your bodies joined together.

Both your phones ping and you make eye contact and giggle, predicting both the sender and the nature of the message.

“I love you, Tae,” you spill out uncontrollably as you smile at each other and it pushes him over the edge. Finally, you two are together. Finally, you’re calling him Tae and he groans deeply.

“I fucking love you too, more than anything,” the desperate love in each word is punctuated by feral, savage, desperate thrusts as he pistons his hips in and out of you furiously. His hand palming your clit as he furiously chases his orgasm, already addicted to your tightness pulsing around him. He licks, sucks and bites everywhere his mouth reaches - your lips, throat, nipples and tits - without faltering in his furious assault on your vagina.

You start to jerk as you feel your high approaching; Taehyung feels you squirming and grabs your hips tightly to fix you in place, yanking your hips down to meet his thrusts. You’re incapable of keeping up with him as he uses your body, you can only scream for him and give him want he needs.

“Fucking come for me,” he growls as he feels his own orgasm approaching. As if on command, the pressure in your core snaps and you come hard, screaming his name and spasming intensely on his cock, pushing him over the edge in turn. He drives in a few sloppy final thrusts before throwing his head back and chanting your name as he releases inside you, spurting ropes of cum as deeply in you as he can force his cock, desperate to stuff you full.

When his cock has finished twitching inside you. Taehyung collapses bonelessly on to you. He crushes you slightly but you don’t mind, revelling in the closeness and skinship of your sweaty, spent bodies.

Eventually, kissing your neck and licking the sweat from you, he slides his softening length from you and staggers to the bathroom to bring a cloth to clean you up. He cleans your battered and puffy cunt carefully and delicately, enjoying watching his cum leak out of you. You can barely talk or breathe in response, coming down from the best fuck you’ve ever had no the most loved you’ve ever felt.

Both clean, Taehyung lies beside you, stroking your hair gently from your face and placing feather light kisses across your brows, cheeks and nose.

“I got a bit carried away there…” he smiles sheepishly, “I didn’t even eat you out. Fuck, I wanted to taste you so badly…”

You smile at his surprising disappointment, “You didn’t let me suck you off properly either, next time I guess,” you say soothingly.

“So there will be a next time?” he says quickly.

You find yourself stroking his face again, your fingers drawn to that jawline that lasts for days, “I’m yours,” you say, lips meeting his.

“Heart, body and soul?” he murmurs into your mouth.

“All of it,” you agree. Neither of you can sate your hunger for kissing the other and so you continue lazily making out, knowing you have all the time in the world.

After a little while, Taehyung feels his cock stir again. It’s not fully hard but it’s enough for him to push himself back into your sensitive cunt, causing you to wince slightly. He maintains a slow steady pace this time, your bodies tightly melded. He fucks himself into hardness until he draws another body-shaking orgasm from the both of you.

In fact, Taehyung thinks later, as he cleans you up after your third round where he’d bent you over the desk as you tried to stagger to the bathroom, he’d probably be able fuck you all night if you hadn’t both promised to meet Jin for dinner.

You rely on Taehyung to ease you into and out of the bath, as he seems to have fucked the bones out of your body and the two of you linger in the hot water, confessing the deepest secrets of your hearts with an ease neutral of you would have thought possible only days ago.

You take your time getting ready for dinner when you’re both temporarily sated and clean. You don’t fuck again, momentarily exhausted, but you keep distracting each other, getting lost in each other’s lips and embraces until you’re nearly late.

**********

Initially exasperated by your poor timing and flustered appearance, Jin is quick to fall into his happy, laughing self. The whole evening is relaxed, dinner is excellent and Jin is overjoyed that he’s brought two such dear friends together.

He watches you manoeuvre easily around each other, already looking like an established couple. He can see all the things you two suppressed before, the knowing looks and little touches you’ve always contained now spilling out freely.

The glow of your happiness is infectious and he knows you and Taehyung deserve for this warmth between you to exist in the light, not in the shadows of snatched moments and secret dates: he knows the charade of his fake relationship with you has to end for everyone’s sake.

**********

The next day, Jin smiles to himself as his train pulls out of the station: he’ll give you and Taehyung a few days to yourselves, time that seems long overdue. Over last night’s dinner the three of you agreed that you wouldn’t catch up with Kate this time; your relationship with Taehyung is too new to yet be faced with Gregor and any of that mess.

Instead you say you’ll show Taehyung around the city but Jin can’t see that happening. He suspects Taehyung is unlikely to let you stray more than a few feet from the bed or, actually, more than a couple of inches off his cock for the immediate future. And why should he? Jin reasons, he’s waited long enough for you.

Jin feels like something has shifted within him; seeing you and Taehyung together, the ease and grace of the way you looked at each other, spoke and moved at dinner has made him realise everything he is missing out on with Ed by keeping their relationship secret. For some time now he’s known that Ed really is the love of his life and that a life without him isn’t a future he can countenance.

Though he’s nervous of telling his parents that he wants to marry Ed, he realises that actually feels excitement more than any other emotion at the thought of his secret being out: he wants to get back to London and to tell his friends, he knows they’ll support him as you and Taehyung have. Even more than that, he wants to be out in the open with Ed; he wants to plan an extravagant proposal; he wants to live with him and to set you up living with Taehyung. He wants to do so many things… mostly though, he just wants a life where you can all live with honesty.

*********************************

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