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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 2 months

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 9

MASTAPOST

Byleth trembled as the Guard gathered in the barracks later that night. He had been found floating belly up near the top floor after having sounded the alarm.

It wasn’t his fault! T-there was a s-s-SIREN. Right there! In front of him! It looked thin and waspish and starving, and he was sure it was gonna maul him to death right then and there. Did you see the teeth on that thing?! Byleth shuddered. His hand went to cover his gills. Imagine being chomped on the neck by that stuff. The stuff of nightmares.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he wasn’t the only one terrified. Well, that was a little misleading. Byleth stood at attention in line with his fellow guardspeople, awaiting dismissal. The debrief was long and agonising, hearing details about how the siren lurked around unnoticed for hours, but most of his comrades were just irritated, or even disappointed. He glanced to the right, where Ableth was nursing his wounds from trying to tackle the little demon, and he wasn’t even fazed! Like, holy shit. If the siren got that close to him, he’d probably shit his pants right on the spot!

No, the one who was terrified was apparently the local administrator, currently having a ‘conversation’ (more like a shouting match) with their commanding officer out of sight, but definitely not out of earshot.

“It was a child! A baby! Do you even begin, begin to comprehend how bad this makes you, and by extension, me, look?! King Arthur will have our heads! Our heads!”

Their commander audibly sighed (which was a big yikes, considering how patient the guy was even on a bad day). “I understand your concerns, administrator, but this guard have done the best they can. The siren child was armed with weaponry the likes of which we have never seen before, and the raids have been tireless besides.”

“Blah blah blah blah do you even hear yourself? Maybe if you had trained these grunts better they wouldn’t have been out-matched by a toddler!” Byleth took offence to that. He’d like to see the office suit face up against that monster!

“Only one man was hurt, and he’ll be disciplined for his recklessness. The child did not set out to attack anyone, he was only stealing supplies, and fled when resistance appeared. It’s the same story as ever.”

“It sounds like your guards are as incompetent as ever!”

“The sirens have no way to access such advance weaponry. Do you understand what this means? If we don’t speak up, what will we do when a proper war band appears, each bearing these weapons? How many towns will they have razed before your dead spirit will be ready to admit the consequences of this cowardice?”

The administrator sputtered. The ridiculous loss of composure, and the raucous laughter of Byleth’s friends helped sooth the abject terror of a hundred more sirens appearing out of the ravines. By Poseidon spare them!

Line breakening~~

With the adrenaline running low, Damian ran on fumes as he twisted through the ravine, tracing back his fin-strokes to the cave where he’d left Phantom. Against all odds, he found it, and almost cried in relief. Throwing his newly acquired loot to the floor, Damian let his body drop like a cold iron, and passed out.

Danny felt pain. Like, all over. Everything hurt. Normally he’d be able to heal any injuries he got while siren fighting, and what a blessing that was. He wasn’t sure just how dense his parents could be, but he didn’t want to test it. The aching agony all over his body reminded him just how little he ate that morning, and man was he regretting it. Stupid Skulker and his stupid hunting dog dolphins. His stupid hunting doglphins. And stupid Damian for making him come close.

Well, that was a little harsh. He couldn’t blame the kid for believing the dolphin propaganda. They had a tight grip on the world, man.

The smell of blood prickled his nose. Danny shot up, fully awake. “Damian where ar-”

There the kid was, collapsed against the rocky floor of their makeshift hideout. Beside him, bags and satchels spilled out with food, bandages and weapons?! Guilt rocked up Danny’s body. Did Damian go hunting for food while he was unconscious? The kid’s tiny body was littered in bruises, and raw patches where the scales barely healed over. His sail was bent at an awkward angle too. Where the hell did he go?! Where did he get weapons?

No wait. Danny came closer and sniffed the loot closely. You had to be kidding him. There were Atlanteans nearby?! Part of Danny very much doubted the idea that the Atlanteans, probably the number 2 siren haters in the world aside from his parents, would just hand Damian a gift basket if he asked them to. So he stole from them?

Jazz would call this catasrophising, but she wasn’t around, so Danny felt pretty justified in panicking a little. Like, what was he thinking?! The Atlanteans would’ve skewered him without a second thought.

A small whimper caught his attention. Danny’s mental disaster train screeched to a halt. Damian was shivering, violently. Oh right. It was like, midnight or something in a deep ocean ravine. The kid was probably freezing. And if he wasn’t healing, that meant he was low on nutrients, and even lower on body heat.

Right, needed to care for the kid. Crap. He was planning on staying near the surface for most of the trip. A blanket was big and cumbersome and he didn’t have much storage space on him.

But goddammit if he let the kid freeze to death on his behalf. Resigning himself to a fate of being bitten once Damian woke up, Danny picked up the tiny, fragile guppy, and tucked him underneath his fins. As Danny began to eat his fill, he wondered just what kind of person he was going to be swimming across two oceans with, to be brave enough to go out singularly into the unknown…

Damian awoke to the sound of chewing, and gentle purring. He missed Alfred the cat. Poor kitty. He probably missed Damian too. It’s ok, Damian can make it up to him. He’ll give the little kitty all the pets and grooming he could ask for.

A weight settled on his hair, and- oh… oh that was so good. He didn’t know Alfred could pet him too. Maybe this was one of the good endings to his life, one where he’d spend life as a kitten, without a care in the world. That would be so nice, just being there and safe and warm. The hand stroked and straightened his hair, and it snaked down to where his ears were and scratched them. It was pure heaven. Damian thought that such a place would be forever closed off to him, but maybe the world had decided to be kind…?

“Woah, you’re actually lowkey super adorable like this.” Alfred said. Why did Alfred the cat sound like a pasty-faced teenage boy? He’d always imagined him like the real Alfred: prim, proper, distinguished.

“You sound strange, Alfred.” Damian mumbled. The hand scratched his ear again, and Damian’s purring intensified. “Please return to your proper voice at once.”

“Dude, I have no idea who that is.”

Nonsense. Damian had named his cat after a very distinguished man, and let him know it every time he saw him. How could he not know his own name?

“That is preposterous. You are Alfred the cat, my esteemed pet and loyal member of the family.”

Aflred the cat snorted. He snorted. “Oh my god that is so gold. I’m going to hold this over you literally until you grow old and wrinkly.”

Damian felt… offended. That was so mean! Why would Alfred the cat say such a thing, to him, Damian, his owner and friend! Damian always made sure to treat his pets with the care and respect they deserved, and this is what he got!?

“B-bad kitty. You will be disciplined.”

And Alfred the cat just kept laughing! Alright, the air of relaxation evaporated as Damian started getting annoyed. He opened his eyes, ready to teach his wayward cat some manners when-

The last 24 hours caught up again. Before him was not Alfred the cat, as he had thought, but Phantom completely healthy again, lying on his back, laughing his heart out. Almost literally, too. Damian watched as Phantom’s still beating heart, and water-filled lungs bounced and jiggled inside his chest cavity with each half-choked laugh. It was mesmerizing, and kind of nauseating.

Suddenly Damian couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, just an overwhelming feeling of relief.

“Phantom!” He cried out, voice almost cracking. Phantom tackled him into a hug, and Damian only put up a token resistance. It just felt so… right. “You are… You have recovered from your injuries.”

“It’s Danny, actually.” Phantom, er- Danny, said, voice soft, quiet. Almost vulnerable… “Danny Phantom. Most people just know the Phantom part.”

Danny… Daniel…. “I was foolish. I should not have ignored your warnings. Forgive me, Daniel.”

“Hey now, don’t you start picking up the Fruitloop’s habits. It’s never Daniel. Just Danny. Daniel’s a randomass human name, but Danny’s mine.”

“It does not change the fact that it sounds like a nickname. I… I do not do nicknames.” Damian said. Normally he paraded this fact as a matter of pride. With Richard, Drake, even Kent. Now, with Daniel encompassing his body in warmth, he felt strangely small.

“And I don’t do self-deprecation. So what about a deal? I’ll forgive you, if you promise to call me Danny.” The older boy said, voice leaving no room for argument. And yet, the playful tone underneath it gave Damian something akin to comfort. The way Richard did in the early days, despite Damian’s barbs and open threats.

“Very well, D-Danny.” Damian forced out. The name felt alien on his tongue. “This is a privilege few can boast to.”

Daniel- no, Danny, chuckled again. “You sound like a kid saying a swear for the first time and they’re really scared of being caught.”

“I am not a child.” He was never allowed to be.

“You are crazy though. And reckless. And that’s coming from me!”

Ah, so Danny figured it out. “You noticed the smell of Atlantean.”

“What were you thinking? They hate sirens. With a capital H.”

“I will not apologise for my actions in there. You needed food. It was my own poor judgement that got you injured, so it was my responsibility to rectify that.”

Danny was quiet for a moment. “I’m really trying to channel that ‘angry because I’m worried about you’ energy that my sister does, but you’re making it really difficult. Now I just feel bad.”

“They posed no threat to me. It was an easy operation.” Damian said. Danny sighed again.

“What am I gonna do with you? Outside of taking you home, that is.”

“For one, you could unhand me.” Damian’s words were hollow, even to him.

“And let you freeze to death? No chance. Now come on. The sun’s about to rise, and you need your breakfast.”

“Have you eaten enough yourself?” It would not do to let this foolish teenager hurt himself for Damian’s sake again.

“Dude, I’m like triple your size and age right now. It’s my job to be worrying over you.” Damian harrumphed.

It felt nice to be cared for again.

LINE BREAK BABY

Bruce hung up the phone. Dick was about ready to riot, and the others were on a wire-thin line too. It was one of the most exhausting calls he’d done in his life, but it had to be done. He wasn’t going to leave his family in the dark, not after Jason.

It wasn’t just he who had potentially lost a son, however. In his hours of maddened searching, he’d glossed over the fact that the son of local siren hunters, the Drs Fenton, had also gone missing. Tim was already on the case, sifting through thousands of hours of CCTV footage to analyse the kid’s behaviour of the course of the last six weeks. Two unrelated boys going missing at the same time. And one boy had been displaying suspicious behaviour for months before hand. Something was up.

And so Bruce straightened his tie. He refused to wear any form of black. Not now, not yet, while there was still hope to be clung to. His trip to Fentonworks was in part to share condolences, and in part to investigate. Wherever Damian was, the clues lay somewhere surrounding Daniel Fenton.

He just hoped Damian had to be ok. If this hope died, Bruce felt like he might die with it.

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freesia-writes · 1 year

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OMFG!!! Congrats on the 500 sweetface!!! That's gotta feel amazing <3

For the prompt, could I possibly have #10 with Fives?

hehehe thanks so much friend! Heeeere you go! Also... these are getting LONGER... I'm concerned that by the time I get to #13 they're gonna be like 10k words, LOL. That being said, hopefully this is a delight! I never realized how nerve-wracking it could be to try to write for someone; you want it to be everything they ever dreamed of but you're a totally separate brain, with only one line to go off of! LOL. And it's so hard to end these! I want to write a whole novel off of each one. ;)

“You shouldn't be with him. You should be… with me." - Fives Word Count: 3.7k Content Warnings: None really Fives x GN!Reader with a boyfriend ;)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was arrival day, and you were already dreading the agenda that lay ahead of you. Two separate squads and their Venator-class cruisers were scheduled for a quick turnover, requiring immediate service, detailed repairs, and thorough inspection before being ready to go as quickly as possible. Somehow it felt as though it had been happening more often lately, and you were starting to wonder how many of these damn cruisers there were. Your team was starting to chafe against the longer hours and constant pressure, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel -- a few days off, provided there were no unscheduled arrivals that would throw the whole thing out the window.

The first cruiser docked with a whoosh, and the debarkation routine began. The previously-empty platform was suddenly swarming with mechanics, droids, shuttles, officers, and troopers, each headed in their own direction. Your boyfriend jostled your shoulder playfully as your crew headed for the ion engines, walking ahead of you to catch up with some other friends. You offered a feeble smile but weren’t quite sure what he was aiming for. Sometimes he treated you more like a “bro” than his girlfriend, except when he wanted… well… you know. But he had been kind and fun, taking you out to dinner and buying you things often, and while you could suggest quite a few ways you’d like to see things change, you didn’t want to be nit-picky.

You cleared the thoughts from your head as you saw a herd of troopers exiting the ship, a blur of white and blue indicating that it was none other than the 501st. Your face curled into an inexplicable mix of a grimace and a grin, scanning the familiar helmets out of habit. There it was… the tiniest flash of red, in a downward triangle right in the middle… And just like that, it took you back to that night, memories flashing across your mind to the rhythm of your footsteps as you continued distractedly toward the work that lay ahead.

Flashing lights, neon signs. Raucous voices, cheers, laughs. Good conversation, suggestive whispers, the effervescent warmth of liquor in your veins that fueled the anticipation of potential adventure and meaningless fun. The dark hair clenched between your fingers, the heavy breathing, the throes of passion and the gentle, intimate caresses afterward. That simple tattoo, a small 5, that you’d touched and kissed and fallen asleep against…

“Watch it!” A sharp voice broke you out of the replay, and you stumbled sideways as a couple of grumpy pilots made their way past. You could hear laughter up ahead, as your boyfriend and two others watched your distracted mishap. Flipping an obscene gesture their way, you pulled your bag higher up on your shoulder and hurried to catch up. Today was not the day to be daydreaming and dawdling.

What you didn’t see was the lone straggler behind the group of clones, now free of their helmets, exchanging quips and laughs as they headed toward their day of freedom. He shifted on his feet, holding his helmet at his hip, watching you scuttle toward the ship. His brow furrowed, a litany of expressions decorating his face, and he slowly turned to join his brothers, tearing his eyes from you and leaving them on the ground as he made his way to rest and refreshment.

The engines were a hot mess, requiring more than a few trips back to the supply station for some of the most abstract parts you’d ever heard of. What they were doing on this starship, you didn’t know, but they were definitely putting you through your paces when it came to maintaining it. You brushed the hair from your face, christening your forehead with grease, and smacked the maintenance panel shut with a huff. You were already late for lunch, and had skipped breakfast, and therefore were in an absolutely horrible mood.

The mess hall was fairly empty, most having finished their meals and cleared out by now. Your boyfriend had waited for you, surprisingly, chatting with some crewmates and beckoning you over when he caught sight of you with your tray. You slid onto the bench next to him, accepting his sloppy kiss and side hug as he finished the story he was telling, and promptly began stuffing your face with the most unexciting ration bar you’d ever touched. Most of the exciting stuff in the food line had been gone already by the time you went through, including the apples, which were one of your favorite things, even though they seemed plain.

“Whoa, easy girl, they’re not gonna run out of food!” came his playful taunt, and you elbowed him in the ribs in response. You’d initially loved the witty banter between the two of you, but sometimes the jabs had an edge, or didn’t quite land, and you were beginning to tire of it. Your complaints had been brushed off as being “overly-sensitive” or “not being able to take a joke”, so you let it slide, but you didn’t appreciate it quite so much anymore.

As the group of you headed back to the ship for hours of maintenance and inspection, a figure caught your eye on the side of the platform. A clone trooper, still in armor, was heading back toward the ship, scanning the herds of people bustling about their duties. You squinted, drawing closer, wondering why any of them would choose to be here when they had such little time off. Perhaps he’d forgotten something. But as you both approached the maintenance hatch, you saw the helmet clearly.

“Fives?” you asked, feeling awkward and excited at the same time. After your [pretty darn awesome] little fling together, you had both enjoyed some conversations here and there, but it had been clear that there wasn’t really any future there… He was constantly being toted around the galaxy, and you… well, you were stuck here. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about it since, though… What it would be like if your lots in life were different. It had been a one-night stand, yes, but there had been substance in your discussion, intriguing glimmers of personality, and a depth, kindness, and intelligence that had really left an impression on you. “What are you doing here?” you continued, watching him turn toward you quickly at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hi. I… I thought I left something on the ship,” he began, pulling his helmet off to reveal those rich brown eyes and sharp features. You began to form a question as to why it would be in the maintenance sector, but he continued quickly, “But while you’re here…” The couple of crew members with you, including your boyfriend, were lingering in the doorway as well, watching the interaction. “They’re doing a crew appreciation thing at 79s tonight, and I just didn’t know if you… all… knew about it. Free snacks and cheap drinks for mechanics and whatnot…”

“That’s awesome,” you said warmly, catching his eye with your soft smile. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Yeah! You… all… deserve it, with all your hard work. Anyway… Maybe we’ll see you there,” he said, eyes roving across the group before he retreated into the expressionless safety of his helmet. He gave you one last nod before turning to head out. You snuck a glance over your shoulder as your team climbed onto the ship, noticing his fist clenching and unclenching at his side as he walked.

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” your boyfriend muttered as you exited the taxi in front of 79s.

“Hey. I never get to choose what we do. You said you’d be a good sport. Plus -- free food!” you said enticingly, feeling disproportionately enthused as the neon lights and bumping bass met your senses.

“I know, but a clone bar? I don’t know… isn’t that kind of weird?” he whined, taking your hand begrudgingly as the two of you made your way in the door.

“Why would it be weird?” you said, voice getting louder so he could hear you over the music. But you never heard his reply as the raucous noise of the bar took over.

* * *

“Okay, ‘free snacks’ may have been a bit of an overstatement,” you chuckled, a few drinks and three bags of salty crackers later. The two of you had come to an uneasy truce, settling to play cards and watch the various interactions going on around you. There had been a few arguments, some decent arm wrestling matches, and a general spirit of joviality that was infectious. Well, to you, at least. The music shifted to something right up your alley, and you rose to your feet, holding a hand out. Your boyfriend took it, with the tiniest of eye rolls, and followed you downstairs to the dance floor, making a quick swerve last minute to order two shots at the bar. You laughed, reaching a hand out, but he gulped one down, and then the other, to your shock and slight disappointment.

“Alright, now I’m ready!” he said, grabbing your hand and dragging you back toward the dancers. It was an improvement to his mood, at least, though you’d be talking about the rudeness of the act later, for sure. The dance floor was particularly full tonight; a number of ships had reported back to Coruscant at once, making for a diverse and colorful crowd. That familiar warm, tingly feeling was flowing through your veins and you smiled, letting the music fill your mind and flow through your body.

* * *

“Yoo hoo!” came the taunting call as Jesse waved his hand in front of Fives’ face. “Did you seriously just drift off mid-sentence? Man, that clanker must have hit your head harder than we thought, eh Kix?”

“That brain was damaged long before that,” Kix answered, running a hand over his closely-shaved hair and intricate skull tattoos. Jesse’s laughter was joined by Hardcase and Echo, who were reclining in the large booth with the rest of their brothers.

“Sorry -- got distracted,” Fives muttered, shaking his head and looking back to his squad. The conversation continued, with quips and jabs, as well as heroic tales that expanded each time they were told, but he couldn’t stop glancing off to the side. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of you on the dance floor, appearing between the bodies all around you and then disappearing again into the crowd. There was a funny clenching feeling in his chest, as he remembered the scent of your hair, the darkness of your eyes, and the little gasp that had accompanied the way you moaned his name… Suddenly there was a funny feeling under his codpiece as well, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on whatever joke Hardcase was completely botching at the moment.

The dance floor cleared a little bit, giving him an unobstructed view of you, though he wasn’t sure if it were an improvement or not. Your boyfriend had decided that now was as good a time as any to try to grind on your backside like an adolescent horn dog, and you kept trying to shift to a more natural and fun way of dancing together but he was persistent. And getting a bit gropey. Finally, you gave up, and Fives watched as you left the dance floor, stalking to the refresher in a huff. The boyfriend slumped over to the other end of the bar, toppling onto a stool and waving to the bartender.

“Be right back,” Fives said, scooting out the side of the booth. “Refresher,” he muttered in response to the questioning glances, and was quickly forgotten as he edged down the packed hallway. He lurked awkwardly outside the doors for a few minutes, wishing he’d come up with a better plan, when you finally reappeared, sending a little jolt of energy down his spine.

“You made it!” he said with a clearly forced brightness, startling you out of your rumination.

“Yeah,” you answered, any joy at seeing him dulled by the disappointment of how it was all going.

“You alright?” he asked, tilting his head with apparent concern on his face. The way the hair on his chin accentuated the expression was adorable, and his interest lifted your spirits a little.

“Sorry, yeah,” you answered, getting jostled to the side of the hallway as a group went past. “Long day at work, regular life troubles, you know. Nothing crazy like the stuff you have to face.”

“Hm. From what I hear, getting shot at might be preferable to that sometimes,” Fives muttered, arching an eyebrow with a little sparkle in his eye. That got a genuine laugh out of you, which changed the whole mood of the interaction immediately.

“What is TAKING you so long?” came a belligerent voice, as “boyfriend” came staggering up behind Fives. “This guy bothering you?” he asked, jabbing a thumb at Fives, who wrinkled his nose in disdain at the pathetic creature next to him.

“No, we were just chatting,” you said quickly, noting the edge of the voice and the clumsy movements. He clearly didn’t recognize Fives, despite him having been the one to invite you here, a detail that was not lost on the clone, who gave you a look that couldn’t have been more plain -- really?

“Alright, well let’s go,” said the boyfriend, who wasn’t worth even giving a name, and he reached for your hand, giving it a sharp tug, which pulled you right across Fives, who found a sudden urge to grab you right back and tell this little womp rat to scurry off into a hole somewhere. You paused for a moment, turning back to face Fives, whose intense gaze made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks for thinking of us,” you said, giving one last smile before being whisked toward the door.

* * *

The next day was not going well. You hadn’t slept much at all, tossing and turning with all kinds of thoughts and considerations that kept you from any sort of real rest. The boyfriend seemed to be in a crappy state as well, rubbing his head and squinting at the bright light as he worked next to you. There was a distinct tension building between the two of you, and you knew it was going to come to a head. It would be good, because there were things that needed to be said and addressed and changed and dealt with, but you weren’t one to look forward to conflict. Neither was he, so the two of you puttered about your mechanical duties until it was about lunchtime, when you set your wrench down with the intention of getting to the mess hall on time for once.

Alas, fate was not on your side. The walk between the shipyard and the cafeteria was just enough time to get into a huge fight with your boyfriend about last night, which ballooned to include topics like drinking, respect, joking, autonomy, and all sorts of other things. It was a hot mess, and while you tried to keep it civil, you were both tired, frustrated, and clearly triggered. By the time you got to the mess hall, it had reached the breaking point, and you turned to flee for solitude, tears streaming down your face, as he yelled criticisms after you, much to the surprise of quite a few onlookers.

You found a supply closet, smashing your hand on the keypad so the door would whoosh closed behind you, silently cursing the fact that you couldn’t slam it. You threw an arm up against the wall, resting your forehead against it and burying your face in the cool grey metal, surrounded by shelves and the whirring fans of the ventilation ducts above your head. You wanted to cry, but now you couldn’t, which somehow made you feel even worse. There were so many emotions, it was impossible to sort them out. You were frustrated with the situation, angry at yourself for tolerating so much, confused why there couldn’t be a middle ground, and despair at the aching pain of yet another failed relationship. Or had it failed? You felt sick to your stomach at the thought that, knowing you, it might just get patched up and continued, with hopes that this time it would be different. Were you really so stupid?

The door slid open, and you flattened against the wall, hoping that whoever it was would find their supplies and leave without even noticing you were there. But when it closed, and no footsteps were heard, you shifted slightly to peek over your shoulder to see if anyone had come in at all. To your surprise, a fully-armored clone stood just inside the door, ducking his head to peer through the many shelves that lined the walls, making the rather large closet feel incredibly small and claustrophobic.

“Fives?” you said in disbelief, leaning out from the shelves you’d crammed yourself between.

He let a single curse word fly as he jumped to the side, knocking over a stand full of brooms and mops, sending them all clattering to the ground as he frantically tried to regain his footing. You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling as though you’d already emptied yourself of all the crying and anger and pain. He stood tall, righting his crooked helmet, and cleared his throat, staring at you from within the helmet.

“You scared the kriff out of me,” he said, modulated voice still sounding a bit shaky.

“Sorry?” you answered, having no idea how to go about this conversation with all that had transpired. “Why are you coming in a supply closet?”

“I heard you…” he said quietly, pulling his helmet off now and setting it on a shelf nearby. “I wanted to see if… if everything was alright.” His face was earnest, but there was a nervousness to his gaze and stance.

“Ugh,” came your ashamed response at the spectacle you’d provided in the halls. “It’s fine. Or it will be. I don’t know. This isn’t really how I usually am…” Why were you explaining yourself to him? Perhaps it was because he was the first person to seem to truly listen to you and care about you in a while. Perhaps you felt a need to justify yourself. Or perhaps you were still just reeling from it all.

“And how are you, usually?” he asked, taking a step closer and leaning against the shelf next to you. “You seemed quite a bit more lighthearted when we…” he drifted off, grasping his hands together.

“It’s just been a long week,” you offered, shrugging it off.

“Are you happy?” he said suddenly, with a confidence that came out of nowhere. His chin lifted slightly as he regarded you. “I know we didn’t know each other very long, but in what time we did have together, it was clear that you are incredibly intelligent, witty, and fun. In more ways than one,” he added, hoping the insinuation would bring some levity. It did bring a tiny smirk to your face, as you wiped some leftover tears from one eye, thinking about the slightly adventurous escapade you’d enjoyed. But it was quickly overwhelmed by confusion at his words.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “Why does it matter to you?”

“I… I didn’t just forget about you, you know,” he said, swallowing and pausing for a moment. “I figured you weren’t interested in anything else, and I was shipped off…”

“And now you’re back to judge my choices?” you snapped, shocked at your own vehemence. Clearly, you’d been on your last straw… about six straws ago… He straightened in surprise, holding up his hands in surrender.

“No! I just…” he stopped again, lowering his hands slowly and taking a deep breath before speaking in a quiet, solid voice.

“You shouldn’t be with him. You should be… with me.”

His amber eyes were locked on yours, simultaneously intense and kind, confident and vulnerable. You were reeling at his words, mouth slightly open. You were sorry for your sharpness, sorry for your assumptions… And sorry for your choices as well. The way he put himself out there had a wildly disarming effect on you, and your shoulders slumped in defeat. How could he say something like that when you were clearly a mess?

He closed the space between you, slowly approaching with tentative caution, and lifted a hand to your face. His hands were rough yet gentle as he cupped your cheek, eyes growing larger as he took a shaky breath in. “I’m sorry, I’m not here to tell you what to do. I’ll respect your choices, always. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you, and seeing you here… seeing the way he treats you… I just… I had to say something.”

You searched for the right words to say, but could find none, instead closing your eyes and nestling into his warm hand. A single tear squeezed out and rolled down your cheek, falling to your shoulder in silence. He continued, voice softer now, “I know I don’t have anything to offer you… no stability, no future, nothing. But you deserve better than… that… at least… And I’d like to do my best… while I can.”

You lifted your hand to his, pressing into it as though you could communicate your overwhelming emotions through a single touch. A small smile curved the corner of your lips, and you felt a sudden freedom at the prospect stretching out before you. Opening your eyes, you felt as though your chest would explode as you saw his face, so close to yours, so earnest in his affection and admittance, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. Reaching your arms around his neck, you pulled him in, bringing your lips to his in a desperate, grateful, hopeful kiss. His sharp inhale was quickly followed by the warmth of his embrace as he wrapped you in his arms, pressing you against the shelf behind. When you finally came up for air, you leaned your forehead against his, a thousand questions held back by the simple savoring of the moment.

“Fives,” you whispered, and his heart leapt at the way you said his name, “I’m a mess.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he leaned in again, lips brushing yours as he answered, “Well I’d love it if you’d be my mess.”

#star wars the clone wars #arc trooper fives #tcw fives #fives #clone trooper fives #fives x you #fives x reader #fives fanfic #fives fanfiction #fives lives #tcw fanfic #clone fanfiction #clone fanfic #clone fanfics #clone x reader #clone x you

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aki-shun · 1 year

Text

«Once and for all»

First of all, my native language is not English and if I make a mistake, please let me know. No Male Reader as there will be no NSFW in this article. Only my NSFW articles are for Male Reader. Other articles are for GN Reader. If you want a non-NSFW Male Reader, specify in your request. 10k words ^^;

for;@fuzzybonefluffy I hope you like it. It was bad but I tried. If you want more I will write ^^

WARNING: kissing, abduction, imprisonment, dark content, yandere, tear licking, Dead Dove:Not Eat???

You were walking down the hall with the club card Crowley had given you. Now that you're a student at NRC, you had to join a club. Grim had joined the Spelldrive Club, but you didn't want to join it. You didn't have magic and you couldn't use that swirling plug-like thing. Fortunately, Crowley let you join another club. Otherwise, if you'd stayed there, you'd just have to do the errands and errands and gosh you don't want that. You look at the list in your hand. On the list were all the clubs that existed in the School and how many they were. As you looked through the list, you noticed something..

Gargoyle Studies Club = 1 person.

1 person? Isn't that a little bit few? Why only 1 person? These questions piled up in your mind and you looked at which class this club was in and headed there. You were looking at other clubs on the way there. No magic required.

You finally arrived at the door of the classroom and knocked on the door. It was quiet for a while. Maybe that 1 person didn't come to the club, who comes to the club where he is the only person?

You can come.

Voice came. You didn't expect this. You slowly opened the door and stuck your head in first. You glanced around the classroom and saw the figure standing next to a large boulder(?) and facing your side. You entered the classroom and moved towards its direction and noticed it as you got closer. This guy had horns?! And how tall is this guy?! It's at least 2 meters tall! He was looking at you with calm and cold eyes, but not that cold. With some soft lakes, but the aura it emitted made it hard to spot. You swallowed and the words came out of your mouth in an instant.

I-ı want to join your club.

Actually, you didn't mean to say that, you didn't know what to say when that person was looking at you with such a strange and somewhat reactionary expression. As soon as you said that, his eyes widened and he was visibly surprised. It was quiet for a few seconds, maybe minutes. But the expression looking at you hasn't changed. You're starting to feel nervous—you've been nervous all along, it's only increasing. You couldn't take this pressure any longer and spoke up.

Can I join?

He seemed to come to himself when you said that, and suddenly he said

Of course.

And this is how you met.. A few days later, you started meeting at night. We'll talk about Gargoyles at first, but as time went on things turned into more friendly ones. As your intimacy grows to him, how you are from another world, your adventures with the Aduece couple and Grim, Azul's seizure of your dorm and inviting him to VDC. That last one was what cut off the strings.

After VDC, the way his looked at you had changed. Darker and more wishful. The words he used had changed, making him more attractive. Whenever you looked at him, he had a really handsome and beautiful face. His skin was pale and smooth—you had not yet had any sensual contact with him, visibly. Their hair was silky and they floated effortlessly in the wind. He was perfect in every way, HE'S FLAWLESS.

And it blinded you.

A few more nights and now he was flirting with you and all kinds of phrases everywhere with no secrecy.

Something wasn't right, but you were under his spell. Every look he makes towards you, that look that looks right into your eyes, right into your soul. You've never experienced anything like this in your life, nor what to do. From the moment you started that club, there was always some distance and coldness. Maybe it wasn't, but you didn't understand it because of the aura he was emitting. But as time went on, you saw his softer side. His smile, his little laughter, that soft sincere look he looks at you, the occasional compliments he gives you… It couldn't be that bad. He was good and kind, only the rank he was in would be a future king and rule a country and he was also a dormleader, which of course shouldn't be like that with everyone. That's why he was so cold to you at first. He's not like that.

You responded to his flirtations. You let him look at you however he wanted, talk to you however he wanted, let him touch you however he wanted. You let him do whatever he wanted to you. Those around you warned. You didn't listen. They do not know. They don't know that soft side of him. You know. They don't know his heartwarming laugh. You know. They don't know the beautiful smile that adorns his face. You know. They don't know how lonely he is. You know. They don't know how kind hearted he is. You know. They don't know the other side of it. You know.

You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. You Know. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW.

He just showed you. Not to others. Just you. His lover.

What a absurdity!

Crowley said he was close to finding your way home and that you might be back in your world perhaps in a few weeks.

What would you say to him? He will be alone again. You cannot leave him. You love him! RIGHT!Right?R-right..

right...?

You… you thought you liked him. Of course you like him, but is this love? If he wants something, you do it. If he speaks, you listen. You joke, sometimes you eat together, you go out and do activities together. Just like everyone else does, just like every friend does. Friend. Friend?

Come to think of it, did you really feel anything while he was holding your hand? Or kissing you? When he refers to you as '[nickname(love, darling, my thorn, my King/Queen or what you want)]'? Did you really feel anything? To be influenced. But this is not love?! Just a strange interest, a strange acceptance. Not love.

This everything but not love.

NOT LOVE.

This is not LOVE.

You are here again. Where you first met him. You are both silent. You looked at him to talk to him and he was already looking at you. This scared you a little, even though he was looking at you with that innocent smile. That didn't stop you from being uncomfortable. You began to compose yourself and swallowed slowly but silently that he could hear you.

Malleus, I need to tell you something.

You didn't call him by the nickname you gave him. This faded his expression a little.

Yes [nickneme], what its it?

His voice was a little hard.

I.. I want to break up..

You don't look at him when he says this, but you can feel the air suddenly condense and put pressure on you.

Tell again..!

His voice was not the same as before, authoritative and harsh.

I don't think we for each other.

...

Silence. There was only silence. Fortunately he broke the silence. Or if it didn't break at all.

Did your other stupid mortal friends put that thought into your head?

NO!

You looked up into his face in denial, and God I wish you hadn't. His eyes were dark. Outside it was covered with dark clouds resembling rain clouds and there was not much light inside the room. Green lightning bolts began to flash, making him look darker because the window was behind him, but… His eyes were a brighter green than even lightning. Fear took over your entire body. A voice was screaming for you to escape, but the thunder was so loud that it was inaudible.

Malleus. Please don't get me wrong, but I guess my feelings aren't quite like yours. I mean, I don't see you as more than a friend.

*CRAK* A lightning strikes the window.

Your fear grows. You start to back away with shaky steps, but it comes closer to you with bigger steps. When you see this, you run towards the door with your fastest run, but before you can catch the doorknob, he grabs the doorknob. His body was right behind you and he was holding the doorknob with his left hand, while he rested his right hand on the door. He had you trapped. You started to tremble. He brought his face close to your left ear. His breath touched your ears and neck. He pulled his right hand out of the door and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you towards him. His grip was hard, and as far as you could tell by the grip, you couldn't get rid of it. You had nowhere to move.

I don't know why, but your feelings for me have atrophied a bit. If I didn't give you enough attention and love, you could only say that. Then these stupid thoughts wouldn't have entered your head.

No. I -

I guess I should revive the fading love you must have for me.

Green flames began to emerge from his hand on your waist. After that, it's dark.

When you wake up, you're in a familiar room, but you don't want to wake up. His room. You looked around and it was not in sight. I think you woke up earlier than he anticipated. You wanted to head for the door, but the door wasn't where it should have been. You looked all over the room, there was a thick railing of bikenes in the crevices, but there was no door. You felt the walls, but there was no sign of the door. Or was this not his room?!

There is no door anymore, don't search in vain.

You heard his voice behind you. It's like the last one you heard, but it sounded like he was having some fun. You turned towards him and you were right. He had a mocking grin on his face. He started to approach you, you wanted to get away, but you couldn't move because of the wall behind you. He put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin, making you look at him. The expression on his face hadn't changed, on the contrary, it had grown even more.

[nickname]. You may underestimate us fairies, but we don't have feelings for everyone like you humans. We carefully choose the lovers we will spend centuries with for our long life. You are the right person for me. You are the person who should be with me. I'm the person who should be with you. Not someone else. Only you and me. We are for each other.

You don't know what to say to these words. Your mouth was as dry as your mind and just like your soul from the words. You noticed when he got here. He didn't need the door to get into the his room. You needed it to get out. Even if you didn't notice, your eyes were filled with tears and you started to cry. He smiled, maybe even chuckled a little, but you just barely noticed. He licked your tears and kissed your eyes. Then a soft kiss on your lips. Ahh how soft they were. You loved kissing them just because they were. Not because you love Malleus. Because they are soft and gentle. You would think this was true. But it wasn't..

He slowly moved towards your neck and said in a tone you'd never want to hear again.

Let's rekindle our love that will last more than 1000 years~

I've been writing for 5 hours ಥ◡ಥ

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mantis-dea · 8 months

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When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unexpected Events - Chapter 1 - The Encounter

As a general rule in a large city, you should MYOB - Mind Your Own Business. Of course, who would've thought calling a man an ambulance and giving him your umbrella would leave to something called Stands. Definitely not you.

My first Tumblr post! My blog will be fanfics, mostly JoJo's Bizarre Adventure and maybe Overwatch. Not sure if I will take requests yet.

For this story, I don't know how fast chapters will be coming out, nor do I know how many chapters it will have. I do want to say that, so far, this story in progress has over 10k words.

It's my first fanfic I'll be publishing, and a lot of it is just me going with the flow. I'll let you know if previous chapters have changed and what changed. Feedback is welcomed!

As you stand inside the old brick building, you watch pellets of water race down the glass windows, creating a blurry kaleidoscope of colors. You hear a distant low rumble of thunder, a reminder of the powerful storm raging outside. It’s been three days since you last caught a glimpse of the moon, hidden behind the thick veil of clouds that have been crying down on the city. This relentless downpour had transformed the streets into shallow rivers, and it seemed like the storm had no intention of relenting.

But you were grateful for the shelter of the building. It's a familiar haven from the relentless rain—a place where you've found solace amid the chaos of Lapalton's changing seasons. You decide not to think too much about the storm and to enjoy the soothing sound of the rain tapping against the windows. It's a comforting backdrop to the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses that fill the bar tonight.

“Why?” The drunkard’s wording slurred, “Why? Why did she leave me?”

You continue to clean a wine glass with a towel, your focus on your task. Such outbursts are common among the last-call patrons, and you’ve learned not to take it personally. But when he places a crinkled hand on top of yours and starts rubbing, you feel a surge of discomfort. You try to pull away, but he tightens his grip.

“Sir, please let go,” you say calmly, unsure if he’ll even pay heed to your comment.

Instead, he starts mumbling about how he can’t find someone like you who’s good at “care.” You raise an eyebrow at his words, having not a clue on what he’s even muttering about.

When he finally notices the deafening silence, he releases your hand and stands up. “You’re too fat for my taste anyways,” he mutters, stumbling towards the door, leaving no tip.

No. Tip.

Bartending for the rich is great, they said. It pays well, they said. High end bar, my ass. I’m barely pulling $10 a night in tips.

Several months back, you used to work at a small hotel. Checking people in, reserving rooms, and even sometimes cleaning the questionably wet bed sheets. There, you overheard your coworkers gossiping about Maria, a coworker who quit her job and became a high-class bartender, making six figures. The words “six figures” were all you needed to hear. You quit all your jobs without two weeks’ notice once you surprisingly got a job at SPW, a high-end bar in one of the biggest cities in America.

That hype immediately faded on day three.

Sure, your salary did increase, but it surely was not the six figures you were promised. You know what did increase? Your hatred for the wealthy. They constantly brag about being rich, but they can’t spare you a few dollars? The rare time you do get tipped fairly is if they bring a party with them; they only tip as a power move to show just how wealthy and considerate they are to their group.

After cleaning up the bar, you grab your things, open your umbrella, and lock the doors. Unfortunately for you, buses run less frequently past midnight, and it is currently two-thirty in the morning. So, your options are to either take the thirty-two-minute walk or wait an hour at the bus stop that is about two blocks away where drug addicts hang out.

You trudge through the pouring rain.

Walking home in this fucking sucks.

You do love rain, just not when you have to walk through it at two-thirty in the morning after a twelve-hour shift.

Surprisingly, you reach your block five minutes faster than usual. The motivation to make it home made you walk faster. All you wanted to do was sleep.

In the distance, you spot a familiar sight – an unconscious man leaning against the aged brick walls, slumping over. You live on the less fortunate side of the city, near the slums. The disoriented drug addicts, wandering drunkards, and the frequent thievery and robberies make this area one of the worse areas to live, but the inexpensive rent of a decently size apartment is a major selling point for you. Luckily, all the crazies you’ve encountered so far have been relatively harmless. Still, you’re always on edge whenever you pass one.

If people were amidst a drug exchange or passed out drunk, you’d wait it out; unless they overdosed, they typically don’t stay for more than half an hour. However, tonight, you don’t care. You don’t feel like waiting for this one to get up and go. The weather is abhorred, and you’re drenched, cold, dirty, and exhausted. A steaming hot shower and a good night’s rest sounds like heaven right about now.

You proceed with caution and approach. You were planning to just ignore him. However, your bafflement got the best of you. You halt and squat down to stare at the young man before you. Despite the alleyway being dimly lit, the man’s golden, disheveled hair shines like a polished gold bar. He looks around to be your age – early 20s. His expensive-looking black suit and pants consist of many cuts and scuffs; it seems as though he got into a fight with someone.

You lean forward and take a whiff.

“Well, he’s not drunk.”

You put a hand to his nose; you feel a light puff of air. Then, you pull up both his tattered sleeves. No track marks. No injuries.

Your eyebrows furrow. This man is mysterious and sketchy. Mysterious because he’s hot and looks innocent. Sketchy because he’s in a not-so-good area in this awful weather, unconscious of all things. He looks like he got into a fight, but he’s completely uninjured.

I bet he’s part of an Italian mafia. Like that movie, Godfather.

You shot up and stumble back when you hear a small grumble from him. You stay deathly still for a minute, readying to bounce if need be. However, the man eyes never opened.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You feel terrible as he sits knocked out in a dirty alleyway in the rain. You truly do want to help him. However, you don’t know him. You don’t know who’s after him. Why he ended up here in the first place. It’s too dangerous to assume he’s a good person. Still, you did not want to leave him like this. You place an umbrella over the man and call for an ambulance before heading in the direction of your apartment.

Your apartment complex is unique – there is no main indoor lobby where you could chat with the landlord and take an elevator up to your floor. No, instead, you must walk up a flight of questionably rusty metal stairs to get to the door of your apartment. Fortunately, you are only on the 3rd floor and not the 13th floor.

You unlock the door to your apartment. The exterior would fool anyone into believing that the old building is rack and ruined. It may or may not potentially fail a building inspection, but the apartments - well at least yours - are very clean. The complex is a bit expensive for the area, but much cheaper compared to the inner city, meaning there are more people like you and less addicts living within the flats. Though, the smell of weed does pass by from time to time.

When you step into your apartment, a familiar, rubber, black mat greets you. You bend down to untie your dress shoes and place them neatly in the small compartment beside you. Your studio apartment is spacious. Hidden in some parts of your white walling are large storage compartments. You had a white sliding door that disconnects and reconnects the kitchen area from the rest of the living room. A black metal staircase to the left leads you to your bed. Very spacious indeed, but dark. Your only window is the one next to the entry door; though, at least it’s a large window. Another feature located to the left of your door is the bathroom that harbors a washer and dryer.

Turning the handle of your bathroom door, you hear the familiar click as it opens. You reach for the shower handle and, after a few moments of finicking, water streams down from the showerhead. As you shed your clothes and step into the shower, the hot water soothes your tired body, and a contented sigh escapes your lips. Thoughts of your job as a bartender, with its challenges posed by wealthy patrons, linger in your mind. Being a bartender has its moments of fun, but it's also filled with frustrations, and you can't help but think about the high turnover rate in your line of work. People can be demanding, and the pay is barely above the minimum yearly salary.

You dry yourself off, slip on a pair of warm pajamas, and head to bed. Usually, you would sit down and do at least an hour of assignments for your classes, but you are not in the mood today.

Your eyes flutter open. Stifling a groan, you sit up and pull out your flip phone from under your pillow.

9:42 a.m.

March 11th, 2008.

Normally, you’d sleep for a few more hours. However, your kitchen is starving; you have not gone grocery shopping for the past two weeks because you’ve been so caught up with work. Your boss proposed higher pay if you willingly worked from opening to closing this entire week. Of course, you outright rejected. Then, he countered with time-and-a-half. There was no hesitation when you told him, “Bet.”

Even with your 5’2” stature, the loft area of your apartment is too petite for a proper stretch. You slowly climb down your ladder to prepare for the day ahead.

After eating an instant mac-and-cheese microwave bowl, you put on your shoes, and head out. As you walk down the metal staircase, you notice the absence of the young man from last night. A pang of guilt courses through you as you think of the condition you left him in. You’re hopeful an ambulance came to give him the care he needs.

As you tread by where the young man was, you suddenly catch sight of something. Something that smitten you instantly. Amidst the dark, dank alley, something in the distance shines with an otherworldly brilliance, beckoning you closer. There is no resistance; you mindlessly walk towards the light, until you’re standing right in front it. Your head tilts. It’s still unclear as to what it is; the intense shine blocks the view. You reach out towards the light.

A sudden, searing pain has you screeching at the top of your lungs. You’re quick to clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams of agony. Your body suddenly felt heavy, and you began to sweat excessively. The world seems to be spinning around you at a rapid pace. Something is not right, you thought, just as your legs buckle. You crumble to the ground.

#giorno x reader #giorno x y/n #jojo x reader #jojo x y/n #golden wind x reader #jjba x reader #giorno giovanna x reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

The Silver Dragon (41/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 8030

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: On the first day they have spent apart since they were wed, Aemond and Arianwyn fly far away from each other on missions for the new King.

Warnings: none, unless you count frat-boy-esque characters

Author's Note:

I'm back! And I'm so, SO sorry for the wait!!! Those few days I warned y'all about kind of turned into an impromptu hiatus! But, I hope that the veritable FEAST I'm about to give y'all will make up for it.

The story of what Aria and Aemond get up to on their respective missions was originally going to be just two, regular sized chapters (one for Aria, one of Aemond). But… it kinda turned into a monster as I was writing.

So, instead of two single-POV chapters, y'all are getting a three-parter! Both Aria and Aemond have roughly equal time in each, so you won't have to go without either of them. Today, I'm posting the first part. Part II will follow tomorrow, and part III the day after. Each chapter is longer than any that have come before it. This one is just over 8K, part II is a WHOPPING 18K, and part III should be coming in at around 10K…

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Three Days, Part I

On the 23rd day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s conquest…

As she soared over the Westerosi countryside, Arianwyn found herself wishing that the Vale and the Eyrie were somehow further away so that she and Emrys could stay in the skies for even longer.

But there it was.

Just coming into view was a great expanse of sparkling blue-green water, bounded on either side by a patchwork of towering sandy dunes, salty marshlands, small fishing villages built entirely upon stilts, and a hundred small streams.

The Bay of Crabs. The border separating the Crownlands from the Vale – her adopted home from the place of her birth and the land of her ancestors.

Some small part of her that still yearned for adventure and unrestricted freedom urged her to turn Emrys from his path. If she turned east, it would only take a few hours to reach Essos. If she followed the water to the west, she would find herself at the mouth of the Trident in the Riverlands.

Perhaps another day, she and Emrys would pick one of the river’s forks on a whim and follow it to its end – with Aemond and Vhagar beside them.

But today, she had a mission.

She hadn’t held Emry’s reins for hours – hadn’t needed to. After they had left King’s Landing, she only needed to direct him once. North and ever so slightly east. Then she had simply let him fly.

He needed no encouragement beyond that. For so long, he had been restricted by Daemon’s threats against him, his cherished rider, and her home. He could hardly go half a mile from Dragonstone’s shores before fear gripped them both, and he had rarely been in the air for more than a few hours. Now, he was flying further than he ever had before.

It was not entirely a blessing.

They had left not long after dawn, and it had only been a short while since the sun reached its zenith, but his wings were aching with effort and overuse. After one particularly strong beat of his wings, to combat the wind he was flying against – a shooting pain went through his right shoulder, and he faltered a bit, causing Arianwyn to sit up in her seat and seize the reins again. He let out an apologetic roar, struggling to right himself and fly steady.

“Issa sȳz, Emrys,” Arianwyn called over the roaring wind. “Iksan sȳz. Issi ao?” It is fine, Emrys. I am fine. Are you?

He grunted in reply, the sound strained.

She sighed and leaned forward to pat the scales of his side. “Iksan sīr vaoreznuni, ñuha byka ossȳngnon. Iksi va naejot Wickenden. Kessa daor sagon bōsa, se pār kostā emagoniā mība ēdrugon.” I am so sorry, my little dread. We are near to Wickenden. It will not be long, and then you can have a short rest.

Indeed, Otto had anticipated this. That either Emrys or Arianwyn would tire before they reached their destination. The Hand had therefore sent a raven to the Lord of House Waxley, asking if they would host the newest Targaryen princess – and Lady of Runestone – for an afternoon tea as she made her way to the Eyrie.

Lord Waxley had been all too eager to accept. Wickenden had never had the honor of hosting a member of the Royal house before. It had been planned for King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to visit during one of their many progresses, but an assassination attempt on the Good Queen had ended the tour before they had been able to visit the castle – which was conveniently located just over halfway between King’s Landing and the Eyrie.

As they flew over the Bay of Crabs, Emrys flying valiantly, Arianwyn made a note to thank Otto for his foresight when she returned. She whispered encouragement and praise, laughing at the dragon’s eager yelps as they finally began to descend toward the picturesque town, the humble stone castle that looked over it, and the great fleet of beehives that stood like soldiers in the fields beyond.

A large bonfire had been lit in one of the fields on the western side of the town – the signal for where Emrys should land. He did not need Arianwyn’s encouragement to aim toward it, but she had to pull up on his reins to ensure he didn’t descend too quickly. His tail, tipped with the same horns that ran from the crest of his head down his spine, came dangerously close to tearing through their beautifully thatched roofs and ensuring that a Targaryen would never again be invited to Wickenden.

Lord and Lady Waxley themselves were waiting in the field to receive them with genuinely warm formalities. They were older, bordering on truly elderly, but in good health. Both had a friendly air about them, and their cheeks were flushed as they gazed in awe at the dragon before them.

Every person who beheld Emrys bore that same look.

Regardless of their education, every person in Westeros knew of the Balerion, the mighty black dragon that had won the Seven Kingdoms for Aegon the Conqueror. Whose fires had melted the very stones of Harrenhal and forged the Iron Throne itself. Nearly two hundred years old at his death, he had been the last living creature who had known the glory of Old Valyria.

Though Emrys was smaller, younger, and had no great feats to his name, no one could look at him and not recall the legends of Balerion the Black Dread.

Arianwyn had a sneaking suspicion that he somehow understood why people looked at him with such amazement and that he relished in it. Why else would he always preen as he did now?

Emrys let out a pompous huff as he stood tall despite the ache in his muscles, and Arianwyn was sure he was holding a great breath in his chest to make himself seem larger than he was.

However, his posturing ended when Lord Waxley summoned a wagon full of chained goats and large barrels of water. Emrys, exhausted from their flight, eagerly bounded toward where knights began to unload his provisions. He was so thirsty that he shattered one of the water barrels between his teeth as he hurried to gulp it down.

Arianwyn gave her flustered apologies for his inelegant behavior to her hosts. They were overly gracious and assured her it was unnecessary, seemingly relieved that her fearsome beast was indeed not fearsome, but rather more like an excessively large, frighteningly deadly herding dog. Albeit, one not quite fully trained.

Emrys was fully trained, technically, but still filled with youthful wonder and joy at the world. He was not a creature of war, and Arianwyn was glad of it.

Dragons were not weapons, though her ancestors had so often used them as such. And they were more than beasts of burden or even beloved pets. They were more akin to peers than any other animal. Companions, partners, friends. Viserys had told her something of the like once, not long after she had taken her first flight.

But looking back at her friend as she climbed into the Waxley’s carriage to ride to their castle for a short visit and some refreshments, Arianwyn realized that the mission they were on suggested that neither of them may have a choice.

War was looming. If it came, Emrys might very well be forced to become a creature of war.

Arianwyn was repulsed by the thought. She let that revulsion and fear settle within her, let it become something heavy and sharp in her gut. It made her muscles tense, her heart beat faster, and her mind race.

She savored the feeling. Though it was uncomfortable, it sat well next to her burning desire to bend to Aemond’s wish to go to Runestone together – to leave the court and King’s Landing behind. She had not realized how much it appealed to her until she let herself imagine Emrys in the moorlands of Runestone, flying along its coasts and resting in its Dragonpit.

Emrys would love it there, especially if Vhagar was there with him. The old dragon would, of course, join them as well. And for the first time in decades, she would not be alone.

Smiling at her hosts, Arianwyn silently vowed that she would do anything to succeed in her mission – for Emrys and Vhagar, Aemond and herself, and the peace they all wanted.

Vhagar was old, and slower than she once was due to her massive size, but she still loved to fly. Aemond had to laugh each time she trilled joyfully whenever they caught a strong updraft or passed through a group of clouds. At least she could still fly fast enough that the lingering water from the clouds dried within moments.

Still, the flight to Storm’s End was longer than she was used to, and her vocalizations had become less joyful and more irritable the closer they got to their destination.

Her groans of protest as they ascended higher to fly over the mountains of the Crownlands were particularly crass – or they likely would have been had she been able to speak rather than roar. Aemond had no doubt that if Vhagar could form words, she would delight in cursing like a Braavosi sailor.

“Kesi jiōragon konīr aderelo jī toliot,” he shouted to her as he slackened his grip on the reins. “Yn lo ao drējī jaelagon naejot, kosti jikagon grevenka.” We will get there sooner if we go over. But if you truly want to, we can go around.

Vhagar’s answering growl echoed through the stone of the mountains. If anyone below had heard, they would be terrified. Aemond, who knew by now what each noise meant, was only vaguely annoyed.

The sooner I can get you off my back, the better, she had seemed to say.

He rolled his eye and tugged on her reins – not to give any order or direction, but to show her he did not appreciate her sentiments.

“Issa daor ñuha gaomilaksir bona iksā uēpa se ēdrugī,” he laughed. “Se nyke gīmigon ao jorrāelagon nyke, se ao jorrāelagon issare isse se jēdar. Iksā biare naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke, se ao daor ruaragon ziry.” It is not my fault that you are old and tired. And I know you love me, and you love being in the sky. You are happy to be here with me, and you cannot hide it.

Indeed, she could not hide it. But she could huff delightedly as she spun herself around, flexing her wings just right to keep her airborne as she crested the mountain peak upside down. She roared with glee when Aemond finally began shouting for her to right herself.

“Vhagar, kesā mazverdagon nyke ropagon lo jā olvie tolī,” he screamed as the blood rushed to his head, and he strained to keep his hands on the horns of the saddle. “Kostilus? Iksan vaoreznuni!” You will make me faint if you go much further. Please? I’m sorry!

Satisfied, she righted herself. She was impressed by how long he had lasted. He was getting better. Soon, he may be able to go longer than even Visenya had. She gave a low roar.

Very good, little Prince. You shall be fierce yet.

Aemond rolled his eye again as he smoothed down his hair, but his heart swelled with pride. If only Arianwyn had been there to see that, she would have proclaimed him the dragonriding superior to the Conqueror then and there.

His chest tightened at the thought of his sweet wife alone on her journey, hundreds of miles away from him. By now, she would be in Wickenden or, ideally, already departed from it. He hoped she would not linger there too long, for the thought of her arriving at the Eyrie in the dark – or worse, getting lost in the mountains at night – was unbearable.

At the thought, his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. He had intended to send it with her so he could offer her at least some protection. But Ser Ruban beat him to it, giving her the first dagger he had ever owned as they climbed into the carriage. It was obviously made for a boy not yet grown, and as such, was the perfect size for Arianwyn.

She had protested, insisting that such an heirloom should be passed down to his own sons, but Ruban had vowed he had no intention to marry or sire sons and that it would be the greatest honor of his life for her to wield the blade. Who could have refused that?

Still, Aemond was glad, in the end, to have his dagger with him, for it reminded him of Arianwyn. She had bit down on the hilt so hard when he was buried between her thighs that she had left teeth marks in the leather and dented the gold wire wrapped around it.

Normally, such an imperfection would have frustrated Aemond to no end. But nothing she ever did could ever be called imperfect. He ran his thumb over the marks, his heart lightening at the memories it brought back. If she had thought he was ravenous yesterday, she would be amazed by what he planned to do once they were both back in King’s Landing.

Three days, he reminded himself. Then, gods willing, they would return to each other, having successfully won the allegiance of two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. An alliance that would surely dissuade his half-sister from pressing her dubious claim to the throne.

There would be no war, no death. Nothing to stop them from going to Runestone and starting their lives together.

He only had to wait three days.

Vhagar’s curmudgeonly roar stopped his mind’s wanderings.

Wake up, little Prince, it said. We are nearly there, and you must be ready.

Aemond had been so far into his daydream that he was well into picturing him and Arianwyn walking across the hills of the Vale with their flock of sheep and their small army of children.

He set those wonderful images aside, retaking Vhagar’s reins to guide her down toward the castle perched on the seaside cliff. Its singular tower reminded him of the descriptions he had once heard about Dragonstone, where the bricks used in its construction had been fused together with dragonfire, for even his keen eye could find no seams in the stone.

But Storm’s End was far older than the arrival of dragons on this continent. No, it had been constructed by men – or the Children of the Forest and a demi-god, if the legends were to be believed. The stones were so precisely cut that there were no seams, no vulnerable spaces for the winds that racked Shipbreaker Bay to find purchase.

Storms that Aemond had just noticed were conspicuously absent. Clouds covered the sky, yes. But no rain fell, and no thunder crashed through the sky.

Perhaps the gods were on his side.

When they finally left Wickenden – more than two hours later than she intended – Emrys was rested, well-fed, and eager to resume their journey. Lord and Lady Waxley had been so sweet and kind, and so excited that their humble castle was finally hosting a Targaryen that Arianwyn had not had the heart to interrupt the tour they insisted on giving her, along with a detailed history of their house. That part, at least, Arianwyn was mildly interested in.

She had only reached her limit when they began to escort her to the apiary itself, casually mentioning their more than five hundred beehives. Thanks to Helaena, Arianwyn had spent more time around insects, including bees, than most nobles. But the sheer number of bees that would surely be in those fields was too much even for her.

So, she hurried back to Emrys’ side and stuffed the ridiculous number of scented candles Lord Waxley had gifted her with into his saddlebags. She was sure at least half of them would be snapped or smashed by the time she reached the Eyrie, much less King’s Landing.

But she had grand plans for those that survived. A candlelit night with Aemond was precisely how she wanted to celebrate their return – and, hopefully, their successful courting of the Vale and the Stormlands.

That was what she needed to focus on right now. Her mission. Her duty to her family and her King. Her role as a Princess of the Realm.

Although, as the soaring peaks of the Mountains of the Moon loomed closer and the sun set lower behind them, she realized that her delay in Wickenden meant that making it to the Eyrie easily would be difficult – and arriving before sunset was impossible.

Aemond would be so upset. Though by the time he found out, she would be safely back in King’s Landing, he would nevertheless worry retrospectively and fuss over her relentlessly. She smiled at the thought. To all the world, he was such a fearsome warrior, yet he would fall nearly to pieces just from her arriving at her destination after dark.

The fearsome ‘One-Eyed Prince,’ indeed.

By the time they were well within the mountain range, snow-capped peaks extending beyond their view, it was truly dark. It was only thanks to the glow of the nearly-full moon off the snow that Emrys was able to navigate his way through the stony maze.

Though there were several close calls.

Arianwyn was reduced to prayer the further into the mountains they got. She would have to go to the Grand Sept itself to beg forgiveness for the string of curses that interrupted her beseeching of the Crone when Emrys suddenly swerved to avoid a peak he had not seen.

Eventually, there was a light other than the moon beckoning them. Seven other lights, actually. A fire had been lit atop each of the Eyrie’s spires, and every window in the castle was illuminated.

“Kirimvogon se Sīkuda. Se ao, Emrys. Īlon vēttan ziry,” Arianwyn muttered, as reverently as any of her prayers. “Ao vēttan ziry. Ao gōntan sīr sȳrī, Emrys.” Thank the Seven. And you.We made it. You made it. You did so well.

Though she could still hear the nervousness in his voice, Emrys trilled triumphantly as he rose above the castle’s white walls and lowered himself into its large garden.

Arianwyn leapt off the saddle, grateful to feel solid ground beneath her feet once more. Emrys immediately turned his head to nuzzle her, equally grateful that he had gotten her here safely. He made a soft sound, questioning whether she was alright after their harrowing flight.

“Iksan sȳz. Ao gōntan sīr sȳrī,” she assured him again as she stroked his snout. He was as much of a worrier as Aemond. Now that she thought about it, her husband and her dragon were, in fact, quite similar. I am fine. You did so well.

She looked around the expansive gardens, surprised at the wealth of greenery within. The Maesters must have toiled for years to get anything to grow atop the tallest mountain in Westeros.

While it was beautiful, but all Arianwyn could think of was its rich history.

Leaning into Emrys as she heard hurried footsteps approach from within the castle, Arianwyn whispered gently to calm him. “Vhagar māstan kesīr istin, ao gīmigon. Lēda Visenya, skori ziry jiōraton se Vāle.” Vhagar came here once, you know. With Visenya, when she won the Vale.

Emrys glanced around the large courtyard as if he would still be able to find a remnant of his new friend, and sniffed deeply to see if her scent lingered after more than a hundred years. But, of course, it did not. And his attention was soon drawn to the small party emerging into the gardens.

“Aria!” Ser Gerold called as he ran to her side and pulled her off the flagstones and into his warm embrace.

She squealed with undignified delight as she hugged him back, laughing with joy at finally seeing him again. He had made many entreaties to visit her at Dragonstone during her time there, all soundly rejected by her father.

But now, he stood before her, holding her at arm’s length as they inspected each other.

Gerold’s hair had gone entirely white in the last six years, and his hairline had receded even further. He was heavier, too, and wearing a different set of armor than he had when she saw him last. There were shadows under his eyes, so like the ones Alicent wore. But his gray eyes were bright and shone with tears of relief as he looked at Arianwyn and cradled her cheek in his large hand.

“Oh, Aria,” he sighed with a half-smile. “You are a woman now.”

She blinked tears from her eyes and laughed sheepishly as she smiled back at him. “And you are an old man, cousin.”

He laughed with her when she ruffled her hand through his hair. “Now we really look like family, don’t we?”

“Next time you come to King’s Landing, we can try and pass you off as a long-lost Targaryen Prince!” Arianwyn snorted, her eyes wide as her mind turned mischievous. “If Aegon is drunk enough, I know he will believe it!”

Another laughing voice joined them, soft and feminine despite its deep tone. “As much as watching this long-overdue reunion warms my heart,” it said, “I should like to be introduced to my godsdaughter, Gerold.”

Arianwyn peered over her cousin’s shoulder to look at Lady Jeyne Arryn – her godsmother.

Jeyne’s dark eyes were filled with nearly as much pride as Gerold’s, and her thin lips were curved in a hesitant, hopeful grin. She extended a long arm toward the girl, beckoning her forward. “Come, it had been nineteen long years. Let me look at you at last.”

With childlike enthusiasm, Arianwyn obeyed, taking Jeyne’s hand and even giving her a quick twirl as he godsmother looked over her. But her impatience grew as the Lady remained silent, thoroughly examining her – and her bronze armor.

For a moment, she was afraid of rejection, that she would somehow be found wanting. Indeed, Jeyne frowned when she ran a hand along her braided silver hair, but then she lifted her chin to look at her eyes, and beamed.

“You look so like your mother,” Jeyne whispered, her voice breaking.

Arianwyn stifled a sob. No one had ever told her that before. She had only ever heard how unlike her father she was. To know that she resembled Rhea, and not some distant ancestor she never knew, was cathartic.

She was a Royce, in more than just her eyes.

“Oh, but I have forgotten my manners,” Jeyne tutted, releasing the girl as she lowered herself into a curtsy. “You are more than just my godsdaughter, the child of my oldest friend, and the Lady of Runestone. You are now a Princess, if rumor is to be believed.”

“I have told her it must be true,” Gerold added as he came to stand by the girl’s side. “But our Lady has always been hesitant to believe gossip. And since you did not write to confirm any of the rumors…”

Jeyne rolled her eyes. “You would be wary as well, were you the subject of so many whispers over the years. And if the stories were as contrary as what we have heard.”

“It is true,” Arianwyn said, cutting off whatever witty reply Gerold had planned. He was so much less awkward now, here. She liked him like this. “Prince Aemond and I were married. I am so sorry I did not write, but it was… the last few days have been quite strange.”

“They must have been for you to be wed in a secret ceremony,” Gerold reasoned. “Unless that particular detail is untrue?”

He and Jeyne both took Arianwyn’s blushing and stuttering as confirmation.

“Well, I cannot wait to hear the real story,” Jeyne said, looping her arm through the girl’s to lead her out of the garden. “You would not believe what people are saying, my dear.”

Gerold followed close behind. “And I cannot wait to hear what delayed your arrival – you were expected hours ago. I was quite worried, Aria. I was almost ready to send a raven to Wickenden to ask after you.”

“Oh,” Arianwyn gasped, waving a quick goodbye to Emrys, who was already wrapping himself around a smoldering brazier to sleep. “I am so sorry! Lord and Lady Waxley kept me longer than I intended, and they were so sweet that I could not bring myself to stop them.”

She told them the story as they led her through the winding marble halls of the Eyrie, finally depositing her on a blue sofa before a roaring fire. A servant quickly brought her a hot meal, and she was introduced to Jessamyn Redfort, a dear friend of Jeyne’s, before Lady Arryn bombarded her with questions about her childhood and youth.

Arianwyn nearly choked on a piece of her roast chicken when Jeyne asked whether she had first kissed Aemond before or after she had flowered and if their relations had progressed further even than that before they were married.

She looked at her godsmother with wide eyes. “I… we never did anything like that until we were wed. And the bedding ceremony.”

Jeyne laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine – her fourth cup of the night; she and Aegon would get along famously. “Gerold tells me the two of you were practically inseparable from the time you arrived in the capital, yet you mean to tell me you never even kissed before your wedding?”

“Well, we came close a few times,” Arianwyn said, thoroughly flustered as each memory of their relationship flooded back through her mind, “But I had never felt that way about him until I came back from Dragonstone. At least, I wasn’t aware of it if until then.”

Gerold sighed, “Aria, I can assure you that you were aware of it, though you were too young to know how to do anything about it. When you love someone, you cannot hide it, even from yourself.” He smirked, glancing to where Jeyne and Jessamyn shared a couch. “From what I saw, you have loved each other from the time you could walk, perhaps earlier.”

Jessamyn sighed dreamily, resting her head against Jeyne’s shoulder. “Your story is so lovely… how did those horrible rumors even start?”

The room fell silent, no one meeting her eyes. The hour Arianwyn had been here had been blissful, without a single mention of those rumors, or what happened the morning after her wedding.

They could not ignore it forever.

“It was my father, actually,” she explained. “Lies he concocted to try and have the marriage annulled. He could not stand to see me happy, or more than that, finally free from his control.”

Gerold grimaced. “Daemon Targaryen is a monster. It is simple as that.”

Arianwyn solemnly nodded her agreement, turning to Jeyne. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Or rather, something related to it. I don’t know how much the Hand told you in his letter, but…”

“Not tonight, Aria,” she snapped, her wine-flushed face turning stern for the first time that night. Arianwyn could, at last, see the great Maiden of the Vale in her godsmother, the woman who had soundly put down three rebellions against her rule. “I know why you are here, and I will happily listen to your petition – tomorrow. But, for tonight, I simply want to know you. To hear about all I have missed. Will you grant me that?”

Truthfully, Arianwyn was glad not to have to make the case for Aegon’s rule so late at night, when she was tired and already starting to feel quite fuzzy from her wine – Jessamyn had hunted down the sweetest vintage in the Eyrie’s stores to suit her fickle tastes.

She took another sip and looked back to her godsmother. “What would you like to know?”

Despite its impressive size, Storm’s End was still not large enough for Vhagar to land within its walls. But, by this point in her life, she was more than used to it. So, she contentedly settled beside the castle walls, where a great number of braziers and chained cattle were already laid out for her.

“Hāre tubissa, Vhagar,” Aemond murmured as he climbed down from her side. “Lēda biarves, kessa daor daomio, se kesā sagon arlī naejot se bāneves hen Dārys Tegorīr gō ao mirre ūndegon iā iōrves.” Three days, Vhagar. With luck, it will not rain, and you will be back to the warmth of King’s Landing before you ever catch a chill.

She only groaned in response, looking up at the clouds above them. Though no rain had fallen, the sky roiled with brewing storms.

Aemond sighed, a bemused grin on his face as he patted her worn scales. “Kesan ūndegon nūmāzma mirri ruaragon syt ao, sepār naejot sagon ȳgha.” I will see about some cover for you, just to be safe.

As he was escorted through the castle gates, he politely requested – he would never presume to give orders to another Lord’s servants, even if he wasn’t so determined to make a good impression – that some kind of shelter be arranged for Vhagar. He didn’t particularly care when the man started blustering about the labor and expense of such a thing. After being on dragonback for more than eight hours, his patience for other people was running dangerously thin, and he would need all of it when he finally met with Lord Borros Baratheon.

His mother and grandfather had warned him that Borros was perhaps the least refined Lord in all of Westeros. Their descriptions painted a picture of a man that, had he the choice, Aemond would have gladly avoided.

But they needed his allegiance. Aegon needed it, if he wanted to keep his throne.

So, Aemond would ensure he had it.

When the servant brought him before a set of dark wooden doors, he willed his face into one of his many masks, this one of pleasant indifference. He did not try to look friendly – he knew he couldn’t manage it, even if he wanted to. He had given that up long ago, even before his scar turned him into something truly terrifying to behold.

Indeed, when the doors opened, every man in the room looked at him with a healthy measure of fear as they stood and bowed their heads to the One-Eyed Prince.

It was not the throne room, where a Prince of the Realm should be received, but some sort of garish trophy room. Each wall was covered with horns and the stuffed heads of boars, deer, and even a few more exotic creatures. A few smaller animals were fully preserved, and posed in poor imitations of how they had been in life.

Aemond found the whole thing revolting. Especially the shadowcat pelt on the floor in the middle of the room, its head stuffed and frozen in an eternal howl. Even in death, such a creature deserved more than being trampled on by countless muddy boots.

Still, he kept his face impassive, not letting his offense at either the disrespect of greeting him here, or his personal disgust at Borros’ crude choice of décor show.

The Lord of the Stormlands was easy to identify, not only by the chain of office around his neck, but by the way every other man in the room looked at him expectantly. He was as Aemond expected – a thick-bodied old Lord with graying hair and a beard. What he hadn’t expected was the keen look in his eyes, though it faded quickly as he took another drink from his cup.

By the smell that pervaded the room, Borros and his entourage had been enjoying their ale for some time.

Ale – not wine. A drink more suited to the slums of Flea Bottom than the castle of a great Lord. It was nearly as vulgar as the décor.

Aemond crossed his hand behind his back and stared at Borros. He had tolerated the slight of his humble reception, but he still expected a formal greeting befitting both their stations. Though, even if he did not receive it, there was little he could do about it.

He would not fail Aegon.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Borros began, his voice somewhat arrogant but respectful enough. “Welcome. You honor us with your presence.”

“The honor is mine, Lord Borros,” Aemond replied with a gracious bow of his head. “You have my gratitude for agreeing to host me with so little notice.”

Borros gave a tight smile. “How could I refuse? Our houses have long been allied, and you are the brother of our new King, after all.”

“Your loyalty to the crown is much appreciated,” Aemond said as he conceded a slight grin. This may not be as difficult as he was anticipating. “King Aegon sends his warm regards, as well as an offer – ”

“Oh, but where are my manners?” Borros interrupted, with an distinct lack of manners. “You have had a long journey, my Prince. Let us eat, and you can entertain us all with the tale of your brother’s coronation, since none of us were present – or even invited to attend.”

Aemond only nodded, for if he said anything, it would no doubt be rude and quash any chance he had of charming this brute of a man.

This would be just as difficult as he thought.

Very few of the men seated at Borros’ table were Lords themselves, or even highborn. Only half were even knights. It seemed all they had in common was their love of ale and the favor they held with their Lord.

Aemond had taken note of several who introduced themselves with the surname ‘Storm.’ They were too old to be Borros’ own bastards, though perhaps they could be his half-brothers or cousins. Whatever the relation, if there was any relation at all, their presence at the table was yet another poor omen for Aemond’s success.

He would not be able to argue that Rhaenyra’s bearing of her own bastards, and insistence on their legitimacy, posed a threat to the realm should she press her claim.

The first omen, other than the boorishness of Borros himself, had been the conspicuous absence of his wife and daughters. When Aemond inquired after them, under the pretense of paying his respects to the Lady of the Castle, he was told that they rarely eat with the men, especially before a hunt. Apparently, Borros and his men were ‘too rowdy for the women’ when they were together.

There could be no doubting the veracity of that statement.

More ale was brought to the table, along with a single bottle of wine for Aemond, which he did not drink. Though he had to admit to being tempted. If only to dull his mind and make the meal more bearable.

The food was not terrible, though there was a severe lack of vegetables in favor of nearly obscene amounts of meat. But the company was precisely what Aemond hated about court.

Boastful men telling tales of their exploits, brazenly embellishing their feats to a mythical degree. At least the stories were mostly about hunting and battle, not other, more vulgar conquests.

Whenever possible, Aemond tried to insert himself into the conversation so he could steer Borros to the actual reason he had come. But each time, Borros brushed him aside, calling instead on one of his men to tell yet another tale.

Aemond had resigned himself to silence when, at last, Borros turned to him.

“Tell me, my Prince,” he said, picking the last remaining scraps of meat off the bone he held. “Do you hunt?”

“I cannot say I am accomplished as you or your men here,” Aemond said cautiously, surprised that he was addressed directly. “But I have hunted, though not for some time.”

Borros looked somewhat conspiratorially at the man sitting to his left before turning back to the Prince. “And when you hunt, do you ride your horse or that dragon of yours?”

Aemond was surprised by the question, by its boldness and sheer ridiculousness. “Hunt with Vhagar? Certainly not.” He started, choking on his water as he realized how his words may offend his host. “I… she is far too large for most hunting grounds. And any prey she caught would either be swallowed whole or burnt. There would be nothing left to bring back. It would not be an effective method of hunting.”

“I see,” Borros muttered, refilling his mug of ale. “A shame. I was hoping you would join us tomorrow. I sense you are eager to get to whatever business your brother has sent you on. However, this hunt has been planned for months, and I will not postpone it simply because Aegon wants something of me.”

It took great effort on Aemond’s part to not scowl at what he was implying – that the Prince would be forced to wait until Borros deigned to meet with him.

But he could not wait that long. Rhaenys had no doubt told Rhaenyra of Aegon’s coronation, and by the time Aemond and Arianwyn left the Keep, two Kingsguard had gone ‘missing.’ Dragonstone, that hateful place, was no doubt already buzzing as Daemon prepared for war. Even a day’s delay in securing Storm’s End could have devastating consequences.

Besides, Aemond promised Aria that he would be back, and they would be reunited, before their three days were up.

So, he forced a polite smile and his voice to remain calm. “Then surely it would be wise for us to settle the business tonight, would it not?”

“Is there some pressing need for haste, my Prince?” Borros asked smugly.

“Regrettably, yes,” Aemond bit out. He clenched his hand under the table at the smug look on the faces surrounding him. It would be unwise to give his true reason for wanting the business done quickly.

‘One should never reveal more than is necessary,’ as it was written in the book of warfare he was still reading. The same book he had been reading when Arianwyn climbed atop him…

He gave a short laugh and what he hoped was a charming smile to the men that were watching him. They were so simple, so easy to read. And though he hated to discuss his dear wife in such a way, he knew precisely how to ply them.

“I am sure you have heard that I have been married,” he explained, knowing he would feel guilty the next time he saw Arianwyn. “It has not yet been a week since that happy night, and I confess I find myself impatient to return to my wife.”

“And her bed,” one of the men further down the table snickered.

Aemond drew his hand into a fist so fast that his nails dug into the skin of his palm, but he said nothing. Instead, he smirked, hoping it would be interpreted as a sign of amusement and not the dangerous rage he truly felt.

Borros rolled his eyes before facing the Prince again. “Normally, I would be happy to accommodate your request. I remember how reluctant I was to let Elenda out of my sight when we were first wed. And our own courtship was not half as…” he carefully assessed Aemond before finishing his sentence, “hasty as your own.”

“Where is your lovely wife now, Prince Aemond?” One of Borros’ men – one of the Storm bastards – asked.

A seemingly innocent question, but Aemond knew what he was really asking. Larys had said that Daemon’s accusations had made their way throughout the realm. How, he had no idea. But this confirmed it. As had the two score sets of eyes that immediately turned to him, waiting for his answer.

“The Princess Arianwyn left the Red Keep just before me this morning,” he said, noting exactly which men looked surprised by his words. “She and her dragon flew for the Eyrie. They should be there now, assuming they were not delayed in Wickenden.”

He could have sworn he saw two men exchanging coins under the table. The payment of a wager on whether the One-Eyed Prince had truly captured his bride – whether he was the monster he was rumored to be.

Aemond took in a heavy, calming breath before he continued. “It was my hope to return to King’s Landing before her, so I can welcome her home when she arrives. Neither she nor her dragon have been on so long a journey before; she is bound to be tired.”

Another chuckle went through the men, and several lewd comments Aemond pretended not to hear as he turned back to Borros. “I trust you can understand my haste, then?”

“I can,” Borros conceded. “But I still cannot postpone the hunt. So, you will join us, and we can discuss whatever business you have then.”

Though he would rather dine with the Stranger than spend time in the woods with these men, Aemond agreed. And hastily excused himself from the meal. If he was to endure the next day without killing or maiming one of the men, particularly the bastard who had made the crudest comments about Arianwyn, he would need his rest.

And no small amount of prayer.

After an hour of beseeching each of the Seven for the strength he would need to survive the hunt, he, at last, settled into his bed. His hand reached for the scrap of periwinkle cloth he had held close to him for so many years, but it was not there.

He had given it to Arianwyn the day after their wedding.

“I have the sapphire,” he had said, tapping the gemstone with his finger. “It is only fair you have a reminder of our love too. Particularly since I have not had the chance to get you a ring…”

She had been so delighted that even now, as he longed for some reminder of her, Aemond could not bring himself to regret it. So instead, he stood from the bed and retrieved his dagger – secure in its sheath – before sliding back between the sheets.

Aemond fell asleep brushing his thumb over the marks she had left on its hilt.

Arianwyn yawned – again – in the middle of telling Jeyne the very last details she could recall of her first flight as a dragonrider. “After that, King Viserys threw a small feast in my honor. He also had an auroch sent to the Dragonpit as a treat for Emrys. And…”

She was interrupted by yet another yawn, which was soon echoed by Gerold.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes to try and clear their blurriness. “I must have had a little too much wine. I’m afraid I’m quite tired.”

“Nonsense!” Jessamyn said gently. “It is we who have kept you up too late with our thirst for stories. You have had a long day. Of course you are tired.”

Jeyne signaled to a servant, “Perhaps some tea to wake the Princess?”

Gerold groaned and slid his face into his hand. While he loved listening to Arianwyn, he had already fallen asleep in his chair twice, and had been promptly scolded when his snoring interrupted her stories.

“I think,” Jessamyn insisted, grabbing Jeyne’s wrist and lowering it back down, “that we should let her sleep and recover from her journey. We will have more time to talk tomorrow.”

When Jeyne turned back to her godsdaughter to send her to bed, the girl’s eyes were already closed, and she swayed slightly, even as she continued to hold her wine goblet aloft. Gerold, too, had fallen back asleep.

“I am afraid you are right, my dear,” Jeyne whispered to her companion, pressing a brief kiss to her firey red hair. “Forgive me. I’ve wanted to meet her for years, and I let myself get carried away.”

Jessamyn caressed Jeyne’s cheek and smiled sweetly. “It is perfectly understandable, my love. Though, tomorrow you may want to rein your enthusiasm in – just slightly. I am fairly sure she made up many of the details you asked for. Though I cannot blame her. I can’t remember what I wore on my sixth nameday either!”

“Yes, most of that wasn’t actually that important, was it?” Jeyne asked with a wince. “I just want to know everything I missed. Everything Rhea missed…”

They were interrupted when Arianwyn’s hand went slack, and her goblet fell to the floor with a loud clatter. She and Gerold were both startled awake, the old knight stumbling out of his chair and reaching for his sword.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing around blearily.

“Nothing,” Jeyne assured her friend, then looked back at Arianwyn. “Nothing but an old woman being foolish. I’m sorry dear, of course, you should rest.”

The Princess was too tired to do anything but nod gratefully as Gerold offered his arm to lead her to her chambers. But Jeyne and her close companion did not mind. They only smiled fondly as she left the room.

Arianwyn had nearly fallen asleep on her cousin’s shoulder when he opened the chamber doors for her, and she stumbled into the room.

“Servants retrieved your things from Emrys earlier. I am told he did not wake once. Do you need a maid to help you?” Gerold asked. “I can find one to wake and send to you, if you wish.”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you,” she said. Then, mustering the last of her strength, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I missed you very much.”

He gazed warmly at her, cupping her chin in his hands to kiss her hairline. “I missed you, too, Aria. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow. There is something I would like to give you before you leave. A wedding present, of sorts.”

Her smile fell at his words, but then she laughed bashfully as her cheeks flushed. “I… I forgot that I would be sleeping alone tonight. I have so quickly become accustomed to having Aemond next to me.”

“Oh, Aria,” Gerold pulled her into a tight embrace. He laughed with her as he stroked her hair, tears once more coming to his grey eyes. “I am so blissfully happy for you.”

“I am blissfully happy, as well, and nearly as tired,” she giggled, pulling away from the embrace.

Gerold patted her cheek once more. “Then I will leave to your rest, my dear.” He took a deep breath, and Arianwyn thought he might cry again. “I love you, Aria. And I am so proud of you. Your mother would be, too.”

She brought a hand over her mouth as she held back a sob. Every bone in her body cried out to hug him again, but she knew that if she did, she would cry through the night and not get any rest. She lowered her hand as she nodded furiously and whispered her thanks as Gerold left and shut the door behind him.

Thankfully, her tears had calmed by the time she removed her dress – Jeyne had been only just convinced to let her remove her armor before her meal. She was too tired to cry and too tired to don a nightgown. She slid into the bed, wearing only her chemise to cover her, and holding a small scrap of periwinkle silk in her hand.

Aemond had given it to her after he noticed it on the floor the day after they were wed, to be a placeholder of sorts until he found her a wedding ring. But she had already decided not to give it back to him, even after she had her ring.

It smelled of Aemond. His scent of parchment and steel thoroughly steeped into the fabric after he kept it for so long in either his breast pocket or under his pillow. And somehow, it seemed to retain some of his warmth, as well.

Arianwyn fell asleep cradling that small scrap of silk to her cheek.

Next Chapter

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quinloki · 7 months

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Commission Info

I'm not currently accepting commissions, I'm just getting the info down for reference and use.

Things I’ll do:

Things I won’t do:

Write real people | underage smut

You can ask if you aren’t certain, the worst I’ll say is no. No judgement.

Prices:

All word counts are nebulous, I won’t stop a 500 word fic at word 500, and a 1,500 word fic might be 1,360 words. These are just guidelines for charge purposes.

-:- 500 words (Drabble) – 10$ -:- Short and sweet, these include 1-3 characters max, and minimal setup. Good for first or final moments, or something with an open ending. Here there be head canons, I don’t often write this short.

-:- 1,000 words (Short One-Shot) – 20$ -:- Shorter, and maybe a little sweeter. Still solid for 1-3 characters, maybe 4 if it’s a single scene. Little more detail, little more action. A good number of Kinktober 2023 items hovered around here.

-:- 2,000-3,000 words (Longer One-Shot) – 30$ -:- The average of most of my one shots, honestly. Plenty of room for some set up, a little world building, best kept to 1-2 characters, but if you’re not worried about the set up, you can certainly go closer to 4. Elevator Music falls into this category.

-:- 5,000+ (Longest One-Shot) - 40$ -:- Here there be dragons. My one-shots don’t normally break 5k as it is, but I got about 8k on one before I turned it into a multi-chapter story. But if you’re talking a lot of set up, or the inclusion of several characters, it’s not hard to hit this level of words. There’s room in this bad boy for several tropes and a lot of sex. >.> (this will never break 10k words) At almost 4k words, Magic Trick is the closest.

Multiple Chapters requests are done case by case. Estimates are going to be 30$ a chapter, since that’s the average length of most of my chapters for what I write, with a minimum of 90$.

Multiple chapter requests will not be done any faster than one chapter a month, and may take longer based on life circumstances.

How will the process go?

You tell me what you want! \o/ Reader type, characters, vibe are bare minimums needed.

2. I tell you if I accept! ~ Some negotiation can occur here regarding parameters and length.

3. I’ll give you the price, and you decide if you can afford it. ~ Currently I’m only accepting Ko-Fi for payments.

Legal CYA stuff.

I won’t start on a piece until I’m paid, and have 30 days to deliver from the time I’m paid.

If I can’t make the initial deadline we can talk about either an extension or I can refund you, and we can try again later.

Within 15 days of the time I’m paid you can request a cancellation and refund, but beyond that no refunds are issued unless I initiate it. You agree to this as part of the commission contract, I’m not going to fight about it. However, if the piece is done prior no refund will be issued. (I’m just saying this to avoid someone waiting until day 23 or something and requesting a refund, and also to avoid giving someone a finished piece 3 days later and having them request a refund on day 14.)

Once the piece is done, small, editorial adjustments can be requested, but anything more than that *may* result in additional charges before the piece is released. I’m pretty flexible though, so don’t panic. Understand that any story will have variables even within a given set of parameters, and what I write might not be 100% what you expected, but you’re paying for my time, and if you ask for a full re-write of something I won’t be bullied into doing that for free.

I highly recommend you read at least some of my works before commissioning me to get a feel for my vibe and style. If you don't like reading on Tumblr, I'm currently on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same user name of Quinloki.

-:- Table of Consent -:-

#pinned post addon #static page

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bg-sparrow · 1 month

Note

For the writing asks, do the 3s: 3, 13, 23, etc.

For this fanfic writer ask game!

3. On a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

I’d say 6 or 7. I’m a romantic, but I don’t really read romance? I’m more into the romance being a secondary or tertiary storyline. And a good romance, to me, is built upon the small moments of the big, hectic adventure of life, so that’s where I love finding it in a good story!

13. Talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

There Are No Roads (Time Circuits #2.5) was a huge surprise to me. In my OC x canon rewrite, it was meant to be this 10K oneshot of Doc’s time in 1885 before Marty showed up, and it turned in a 40K, 9-chapter fic where each chapter was dedicated to a month, the last of which detailed the timeline of September 1885B (if Doc had been shot at the festival/ Marty hadn’t shown up). I loved the minor characters that took on a life of their own, the subplots that flourished, and the exploration I got to do of the canon characters. I’m still, to this day, immensely proud of it and reread it often.

23. How do you deal with writer's block?

At the moment? Not very well, lol. For real, usually, getting out an actual notebook with a pen and just writing out “Why do we feel stuck?” and prompting myself like that leads to me talking to myself for a page or so until my brain untangles something. Or I’ll ask, “What part are we excited to write next?”, list a scene or two, then tell myself to just write a line or two for them right now (which ends up turning into a few hundred words). I still panic when it happens, though, like I don’t know if it will help.

(Also, apologies to anyone reading it, but I am a little blocked and lack motivation on Once Upon a Time in the North right now. But it will get done!)

33. Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

I guess the characters come to mind first with a vague haze of a plot around them. As I build one, the other fills out, and it’s a back and forth. Then, as I go on, it becomes, “how does the character react if I do this? What if their reaction is the opposite of what I expect? What does that say for their character AND the story?” They’re very co-dependent to me.

43. How did writing change you?

Writing grounds me. It’s the ability to have control and create order with words and ideas I lack in real life, especially as someone who went undiagnosed with severe ADHD until adulthood. I was always centered and focused the most when I had good music structuring a scene in my mind, and I love editing because of that control I have to form the narrative just the way I want.

53. When writing, do you have an outline? And do you stick to it?

For longer fics, definitely. I try to tell myself to adhere to the basic structure I’ve laid out, but I’ve moved stuff around, like moving scenes from the end of one chapter to the beginning of the next or, within a chapter, rearranging those scenes. After Time Circuits, I gave up the rigid outlining for a bit just to see how I’d fare, but I still end up with loose outlines in my notebooks when working stuff out.

63. What’s the best insult you’ve read in a fic?

I have no idea! That’s a great question! I can’t really think of one off the top of my head!

73. How do you visualize scenes? Do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

I’m a very visual person, so when I write, there is a movie playing out on the page. Then, once I have it out, I go back and fill in the introspection and detail the setting a bit more.

83. Less is more or more is more?

Less is more. God, I’ve been learning that lesson since I started taking writing seriously in college (again, because I tend to be wordy). Learning how to be succinct and hit people with just the right words is a lot of fun, and I like to practice that with the many drabbles I write throughout the year. They are great practice!

93. Do you hear other people’s writing styles when they talk?

So, and this might sound strange, but I don’t talk to a lot of writers to where I audibly hear them? I chat with fellow writers online, and I can see the similarities if I’m looking for them, but for the most part, this doesn’t really apply to me! I’ve never talked to/ chatted with someone where it was immediately apparent. Sometimes I think I’m that person, though!

Thanks for the ask!! :D

#back to the future #bttf #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer ask game #ask game #answered asks

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the-fic-rex · 1 year

Text

Fic Recs: Underrated fluffy BNHA fics under 10k words

All of these fics have less than 2k kudos but are SO GOOD and SO SOFT! In no particular order. Italics are commentary added by me.

it takes two to tangle by @withstarryeyes, Lilly_Penwielder

Tensei tumbles into awareness like a newborn fawn, stumbling on legs that don’t feel like his own. The world is bright, and loud, and Tensei breathes for several moments before everything comes into focus. The Hero Killer is at the front of his mind, but he is no longer in front of him. Tensei is in a bright, crowded arena, and not a dirty back alley in Hosu. Something akin to panic begins to creep up his limbs. This is UA. It’s the Sports Festival, and Tensei almost wants to cry. Is his life replaying? Is he really actually dying?

But he can’t be, because this isn’t Tensei’s Sport’s Festival. This isn’t the city battle with a hostage on the line. It’s a giant arena and a small, pink haired girl with cross-hatches for pupils. He looks down at himself and finds that he’s wearing the new UA uniform, a deeper blue with a crisp, white UA on it. Then he catches a glimpse of his calves, the usually smooth skin saddled with engines like the ones on his arms. Oh, Tensei thinks, I'm Tenya.

Or…Tenya and Tensei Iida were not expecting their day to go quite like this.

(I loved the sibling interactions in this. Tenya has so much self criticism of needing to do well for his brother and then his brother is right there like "no i'm proud of you". Tensei is def a rarer character to see in fics but I think that makes this one all the better because the characterization is so on point.)

the way your hands were shaking (rather waste some time with you) by @ghostwriterofthemachine

It is only after Tenya asks him, “Are you going to be able to stand up in the shower?” that Izuku realizes that the answer to that question is, likely, no.

This is also when he starts crying.

Izuku is tired and hurt and very used to being alone.

Izuku also has friends who love him very, very much.

(Short and so so sweet this fic takes place after Deku's solo adventures post ofa reveal. Its about friendship and love and not needing to ask for help because someone offers first)

point of view by @aloera

Denki sighs. “Did anyone see that coming?” He asks. “Am I the only one confused, or did you guys all have Bakugou being good with kids on your bingo cards for this year?”

“He is not good with kids,” Midoriya says, a haunted look on his face. “Last week a child in our neighbourhood asked for his autograph and Kacchan told him that he wouldn’t go far in life if he kept on asking for handouts.”

or,

A quirk de-ages Kirishima. Bakugou handles it surprisingly well.

(I just... this is a love letter to Kirishima, from the author and from Bakugou, and its so soft. )

do you know me in the gloaming? by cassiopeia721

Due to a funny little genetic peculiarity in the makeup of her quirk, Momo can create flowers without even thinking about their molecular structures— or even intending to conjure them up. Predictably, this ends up being… embarrassing.

Or: Momo wishes that she would stop leaving petals trailing behind her like she's a damn flower girl at a wedding.

CW in the end notes.

(A really sweet momo/jirou fic where momo is going through it and jirou is by her side the entire time. Momo gets the chance to find herself at UA. Aesthetics of the fic too is really nice, super descriptive language paints a picture of all the flowers. do check cw, though most of them are not for main characters.)

Back To The Nest by Mags_Pie

After a long, exhausting patrol, all Hitoshi wants to do is go home and sleep. However, he makes one little mistake on the way.

“Move, and I’ll break your arm,” A gruff voice said behind him.

Confusion swept through Hitoshi. He recognised that voice.

“Dad?”

(Tired Hitoshi returning home on autopilot. Short look at family, home, and moving out but not moving on. Shinson and erasermic parents)

#fic rex fic recs #bnha #mha #fic recs #fluff #mine

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rindecision · 1 year

Text

AO3 first lines

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I was tagged by @daysarestranger - Thanks! 🤍

I don't have 10, but here's what I do have.

🔞The Devil of Hawkins [Vol 1] - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 121k

“I’m here in the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. Word of this once peaceful town has swept the nation. It started with a string of missing persons cases in ‘83, many of which were linked to a toxic chemical leak from a lab not far out of town. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the last tragedy that befell Hawkins. Unexplained power outages, poisoned crops, mall fires, and even murders seem like only the tip of the iceberg, as just over a week ago, a string of brutal serial murders took the lives of nearly four innocent kids.

🔞The Devil of Hawkins [Vol 2] - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 7.5k (Ongoing)

“Don’t forget what we talked about, okay?” Eddie said as he held El by the shoulders with a big smile. “I want to see what you’ve accomplished by tomorrow.” He paused. “Well, Steve will see what you’ve accomplished,” he corrected. El nodded. “I am already improving,” she said happily. “She got the butterfly to move,” Steve said as he carried the box of Eddie’s stuff to the trunk of the car. “Oh, shit, seriously?” Eddie beamed at her with pride. “Look at you. I knew you were a smart cookie.” She looked away shyly, not used to such blatant praise.

🔞TDoH Deleted Scene [Night Visit] My fist posted fic - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 14k

A nearby rustling woke Steve. He glanced around his room from the viewpoint of his bed trying not to lose his slipping grip on sleep. Nothing.

🔞Billy 'The Freak' Hargrove - Stranger Things // Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove // 10k

Wed, Nov 7th, 1984 Eddie lit a cigarette as he stood behind the school with two of his bandmates during lunch. “Are we entering the battle of the bands this year?” Gareth asked, leaning against the brick wall in front of Eddie. Eddie looked at him with his head tilted down, taking a drag. He exhaled as he lifted his head, “What kind of band would we be if we didn’t?”

🔞Give me Fuel, Give Me Fire - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 52k (Ongoing)

“Alright you shitbirds, listen up,” Billy Hargrove called into the garage of his business: Hargrove’s Overall Automotive Repair Shop, a.k.a HOAR Shop, or just HOARS. “The polls came in.” He held up his mobile phone. “And our two hottest mechanics are...” He dragged it out for dramatic effect but with a deadpan expression. “Myself, of course, and Harrington.” Steve looked up from the car he was working on and knocked his head on the underside of the hood. “What?!” He looked up at Billy, just in time to see something flying at his face, but not enough time for him to catch it.

Stranger Tales - Stranger Things // Choose Your Own Adventure // 6.5k (Ongoing)

“Yo dingus, your admirers are back,” Robin called from the counter of Scoops Ahoy. Steve pulled back the glass screen, a half-eaten banana in his hand. “What the hell are you talking about?” He said with his mouth full. “I'm in the middle of my break.” He swallowed as Robin turned to face him.

🔞You Know Where to Find Me - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 9.7k

Steve spent his senior year valentine’s moping. The previous year he had Nancy, this year, he had no one. It was probably the first valentine he’d spent single in at least three years. He just couldn’t bring himself to date anyone else after her. The last bell of the day was his salvation from the mushy couples and especially Nancy and Jonathan. He was just glad he didn’t have basketball practice today; he didn’t want to deal with Billy and Tommy’s taunting.

🔞A Gift for Both of Us - Stanger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson // 2k

Steve woke up to his third lonely day of watching Eddie's cat, Chrissy while he was on a gig clear across the country. In the eight months they’d been together, the only times they were apart were when Eddie had shoots out of town. Most of them only lasted a couple weeks, but it was depressing being without him. Having Chrissy around helped ease some of the loneliness, and he talked on the phone with Eddie any chance he got, but cells were rarely allowed on set, so their conversations were either short or isolated to morning and night. When he checked his phone, he smiled at the enthusiastic greeting.

Here are some seek peeks at me WIPs to make up for the last 3 fics

🔞You Know Where to Find Me [St. Patrick's Day '85] - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

“Do I really have to do this?” Eddie complained as Wayne fixed the bowtie to the impressively green suit he was forced to wear. “Yes,” Wayne stated simply. “I told ‘em I would months ago before I got swapped to the night shift, so you’ll have to.” “You agreed to it, not me,” he grumbled. “Quit yer bitchin’. If you’re gonna act a fool, might as well look like one.”

When You Feel the Lightning - Stranger Things // Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Steve was bored at home after a late shift at Family Video and walked out back for a smoke. He sat on one of the pool chairs and stared up at the night sky. A distant sound of guitar caught his attention. He shrugged it off, thinking it was just one of his neighbors. It didn’t take him long to realize it wasn’t coming from the direction of any of his neighbors. It was coming from the woods. He took the last long drag of his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray before standing to investigate.

I also have a WIP for the Steddie BigBang, but I'm not allowed to talk about that one yet, unfortunately.

No-pressure tags (though it's fun!): @xirayn @the-weeping-author @coolestjoy30 @storiesbyrhi @johnnyslittlemonster

#Tag Game #Steddie #Mungrove #AO3 #Fanfics #Stranger Things #Stranger Things Fanfics

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the-starryknight · 2 years

Text

happy, happy birthday, lovely @sweet-s0rr0w! it's been such a joy to get to know you -- and to get to relish in your work -- over the past year (and more, has it really been so long already?). I'd like to take a moment today to celebrate you and all the wonderful things you've created and shared with our community. thank you for all the brainstorming, cheerleading, beta reading, and laughter you've shared with me! and may the coming year be full of even more of all of the above.

I adore your fic recs, which are always so insightful and creative, from your "five favourite fics" lists to the collaborative rec lists (like this one), both are full of amazing suggestions, and are such a creative way of bringing people together. I also love the way you've practiced new mediums and shared beautiful & unusual work with us through your papercraft, like this one and this one! and readers, you should also check out tacky's brilliant SS rec list here as we overlap somewhat (but not entirely!)

onto a couple of favorite fics:

Both Hands (E, 10k) - this is one of the first SS works I read, and I immediately fell in love with it. I *love* the break up/make-up genre, and this fic's creative back-and-forth with the past and the present is immersive and heart-rending at every word.

Nor All That Glisters (E, 110k) - I don't read very many longfics these days, but this one drew me in and kept me scrolling until I hit the end, desperate to know how they'd pull through together. SS's brilliant writing captures a difficult and emotional story with thoughtful, deft prose.

Crash (Into Me) (T, 14k) - quidditch fest 2021 done brilliantly! i remember getting to read this one in advance of the fest, and I just could not put it down, immersed in the creative idea (a 24 hour quidditch match!) and the incredible depth to the Draco/Harry relationship I felt straight off the bat in this fic.

The One You Feed (T, 10k) - talk about creative use of POV -- SS dove straight into craft with this fic, and each point of view feels so distinct, like we're watching them careen into each other. I read this one as it posted, and was eager every day to get to experience the next chapter, and then the next -- you'll enjoy it now too, even without the eager anticipation!

Obsssesssed (T, 1.5k) - ok, so SS has many brilliant short fics, and I struggled to pick a fifth that I wanted to feature here, but I decided on this one because I think it highlights the incredible range that SS brings to every piece of writing -- the light humour and delightful romance in this fic made me grin ridiculously while reading it, and I know it'll do the same for you.

@sweet-s0rr0w, happy birthday, and thank you for all you share with this fandom. may the coming year be full of good things, happy memories, new adventures, and many more of your words for us all!

#fic rec #drarry #drarry fic #sweet_sorrow

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greyias · 1 year

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Fic writers' end-of-year roundup: 2022 edition!

Tagged by @elveny -- thank you for the tag! Tagging @queen-scribbles, @keldae, @storyknitter, and anyone who wants to grab it!

I would say 2022 was a mixed year as far as productivity goes! I was actually actively writing most of the year (with pockets of "too tired" draining me every now and then), but a lot of it was on a longfic that I waited until I had finished the first draft to start posting. But I think it was successful overall, as I was able to

Words written (published or not, WIPs included!): I'm probably just going to count published, as I have been working on some WIPs in the background, but that requires more math and thinking than I have in me right now, so we'll go with a little over 43k published, although it's a bit higher with some WIPs and other behind the scenes stuff.

Smut scenes: None published this year

New things I tried: Chance Encounters, which was my big experiment in a different method outlining/prewriting for long form fic. It took me a long time to get it into finished form, but considering the massiveness of the fic and the fact that it's complete, I think is a success in itself.

Fic I spent the most time on: Without a doubt, Chance Encounters, my little 36k novella (that for some reason I thought would only be 10k 🤷‍♀️)

Fic I spent the least time on: I think this little ficlet, that was basically me bashing out a musing/headcanon in like maybe an afternoon.

Favourite thing I wrote: Once again, almost by default of taking up most of my year Chance Encounters, although I did have a lot of fun writing it. It's rather self-indulgent, and a fun, mostly lighthearted adventure. I think runner up is the Outlander!Theron fic I've picked back up on in the past week or so, considering I keep having to tell myself "No, you can't start posting yet. You haven't proofread anything beyond maybe the first chapter. You don't even have a title"

Favourite thing I read: @storyknitter's Medieval AU, which I have adored every little entry into. So much so, I slid into her DMs to see if she could get me a compiled version to load on my Kindle for a day at jury duty that got rescheduled for 2023. I wound up re-reading the whole thing in a couple of days.

Writing goals for next year: Finish the Outlander!Theron fic, and finally exorcise that beast from my mind. I've also got some other long, lingering WIPs that I'd like to try and tackle. I'm having enough fun with this pre-writing/writing I'm doing on the Outlander!Theron fic, that I'm hoping I can bottle that energy up and use it on some of my other unfinished babies. I also really want to write more in the Chancesverse, because I love that little AU so much. Also, I want to try to find a way to write more consistently, which is more driven by my energy levels. I also have this crazy urge to try and write on some original stuff, but we'll see where that lands. If I can get a good enough handle on fic progress, maybe I can bottle a genie and spread that magic to something I can get published.

#fic writer's round-up 2022 #writing roundup 2022 #grey's writing tag #*pats chance encounters on the head*#it's not necessarily the most popular fic #(partially because it's kind of niche -- and also long)#but i still wub it

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bioticlaw · 6 days

Text

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

99 notes · View notes

johnlock-shrine · 7 months

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Some of my favorite fics in the order I read them. Deduce what you will from my love of angst, meandering descriptions, and happy endings.

From A Drop Of Water ~96k M victorianpining 2021

"It was simply my conjecture of what a future world might look like and how you and I might fit inside it. From a drop of water a logician should be able to infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara."

Whirlwind ~51k M DiscordantWords 2022

But John arrives in the midst of a very active storm season, and Sherlock very clearly hasn’t let go of the past. Against his better judgement, John finds himself talked into riding along after one last storm.

Their Great Reward 10k T BeautifulFiction 2012

Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes 62k E ivyblossom 2011

“I had,” he said, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.”

— Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Speckled Band

Thirst 122k E bittergreens 2014

When John realizes he has feelings for Sherlock and decides he must keep those feelings secret at all costs, the resulting tension might bring Baker Street to the ground.

“The fundamental condition for desire is an absence or lack, but desire is never only an absence.” –Leo Bersani

The Masquerade of the Red Death ~17k E okapi 2018

On the hunt for a serial killer, Sherlock & John attend a masked orgy.

Lucid 71k E dr_girlfriend 2013

"The first time it happened was completely by accident."

Post-Reichenbach, John finds a way to hold on to Sherlock after all.

Transformation ~53k E Jadis 2013

Upon his arrival at his childhood home, John finds Mycroft-effing-Holmes in his parents’ living room. It wouldn’t be the first time a Holmes had turned his life on its ear.

Once More, With Feeling 21k T cellardoors 2011

To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

and stand there at the edge of my affection ~3k G coloredink 2011

"You've written love letters," Sherlock asserted.

A Cure For Boredom ~82k E emmagrant01 2012

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Let You Kiss Me (So Sweet and So Soft) ~7k G out_there 2010

The first time Sherlock kisses him, John keeps his eyes open, and so does Sherlock, and mostly, he wonders what Sherlock could possibly be up to. There'll be some logic to this. Some ridiculous experiment about body warmth or respiratory rates or testing a new way of picking pockets. Sherlock does the unimaginable for bizarre reasons, but behind it, there's always logic and curiosity. Sometimes, it just takes him a while to explain it to John.

Acceptable Behaviour 3k M bbcatemysoul 2013

Sherlock isn't really sure why John wants to shag him, but he's certain that if he's careful to behave properly about it, John can be persuaded to keep doing it.

In other news, John is a good boyfriend and Sherlock is an idiot.

A Terrific Soporific 11k T antietamfalls 2013

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#johnlock #fic rec #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #johnlock fic recs

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p33paw · 3 years

Text

broken contract

zhongli x f!reader

summary | breaking a promise to zhongli, and paying the price with spread legs (pwp, thigh riding, cockwarming, overstimulation, praise kink, sir kink, degrading kink)

warnings | nsfw

word count | ~10k

links | ao3

I would never get drunk in the middle of the day.

But— Beidou is only in town for the day, a short stop sandwiched between two several month long expeditions spent sailing the sea, too far away for contact. We settled to meet at the Third-Round Knockout. Her, me, a table of food, and all morning to talk before she visits the other people she cares about. We each got a single drink to toast with, then one became two, two became three, and... well...

I might be drunk in the middle of the day.

"Zhongli is going to kill me—" I groan, planting my head into my arms, leaning into the table.

I was supposed to meet with him today as well, as soon as Beidou's left. I can feel the heat on my flushed face where it connects with my skin. I'm drunk. He hates when I drink, enough that he told me to never drink before I see him.

Beidou grunts, and I hear the creak of her chair as she leans back in it.

"What's with you and that old man?" She asks, followed by the thud of her empty glass hitting the table. She calls for another round, and I groan again, tilting my head up to look at her.

"Wha'd'you mean?" I ask, pouting my lower lip out.

Beidou squints at me, then lifts her hands to gesture.

"Are you—" She holds her tongue with her teeth, a look of concentration knitting her brow. She forms her index finger and thumb on one hand into a circle, then pushes her other pointer finger out, jamming it into the circle she created. "—y'know."

As she continues to thrust her finger into the space created by her hand, the waiter approaches, dropping two new drinks in front of us. Beidou doesn't notice, but she's shot a dirty look.

I squint at her, knowing exactly what she's asking, but refusing to answer truthfully.

"No?" I sit all the way up, batting my eyelashes to antagonize her. "What are you talking about?" As I finish speaking, I lift my new drink, sipping it to keep my buzz if this is the conversation we're having.

Beidou blinks back, a delirious and gullible look in her eyes.

"Are you gonna go have sex with him?" She asks, point blank.

I choke on my drink, not expecting to hear the question. I have to take a moment to steady myself, eyes flicking up to Beidou as she crosses her arms and stares me down.

"I— I—" I blink, stumbling over my words, trying to collect my thoughts. I settle for a jab back, looking at Beidou with as much courage as I can muster. "Are you gonna go have sex with Ningguang?" I ask.

Beidou's brows tick in, a no less severe expression on her face. "Of course." She says, just as brash. "Now answer my question."

I falter, pursing my lips. Damn, I thought that would buy me more time.

"I'm—" I start, trying to look up and meet her eyes. I end up shying away from her severe stare, hiding in my drink. "Yes." I admit, no way around it. "We are... involved."

"Involved?" Asks Beidou, leaning in, "Like more than just having sex?"

I suck my lower lip in, hesitant to talk about it. This is something that happened recently, more than a month after Beidou last left Liyue Harbor. My hands instinctively come together, my fingers resting on a bracelet that was a gift from Zhongli. He called it the contract of what we have between us, the guarantee of the promises we've made each other, and the reminder than I belong to him. There's no official title, but...

"A lot more than just sex." I say.

Beidou 'oohs', leaning in even closer.

Before she can get another word out, the door to the tavern swings open with a slam. Beidou and I both crane our necks to look. Standing in the entryway, tall, elegant and beautiful, is lady Ningguang. Her eyes are locked to Beidou though, and intimidating enough that I find myself faltering.

She walks in, tailed by two guards.

"You're in trouble now—" I whisper back, trying to make myself look at small as possible.

Beidou shoots me a glare of her own, before pulling her face into a wide smile, staring at Ningguang as she approaches.

"Hey—y my beautiful flower, has anyone told you how lovely and gentle and beautiful and intelligent and—" Beidou starts, interrupted by Ningguang.

"I've been waiting for hours." Ningguang says, voice severe, barely flicking her eyes over to me. She gives me a curt nod of acknowledgment and I blink back in surprise.

Beidou squints at her. "I— told you I'd finish lunch at twelve." She says as looks over to me. "My friends are just as important to me—"

Ningguang immediately reaches to her side, pulling a pocket watch from a chain where it's fastened. She flips it open, pushing it forward, directly toward Beidou. Beidou leans in, lifting her brows as she reads the time, surprise clear in her expression.

"Now what does that say?" Ningguang asks, staring Beidou down.

Beidou swallows, eyes flicking up to stare at the other woman. "Two-oh-six." She says, lifting her drink, finishing it in a single swig, dropping the empty glass to the table, then slowly starting to stand.

Shit. I promised Zhongli I'd be done by noon, myself.

Beidou turns to me once standing, reaching a hand over to clasp my shoulder. "I'm glad to have seen you," She starts, "If my next adventure finds me dead—" She nervously glances toward Ningguang, "Know that you were my greatest friend." At that, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out and slamming down a satchel of mora that is certainly— more than enough to pay our tab. She turns, walking away from the table.

Ningguang smiles, small, watching Beidou approach her, before turning her gaze to me. "I'm sorry for interrupting—" She says, lifting her hands together, looking apologetic. "I'm sure you understand?"

I nod, giving her a reassuring smile of my own. "I had plenty of time with her." I say back, waving her off.

I lift to my feet to stand and leave as well, met with a head rush that makes me waver. I have to shoot my hands out to the table to steady myself, coming into the realization that I drank much more than I should have.

A hand darts forward, landing on my arm, holding me steady.

"Are you alright?" I hear Ningguang ask, much closer than before.

I nod, slowly blinking, trying to focus my eyes, batting her away.

"I'm fine— just a bit—" As I try to step away, I stumble, barely catching myself on another table. "—drunk." I sigh out, then look up to Beidou to glare. "I hate you." I bite out. I always try to drink as much as her, and, inevitably, end up far drunker.

Beidou gives me a toothy grin, shrugging. "Learn to hold your liquor." She says.

Still next to me, Ningguang turns to glare at Beidou, until the smile slips from her face. She looks to the side, sheepish.

"You're in no condition to get home alone." Ningguang says, lifting her hand and snapping her fingers together.

One of the two guards steps forward, at attention, walking up next to us.

"Assure that she arrives home safely." She says, voice stern, before turning back to meet my eyes again. "If you tell him where you live he'll get you home. Let me know if there are any problems." She says, then steps away before I can protest, back to Beidou's side.

Together, the two turn, walking for the exit. Beidou looks back, giving me another wave as she's ushered away, until the door swings shut behind them, and I'm alone with the guard.

"Where do you live, ma'am?" He asks.

I look up at him, feeling sheepish. I'm drunk, that doesn't mean a need a guard to walk me home.

"You can— leave me." I start. "I'm more than capable of getting home, I'm not sure why Lady Ningguang even—" I take the first step forward, lose my footing, and fall over face first, collapsing to the ground.

I groan, collecting myself and sitting up, blowing a stressed breath. Maybe it's good Beidou's only home a few days a year, she'd drink me into an early death otherwise.

The guard's hands land on me this time, helping me to stand. I let him, but once I'm up, the hands don't come off. Instead, I'm lifted up into his arms, until he's carrying me.

"Just tell me where to go." The guard starts, looking embarrassed for me. "Ma'am."

I huff a sigh with half a mind to struggle to get out of his hold— but— realize it isn't worth it. I would probably just fall on my ass if I attempted to walk anywhere, this is likely for the best.

Now, I have to consider my options. Fake sick and abandon my plans with Zhongli because I'm in no state to meet him, or—

Zhongli's address spills from my mouth, something selfish and needy rearing in my chest. I want to see him, I don't care how much trouble I'll be in once he sees my current state.

The guard nods, walking forward with me in his arms. It's foreign to exit a bar belligerently drunk and see it's still the middle of the day. The outside is busy with working people despite the clouds in the sky and the threat of rain looming above them.

I hide my face in my own shoulder, embarrassed as the guard strides forward, down the streets, deeper into the city, carrying me to where Zhongli lives. The closer we approach, the more nervous I get, mind racing at how he might react to the mistake I've made.

I really shouldn't be drunk.

My stomach twists as I spot Zhongli's home, and consider my current position. I'm already going to be in enough trouble as it is— I don't need him to see me in another man's arms. I lift my hand, tapping the shoulder of the guard, signaling to be let down. The guard listens, lowering me to my feet. I have to take a second to balance myself, but finally find my bearings, walking forward to close what feels like an immeasurable distance between me and Zhongli.

I approach his threshold, but before I can knock, the door opens. Zhongli stands in the entryway, his eyes flicking between me and the guard at my back, his expression set.

"Didn't we agree you'd arrive by noon?" He asks, finally staring at just me.

I nod, then stumble toward him. He receives me in his arms, holding me tight as I bury myself in his chest. His arms feel massive as they wrap me, cradling me like I'm something fragile. I drag in an inhale, breathing in the scent of clear spring and mountain air that seems ever present on him.

"Are you alright?" He asks, softer.

I tilt my head back to look at him, and see his face is knit with concern. I nod, staring up at him through my lashes.

"I'm— f-fine." I slur out, then watch as Zhongli's brow ticks in.

There's a drop in my stomach as it happens, knowing he's become aware of what's made me late. He looks away from me, up to the guard.

"Thank you." He says, voice firm, before guiding me into his house.

"I'm sorry—" I try to start, keeping pressed to his side, my fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

Zhongli closes the door, soft, careful, before turning to look at me again.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" He asks, disappointment clear in his voice.

I nod, moving my hands against his abdomen. I keep touching, grabbing, pawing at him.

"I'm sorry—" I repeat, lifting my hand to his chest. "Can I make it up to you? I—"

Zhongli catches me at the wrist, holding my hands still. He sighs, then walks away without another word. I stay in place, fidgeting with the bracelet on my wrist, restlessness and guilt twisting my stomach, as I wait, I hear water start to run.

He reappears, walking straight for me. He lands his hands on me in silence, lifting me into his arms. I curl my fingers into his shoulder, holding tight as he carries me to the bathroom. I look around, noting that the bath is running, filling with water.

I'm carefully lowered to my feet, then Zhongli steps back, creating distance, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks right at me.

"Do you need help undressing?" He asks.

I shake my head no, stumbling over my own feet as I grab the hem of my dress, lifting it up and off. It falls to the floor with a thump. Standing in my undergarments, I can feel Zhongli's eyes on me, burning me in the way they flick across my body, studying me. I embarrass, shoving my panties down and off as quickly as I can, shedding my bra even faster, then standing nude with my arms wrapped around my core.

"It's ready for you." Zhongli says next, the sound of water flowing cut short.

I look up to meet his eyes, finding them locked to my body, searching the expanse of it. I carefully step forward, until I'm directly in front of him.

"I'm sorry—" I repeat, feeling small, watching as his steady gaze locks back to my face.

"It's okay." He says. "We can talk about it later."

I nod, tight, still in my own head. I almost want him to be mad, to express the upset I see clear on his face so that the guilt in my stomach settles. Instead, his words and actions are measured with restraint.

I look away from him toward the bath. It's drawn high, shimmering with soap. I lift my leg, stepping in, until I'm standing in the water. Then, I lower myself in, sinking into the warm feeling that envelops my body.

I glance back over to Zhongli, watching as he walks to the door, sheds his jacket, and hangs it. From there, he turns, walking back toward the bath, removing his gloves, unpinning his cufflinks, slipping them both into his pocket. He carefully rolls his sleeves up his forearms, one at a time.

My heart jumps to my throat as he reveals his arms, thick with muscle and defined veins like his hands, a light ghosting of hair that covers the entire limb. He kneels next to the tub, lifting a bottle of soap. He pours the soap into his hands, then pushes those hands forward, landing them on my body.

"I'm sorry." I repeat, voice as small as I can make it, searching the hard line of his unwavering expression.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, piercing in the way they look at me. He slides his soaped hand against my skin, over my chest, up to my neck. He rests there, caressing with his thumb, keeping his eyes on me.

"You reek of alcohol." He says, voice low and gentle. "Didn't you promise to never drink before seeing me?"

I duck my head, heart jumping to my throat. I nod, tight. "Yes." I breathe out, blinking down to watch my hands curl around each other underneath the water. "I'm sorry." I repeat.

Zhongli says no more, but continues to move his hands. He drags them along me with purpose, washing every square inch of my body in silence, before he's up, grabbing a toothbrush from his counter. He kneels back down, holding the brush, staring at me.

"Can you open your mouth for me?" He coaxes.

I swallow around my tongue, but do, just parting my lips.

Zhongli's free hand comes up, cupping my face. His thumb forces between my lips, pressing to my bottom row of teeth. He opens my mouth, pulling his thumb back, only to dig his fingers into my cheeks, holding my face in place. He moves forward with the toothbrush, pushing it into my mouth, watching it go in, all while I search his face.

He starts to move, brushing the caps of my teeth, moving the brush in and out of my mouth, dragging it against my lips. I find my eyes fluttering shut, embarrassment overwhelming me.

All of this is because I couldn't control myself, and now, I have to be cared for. He finishes brushing my teeth, allows me to rinse, then pulls the plug from the bath. He stands up, finds a towel, dries his hands on it, and brings it to me.

"Will you be okay on your own for a moment?" He asks, waiting until I nod in confirmation to stand up and walk away.

Once he's gone, I lift my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I wait in the bath while the water drains, consumed with upset. I just want him to kiss me the way he always does, hold me tight, and make me feel like nothing else in the world matters. Instead, I'm helpless as he picks up the pieces of me.

There's a small tremble in my core as I stand up. It's a sinking feeling that acknowledges my fault, a repeated reminder that I'm the one who fucked up and crossed the boundaries we set.

I reach for the towel that Zhongli used, dry off with it, then walk out of the bathroom. I go straight for his bedroom, finding pajamas already laid out for me on the bed. It's a top and bottom set, silken, too large, I lift the buttoned top, slipping it over my head without unbuttoning anything. The hem falls past the middle of my thigh, wearing more like a dress than anything else. I don't bother with the pants.

I poke my fingers from the oversized sleeves, curling them into the fabric at the collar of the shirt, lifting it to my face. I breathe in, finding it rich with the scent that lingers on Zhongli. I nearly buckle, eyes fluttering shut as I breathe it in, grounding myself in it.

When I open my eyes again, reality comes crashing back.

I walk out of the bedroom, eyes peeled for Zhongli. I find him in his kitchen, dropping a mixture of leaves into a pot of still water that sits on a low flame. His sleeves are still rolled up to his elbow, the muscles of his forearms flexing as he uses them.

I make a noise, watching him, wishing his hands were on me. He glances back.

"You should lay down until the tea is done." He says, quiet.

Though I know it's for the best, I refuse to listen. I shake my head no, walking toward him with uncertainty.

"I don't—" I start, taking a ragged breath. "Are you angry? I don't want you to be upset with me— please, I—" I falter as Zhongli pauses his movement. "Please." I repeat, begging, breathier than last time.

Pin prick tears collect at the corners of my eyes, desperation for reassurance fueling my courage.

Finally, Zhongli turns and approaches me, his expression strained. He lands one hand on my waist, sliding it up my side. His other cups my chin, gentler than I expect, running his thumb along my bottom lip to my cheek.

"Go lay down." He repeats, his face relaxing into something kinder, more familiar. "You'll feel better if you lay down."

I whine, wrapping my arms around him tighter, hesitant to let go now that I've got some of the attention I desperately wanted.

"Do you hate me now?" I ask, voice small.

Zhongli's brows lift, his hand traveling higher to thumb the tear from my eye. He moves in closer, holding eye contact with me.

"Of course not." He says, quiet, holding my face steady to lean in and press a chaste kiss to my lips. "I am upset." He says, his breath warm against my lips, tightening his hand on my waist to pull me closer. "But we can wait to address it when you're sober." He presses another kiss.

Though the words are severe, it's a relief. I press into his lips with all of my might, digging my fingers into his shoulders, steadying myself. He can still love me the same, despite my mistakes.

Zhongli pulls back from the kiss with a soft noise, quickly turning to attend to the pot. I finally relax, moving with him, keeping myself pressed against his broad back, my arms looping his waist.

"You're too kind to me." I mumble, muffled by his shirt.

Maybe it's the drive of the alcohol, or the way his hands felt when he ran them along my body as he washed me, or maybe even just his kindness, but I find myself craving intimacy. I carefully drag my hands down his abdomen, grazing my fingers against the fabric of his shirt, until I reach his belt. There, I move carefully, working my fingers to lift the clasp, my other hand dragging down across his lap as I hold my breath.

Zhongli goes still beneath my palms. I move slower, glacially, pressing against his belt. I don't make it far before his hand covers my own, stilling my movement.

"No." He says, voice low and soft. "Not while you're drunk."

I whine, pressing against his back. "But I want to—" I pout.

Zhongli turns to face me, an unfamiliar stern look on his face. "No." He repeats, just as he lands his hands on me and lifts me into his arms.

I'm helplessly carried to his bedroom, then, unceremoniously dumped onto his bed.

"Rest until the tea is done." Zhongli says, an order, before leaning in and pressing a parting kiss to my forehead. "I'll be back when it's ready." He says, then pulls back.

I puff my cheeks out, pouting, but refrain from protest. Zhongli turns, walking back out of the room, leaving me alone. I decide to settle, admitting that he's right, I should lay down. I wrap myself in a comforter, burying my face in his pillows, and let my eyes shut. I find myself relaxing, mind filled with memories of us in this bed together, and how safe I feel here, until I slip into sleep.

***

I open my eyes, disoriented, watching Zhongli's back retreat from the room. I blink slowly, sitting up, lifting my hands to rub my eyes. I must've fallen asleep, and, I glance out a window, noting the setting sun in the sky, it must've been for hours.

I take in my surroundings, noticing that to my side is a cup of tea on a plate, billowing a soft cloud of steam. I steady myself before reaching for it, then lift it to drink. It tastes floral, minty, bright against my desensitized tongue.

I blink again, trying to focus my eyes as I recollect the events of the day. I notice a slight ache in my head, and remember the fact that I was drunk.

Embarrassment heats my face, the automatic memory of Zhongli's disappointment in me springing to the forefront. I hide in the cup of tea, willing myself to forget.

It's a useless effort.

Though, as memories come back in, I come to a conclusion: I owe Zhongli my thanks, and maybe another apology.

I tilt the cup of tea back, finishing it despite its temperature, then set the empty cup down on it's plate. I lift from bed, stumbling out to the living area, searching for what I want. I find him lounging, a book open in his hands. He hardly glances up at me, brows raised.

"How do you feel?" He asks.

I ignore the question, striding right for him. I plant a hand on his shoulder, swing my leg over his lap, then crawl on top of him, forcing my way into his hold. His arms come back together behind my back, keeping his book steady.

"Better." I finally mumble, once I'm in his lap.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"I'm better." I mumble, pressing my face into his neck, taking care to breathe in a way he can feel. "Thanks to you."

Close like this, I find the same feeling from earlier, a desire for his hands on me, running along my body, the desire to be wanted. I tilt in closer, arching my spine to press our bodies flush. I land a hand on his chest, and slowly drag it down his abdomen.

"Is that so?" Zhongli asks back, voice low, breathy.

I nod into his neck. "You took care of me..." I continue, dragging my hand lower with my goal in mind, resting my fingertips against his belt. "Now I want to take care of you—" My hand ghosts lower, until I'm resting my palm flat against where his cock sits.

I only make it that far before Zhongli's hand covers mine, stopping my movement, pulling it back. I tilt my head back, looking at him with a confused pout. This is the second time he's stopped me. His face is calm, neutral other than the slight uptick in the corner of his lips, his lowered eyes flicking down my face in a controlled way.

"You can't have everything you want." He says, voice low enough my stomach tightens.

He drops my hand from his hold, lifting his own hand to brush my hair from my face. He grazes his fingers against my cheek, holding his eyes on me until I falter, tucking my chin down, embarrassment burning my skin.

He immediately catches my chin, tilting my face back up.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" He says, then sighs, pressing his thumb to my lower lip. "You disobeyed our contract, broke my trust and—" His eyes flick across my face, calculating. "—you need to be punished for it."

I swallow, retracting my hands to myself, curling them in the loose fabric of the shirt I'm wearing, unable to look at up at him. This isn't what I expected, but—

"I'm sorry." I mumble, tilting my hips to press against his lap, keeping my legs spread. "You can—"

"No." Zhongli says as his other hand drops to my hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold me in place. "What kind of discipline is that?" He asks. "Giving you exactly what you want—" He leans in toward me, until his lips hover next to mine. "Exactly what you're desperate for—" His hand slides up my side, to the bottom of my ribs. "—aren't you?"

I whine, nodding, breaking my thin restraint to roll my hips, pressing our bodies together as close as I can without him being inside of me.

"Please—" I breathe out, not above begging.

Zhongli's hands both drop to my hips, stilling my movement. He handles me with his firm grip, until I'm forced off of his lap. He moves my hips into place, sitting me down on his thigh. He holds me there, his expression relaxed as he stares me down.

"Why don't you show me? Show me how desperate you are." He says.

His leg lifts, pressing against everything bare between my legs, giving a moment of pressure. I nearly buckle, relief and arousal curling in my stomach as I finally feel him stimulate me. Then, he stops. I buck my hips, grinding myself against his thigh, chasing to find the same pressure again.

"That's it—" He coaxes out. "Just like that."

I warm under the praise, looking up at him through my lashes, continuing to move my hips, fucking myself against his clothed thigh. All I have the mind to do is roll my hips, my breaths coming out heavier, cut only by soft moans, the pressure between my legs from my movement enough to stimulate my clit.

"Such a pretty sight—" Zhongli continues, watching me. "—getting yourself off on my thigh." At that, his thigh lifts again, the pressure enough to pull another whine from my throat

His lips twitch to smile as he hears it, his thumbs hooking into the hem of my shirt. He pulls it up, just barely, not far enough to expose more than my thighs. He lifts his leg again, pressing until I gasp, clenching around his thigh with my own.

He relaxes his leg as I whimper, leaning in toward him. My hips buck, grinding at a more rapid pace, arousal burning low in my abdomen. I whine, lifting one hand to his bicep, curling my fingers around it, holding on to steady myself.

Zhongli tilts his chin back, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

"I bet you can cum just from my thigh, can't you?" He asks.

I nod, swallowing around my tongue, struggling to keep my eyes open as I roll against his thigh in a rhythm, fighting to stimulate my clit, everything between my legs dripping wet as it slides together.

"Pathetic little girl." Zhongli sighs out. "Undisciplined, so easy to make finish." He lifts a hand, sliding it up my thigh, until he's holding my waist with the shirt hitched up around his wrist.

He exposes me with the motion, his eyes turning down to watch me grind myself against his thigh with short desperate movements.

"I bet you feel good, don't you?" He asks, briefly flicking his eyes back up to my face. "Do you want something?"

I whimper, nodding, the movement of my hips losing rhythm, unevenly jerking against his thigh.

"Use your words." He says back.

"Please— please— let me cum— let me— let me cum—" I breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as I chase the pleasure.

"Not yet. Keep going." Zhongli says back. "I want to hear you keep begging... those little noises you let out when you're desperate."

I blink my eyes back open, searching his face as I nod. Though his expression remains calm, there's a flush collecting on his cheeks. And, when I look down, I see his cock is standing to attention, the fabric of his pants tight around the length. I whimper out another moan, twisting my hand in the fabric of his shirt on his bicep, changing the pace of my hips to move faster, the pleasure drawing me in.

Zhongli lets out a noise, holding my hip tighter to slow my movement. He leans in, pressing a kiss to my neck, the warmth of his mouth catching my heart in my throat as his lips continue, brushing along my jaw, until he reaches my ear.

"I can tell what you want." He says, voice low. "You always spread your legs for me, beg me to fuck you, like you deserve it." He moves in closer, nipping my earlobe. "Slow down." He demands.

I'm quick to listen, changing the movement of my hips to slow, intentional rolls, careful to stimulate everything between my legs with each movement. He lifts his leg between mine, pressuring until I whimper, arching my back to move with him.

"Such a pretty noise." Zhongli sighs out, relaxing his leg and leaning back again to watch me. "You can be such a good girl when you listen to me."

My eyes flutter shut, heat warming my chest as I bloom from the praise. I move my hips with intent, pleasure at the forefront of my mind.

"Please—" I beg again. "Let me cum, please sir—" The honorific slips off my tongue, followed by a breathless moan.

Zhongli responds with a pleased noise, his hands tensing on my hips.

"Go ahead." He finally assents. "Ruin yourself with nothing but my thigh. Let me see it."

Permission is all it takes, my entire body rocking as I roll against his thigh the final few times, crashing into an orgasm that grips my muscles tight enough I tremble.

I lift from his knee with a broken moan, tilting forward, arching my back as I succumb to my climax.

As I still tremble, coming down from the high, my breathes panted, Zhongli releases my hip, moving to press his hand between my legs. His other hand hooks into the fabric of my shirt, pulling it above my navel, displaying my body to him. His fingers slide against my pussy, eased by the collecting slick. They feel blunt, spreading me open, then—

I gasp as his fingers press to my clit. My still cum sensitive pussy flutters, gripping on air. My body is torn between pressing into it, or jerking away in over-sensitivity. My thighs twitch, abdomen held tight enough to hurt.

"Look at you." Zhongli sighs out, his eyes locked between my legs. "Such a mess just from riding my thigh— spread open like that's all you're good for." He moves his fingers, gently pressing his index and middle to circle my clit, playing with me despite the way I twitch in oversensitivity.

"You're beautiful like this." He breathes. "I can't imagine how beautiful you'll look when I'm inside of you." He says, then finally retracts his hands, landing them both on his belt as he carefully works to unbuckle and open it.

His fingers move quick, intentional, knowledgeable in the way he undoes the clasp. He doesn't go further than that, instead lifting his hand to catch my wrist, pulling it toward his lap. I whine, taking control back as my hand is guided, fumbling to push into his undergarments, wrapping my hand around his cock. He lifts his hips, helping me adjust further, until his cock is free, flushed red with blood, painfully hard, resting against his stomach, exposed.

My stomach tightens just looking at Zhongli's cock. I'm up before I realize I am, sinking to the ground on my knees, directly between his legs. He watches me with a relaxed smile, his eyes half lidded. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, steadying it as he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, helping me guide in. I push my tongue out, making contact with the head of his cock first. I lap at the slit, the taste of his skin salty on my tongue.

Zhongli's stomach twitches, his cock pulsing in my hand as I finally stimulate him back. I lower my eyes, staring only at his cock, then lean all the way in, taking him into my mouth with a soft moan.

I hear a breathy noise from above me, quiet, and force myself to take his cock deeper, feeling it throb against my tongue.

"Perfect— such a perfect girl—" Zhongli praises, running his fingers through my hair, petting me before he grips again, holding tight. "You know just how to make me feel good— so pretty with my cock down your throat—" He moans again as my mouth tightens. I fight to relax my throat, desperate to take him deeper.

I rock my hips against nothing, like I'm still sat on Zhongli's thigh, moans high in my throat vibrating around his cock. I can feel the arousal between my legs, cascading down my thighs, creating even more of a mess as I move my mouth on his cock, sloppy, focused only on making him feel good as I move my head.

I'm doing well if the constant low moans from Zhongli mean anything.

"Just like that—" He continues to praise. "So good—"

I flutter my eyes shut, forcing myself to take him into my throat again, curling my tongue along the shaft of his cock to follow a vein. His cock throbs against my tongue, his abdomen twitching above me. It lasts for only a moment before a hand lands in my hair, holding tight, pulling me off.

I look at Zhongli with a pout, noticing he looks fucked out of his mind, slowly blinking back at me. I move forward, pushing my tongue out, leaning in open mouthed, desperate for the taste of cum down my throat.

I look up at Zhongli through my lashes, begging with my eyes.

He huffs, blinking down at me. "Not yet." He says. "You don't deserve it yet."

Before I can protest, he releases me, moving his hands back to relax on his thighs.

"Up." He demands.

I nod, swallowing around my nerves, lifting back to my feet on unsteady legs. Zhongli's eyes flick down to my thighs, the slick coating them, glinting in the lowlight. His hands move toward me again, landing on my hips, tugging me closer between his legs. Once he's satisfied with my position, he lifts his hands to unbutton the shirt I'm wearing.

He does each button slowly, intentionally, revealing a new line of skin down my chest, down my stomach, following it with his eyes, until he opens the shirt, putting my body fully on display. I fight to not shy away as he drags his eyes along me, his jaw tensing in restraint.

He doesn't hold for long.

Zhongli's arms wrap my waist, pulling me even closer as he leans in, landing his lips on my stomach. His breath is hot as he drags his mouth across my abdomen, pressing a kiss when he sees fit.

I lift my arms, curling them around his shoulders to cradle his head, one of my knees lifting to rest on his thigh. He keeps one arm wrapped around my waist, tight, holding me in place. He drops the other, pushing his hand back between my legs. This time, he has a goal in mind, his rough fingers sliding against the soft skin of my pussy just to wet them, before pushing them further back, until the pads of his fingers just rest at my entrance.

I pull in a sharp breath, my legs tensing in anticipation for him to finally be inside of me, even if it's just his fingers. His mouth moves again, up my ribs, to my chest, his breath hot against my breast, his tongue pushing out to lap at my nipple just as— ah.

I gasp, my body tensing as Zhongli's fingers finally push in, two sinking into me, stretching me out as he curls them up, petting my insides. He distracts me by rolling my nipple with his teeth, a pleased noise low in his throat as I react, arching toward his stimulation, melting into his control.

His fingers are slow, careful to not hurt me as he pumps them in and out of me. I flutter my pussy, gripping down, desperate to feel him deeper. I lift my hands, carding them into his hair to hold tight, still cradling his head as he moves his mouth of my breast up to my collar, scraping with his teeth.

I feel the pressure of another finger resting at my entrance and tense my thighs, already stretched tight. His lips move higher, pressing a kiss to the base of my neck as the only warning I get before the third finger pushes in, pulling a whimper from low in my throat.

Zhongli keeps his stimulation gentle, darting his tongue out to drag it up the tendon of my neck, sinking his fingers back into me, stretching me with the taper of his fingers' girth. I tug his hair tight, tight enough to pull him from my neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and look at me. His expression is dark, unsated, desire apparent. I take panted breaths, staring back down at him as I milk his fingers.

"Please—" I breathe out. "Please, sir."

It's all it takes, the corner of Zhongli's lips twitching to smile as he pulls his fingers out of me, dragging a wave of slick with them. I tilt my head down to watch as he leads that hand to his lap, wrapping it around his cock, pumping and wetting the length.

His hand on my waist drops down my hip, guiding me to turn my back to him. He holds tight, lifting and handling me until I'm spread on his lap, my knees planted to either side of his, his mouth pressed to my shoulder. He wraps my waist from behind, holding me in place to his chest.

His other hand stays on his cock, guiding to press the head of it to my pussy. He slides against me, dragging the tip through everything sensitive, before lining up with my entrance. He holds his cock steady, kissing along the length of my shoulder, to my neck, waiting with his lips pressed to my ear.

"Go ahead." He breathes out. "Take it."

I swallow, nodding, looking down my abdomen, staring at his cock where it connects with me. I lift my hands, curling them around the arm he's wrapped my waist with, digging in with my nails to hold tight as I shift my hips, sinking down on his cock. I feel his stomach tighten against my back, a jagged breath escaping his lips as I finally envelop him, lowering onto his cock until I'm resting in his lap, our bodies fully connected.

I only pause for a moment, small moans slipping from my mouth as I adjust to finally being stretched on his cock. I can't help but move, lifting my knees to bounce in his lap, fucking myself.

Zhongli's sucks in a breath once I move, sharp, tightening the hand he has on my waist to hold me in place.

"Not yet." He says, voice low, restrained. "You don't deserve it yet. Sit." He demands.

I whine, fluttering my pussy along the length of his cock, just barely shifting my hips to keep stimulated.

"Please—" I beg again, desperate to move.

"No." He says back, firm in his resolve. "I want to see how desperate you can get—" His free hand drops between my legs, sliding against my pussy to explore where I'm stretched on his cock.

"Keep begging." He sighs out, dragging his fingers to my clit, evenly pressuring.

"Please, I— ah—" I draw in a sharp breath as his mouth continues to move against my shoulder, tightening down on the skin, sucking to bruise.

I whine as he loosens his mouth, dragging his tongue along the mark to soothe it, then moves higher, sucking another.

"I—I—" I swallow around my noises, hips fighting to move as Zhongli keeps me held in place. "I want you to feel good— please—" I manage to gasp out. "Let me— let me make you feel good—"

Zhongli makes a noise, low, that rumbles his chest where it's pressed to my back. He moves his arm from my waist up, dragging his fingers into my soft skin that gives under his touch, up to my neck. He circles my neck with his hand, his palm flat to my throat. His chin hooks over my shoulder, tilting down so he can watch the muscles of my abdomen tense, his fingers still playing between my legs. The hand on my throat tightens, holding me still, until there's a fuzz in my brain, intoxicating in the way he's controlling me.

"I do feel good." He breathes out. "—watching you like this— trembling little thing—" He squeezes the sides of my throat tight, speeding his fingers to a stutter against my clit.

I whimper, entire body pulling tight enough to shake, being forced toward another orgasm quicker than I can handle.

"You can't even control yourself— all those noises— you're so reactive." He tapers off, voice low.

He slows his fingers to more intentional strokes, dragging my orgasm out of me. I shout, eyes rolling back as the feeling overtakes. I dig into his arms with my nails, shaking through it as I cum in waves. It pulses through my abdomen, making me tighten on his cock. He goes until it's too much, continuing to pet my clit even as my hips jerk, whines constant in my throat, body arching away from the stimulation in oversensitivity.

"Please— sir—" I beg again, whining as tears collect in my eyes.

"You should see yourself—" He continues speaking, unfazed despite the way his fingers finally move from my clit, dragging up to rest his palm flat to my twitching abdomen.

I swallow, fighting to open my eyes, head rolling back, thoughts fuzzy.

"I want—" I start, mumbling. "I want to make you feel good— please fuck me—" I beg.

Zhongli huffs a laugh against my back. "So," he starts, soft, "You want—" His hips adjust, his arm steadying me as he finally snaps his hips up, fucking into me once.

It pulls a guttural moan from my throat, my mentality lost as I melt in his hands.

"—this?" He asks, rocking his hips against my ass before pulling back and snapping them again.

I whimper, managing to nod despite the way my head rolls back.

"Yeah— yes—" I mewl out, completely pliant in his hands.

Zhongli hums in consideration, tightening his grip on my hips to hold me still, then finally fucks himself into me, rolling his hips in a rhythm. The room fills with the sound of our skin connecting, my wanton moans a constant that he meets with heavy breaths of his own, unwavering as he fucks himself up into my lax body.

His endurance might be the death of me, his thrusts never stopping as I bounce in his lap from the force he's using to fuck into me, nearly just along for the ride, holding on tight.

I try to last, but don't make it long before the threat of an orgasm builds again, low in my abdomen.

"I'm—" I whimper out, thighs tensing where they bracket him, before crashing into another orgasm.

It rips through my body, hard enough to hurt, every muscle feeling exhausted, weak. Zhongli's hips never slow. Instead, he fucks into me harder, even as I feel myself cry out, face wet from tears and saliva, digging my nails into his arm deep enough to draw blood.

"Please— please— Zhongli—" I whine, tapping his arm, begging for a moment of mercy.

"Pathetic." Zhongli sighs out from behind me, though, he slows his hips to a stop, holding my stomach as I fight to catch my breath.

I try to relax, fluttering around the length of his cock buried inside of me. I realize, sitting down, his lap is soaked. I must have—

"What a messy thing." Zhongli observes first, rocking his hips against me.

"I'm sorry." I whimper out, flexing my numb fingers, trying to get a handle on myself. "I keep— I— it hurts— it's— I'm sorry."

"We can stop." He says, voice finally soft. "If that's what you want."

I'm quick to shake my head, refusing to finish until he's cum, until I've pleased him. I lift my own hips, fighting the ache in my thighs to ride, rolling back into his lap.

Zhongli hums, pleased, pressing his lips to my shoulder. "Good girl." He breathes out. "That's why you're mine."

I nod, moans high, whined, fighting my own body to ride his cock. I move in rough, jerky motions, lifting as far out of his lap as I can manage, sure to drag the full length of his cock out until the head catches my entrance, then sink back down.

I'm encouraged by the noises that start to slip from Zhongli, low, exhaled moans that come in tandem with each bounce. I steady myself, arching my back to ride with as much fervor as I can muster, colliding with his lap as I bounce.

Zhongli's hands begin to tense, his moans more frequent, his stomach tight against my back. It's almost a relief when his hips snap up, colliding into my movement, his cock jerking to flood warmth low in my belly as he exhales a shuddered moan against my shoulder, throbbing inside of me.

Shaking, I lift to my knees, only for Zhongli to pull me right back into place.

"I'm not done with you." He says, voice steady. "You're staying right here. I'll use you again when I feel like it."

I whimper, nodding. I can feel myself throbbing, milking his cock that remains buried inside of me, the mess between us growing.

Zhongli settles back, one arm still looping my waist, the other reaching to his side, lifting the book he was reading earlier.

It's humiliating, crumbling back to lean into his chest, eyes barely staying open, watching as he occupies himself by reading, all while his softening cock is buried inside of me, twitching every time I clench. Though, the break is needed, pain from oversensitivity fading.

He doesn't let me rest much, occasionally pausing only to fuck up into me, his cock growing increasingly hard as the time ticks on, until he's fully erect, rocking against me again. Though, he doesn't seem to react to it, instead continuing to read even as he tilts his hips hard enough noises slip from my throat.

Zhongli holds, unmoving, unwavering, keeping me split open on his cock until I'm throbbing, arousal low in my abdomen demanding I be fucked again. I squirm in his lap, clenching down, desperate for him to react, hold my hips, take what's his.

Instead, he reads his book like he doesn't feel it, feel me pulsing around his cock buried inside of me, cum and slick dripping from my thighs, my stomach warm where he's filled me.

Every movement becomes torture, every breath forcing his cock to move inside of me, teasing in the way it drags along everything sensitive. He continues to let his hips twitch, fucking his cock up into me with no real intent other than to make me whimper.

I only make it so long before I break, tilting my own hips, carefully lifting my knees to bounce in his lap in short, careful motions.

Zhongli notices.

"Did I give you permission?" He asks, voice low, freezing me in place.

I whine, shaking my head.

"N-no—" I mumble out.

Zhongli sighs, lifting his hands, slowly, carefully marking his page and setting the book down. His arm wraps my legs under my knees, lifting and holding them to my chest. His other wraps my waist, holding me in place, then, he stands, still inside of me, carrying me to his bedroom.

He releases me onto his bed on my stomach, keeping his cock locked inside. He presses a hand to the center of my upper back, holding me in place, then finally shifts his hips, pulling his cock out. I whine, clenching on air, feeling the cum-slick mixture pulse from my abused pussy, drooling out, across my clit and out onto the sheets.

Zhongli lets out a low noise at the sight, pressing his hand firmly against my back, before finally stepping away.

I whine once out of contact with him, shifting to flip to my back, look at him carefully slipping out of his clothes. He peels them off, layer by layer, until he's nude, then finally comes back to pay me attention. I lift my knees, keeping my thighs held together, watching as he watches me.

"You need to learn to obey me—" He sighs as he approaches, landing his hands on my thighs, pulling them apart. "You can't get out of trouble just by spreading your legs open and being my whore, no matter how much favor it wins you."

He digs into the soft flesh with his fingers, glancing down between my legs as he slots his cock against my pussy, sliding against it. His fingers hook into the shirt I still have on, roughly jerking the fabric to tear it off my body, until we're both nude.

Zhongli's hips roll, dragging his cock along everything sensitive while he stares at me, a mess in his sheets, twisting my hands and panting, begging for more.

"No one wants a disobedient girl—" He sighs out, shifting his hands up to my hips and holding on tight. He tugs, dragging me down the sheets until my ass hangs over the edge of his bed. He stands between my thighs, leaning in toward me, holding my spread legs upright.

"I'm— sorry—" I choke out again. "I'm sorry, sir."

Zhongli inhales, slow, restrained, staring down at my face. He shifts his hips back, until just the tip of his cock is pressed to me. He moves his hand until he can wrap the base, guiding it lower between my legs until the head rests just at my entrance.

"Beg." He says, low.

I whimper, nodding, a repeated 'please' spilling from my mouth like breath. I rock my hips, feeling the head of his cock catch as it slides against my pussy, desperation taking over the way I lift my hips, until I'm begging with my body, too.

Zhongli slips into a pleased smile, watching me break beneath him, until his hands tighten on my body again, holding me in place.

"You're such a good girl when you listen." He praises, then finally shifts in, pushing his cock inside of me.

I gasp as I feel him enter, eyes rolling back, scrambling to wrap his hips with my legs. My hands lift to my chest, curling there.

I brace as Zhongli drags his cock out, just in time for him to snap his hips forward, fucking into me hard enough I drag up the sheets. There's no mercy in his pace, the snap of his hips rough, colliding into me as he grips my thighs, trying to hold me in place.

I moan with each thrust, pulsing in tandem with the drag of his cock inside of me. I know I look like a mess, but I'm not present enough to care, instead focused on panting through my breaths as he fucks himself into me, the sound of our skin connecting filling the room.

The drag of his cock is perfect, stimulating everything inside of me, keeping me stretched open. I keep moaning, desperate, held tilted back, barely present enough to watch Zhongli fuck himself into me through my lashes.

I have to tilt my chin back, guttural moans carving my throat, entire body pulling tight as Zhongli fucks me like it's nothing. An ache starts in my core, forcing me to grip harder on his cock. It's a familiar tension in my muscles, dragging me closer to an orgasm, his cock pounding against every sensitive spot.

"I'm— I can't—" I sigh out, turning my face into my shoulder through my whimpered moans.

"Already?" Zhongli asks, never slowing the roll of his hips. "Pathetic mewling thing—" He moans himself, guiding his hand to wrap my throat, loosely holding it, digging his other hand into my thigh.

I whimper through my moan, too embarrassed to look at him, the roll of an orgasm building low in my stomach, close enough to hurt.

"I'm—" I manage to whimper out, before cascading into an orgasm, pussy fluttering around the length of Zhongli's cock.

"So quick." He chastises, seemingly unaffected.

I can feel my body trembling with the effort, it takes to be fucked, constant mewled moans spilling from my throat. I feel messy, used, my hands curling against my chest as he continues to fuck into me. The drag of his cock overstimulates, my cum sensitive pussy making me desperate enough that my thighs fight to close, preserve what's between them.

Zhongli refuses it, dropping both hands to hold my thighs tight, keeping me spread.

"No." He chastises, breathless. "You'll take it until I'm done."

I mewl out, desperate, darting both of my hands down to hold his forearms, digging in with my nails, jerking my hips as his movement never stops.

"Please—" I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for at this point, shaking with the effort, head rolling back on my shoulders. "I'm sorry, sir— please— please— it hurts— I'm sorry—"

I look up to Zhongli, pleading with my eyes. It takes a moment, but his expression finally softens, his thrusts slowing until he's resting with his hips flush to my ass, I continue to tremble, clenching around his paused cock. I jump as his hand connects to my chest, his rough skin tenderly dragging down my ribs and abdomen.

He goes to my own hands, prying them from his arms, lifting them until they're above my head. He slots his hand against mine, threading our fingers together, squeezing tight. The motion grounds me, preparing me for when hips rock, gently stimulating me with his cock again.

"You can do it." Zhongli sighs out, rocking himself into me, carefully moving his hips. "Just keep taking my cock like my good girl." He squeezes my hand with his as he talks, tilting his hips back to drag the full length of his cock out of me before fucking it back in.

"You're perfect—" He praises, even as my eyes roll back, "Such a— such a good girl."

I warm under the praise, blinking up at Zhongli as I come back to my body, stretched open on his cock.

"I'm—" I mumble out, disoriented.

He holds me tighter, leaning in to catch my lips. He exhales against them before we meet, kissing me with an even pressure. I arch into it, heart thumping as I warm from the affection.

Zhongli pulls back, hovering his lips next to mine as he speaks.

"You can do it—" He breathes out. "That's my girl."

I tilt my head back, eyes fluttering shut as I relax against the mattress. The drag of his cock in and out of me continues, gentler than before. He rolls his hips against me, breathy moans of his own escaping, a relaxed look on his face.

Zhongli squeezes my hand tight, a grounding motion, before his hips speed, chasing. I lift my shaking legs, wrapping his hips and holding on for the ride, my lax body dragging up the sheets, until, finally, his thrusts lose rhythm again, stuttered movement matching the moaned noises from low in his throat. I watch his face, until his expression breaks, the surrender of ecstasy taking over. There's a catch in his breath, noises low in his throat all warning whats to come.

I flutter around his pulsing cock as it finally jerks, flooding my stomach, his hand holding mine tight enough to hurt.

He watches my face as he cums, looking relaxed, before coming down, meeting my lips with his hips resting flush to my ass. I'm kissed hard enough my head tilts back into the sheets, trembling body otherwise pliant in his hands. He handles me up the bed, to the center, carefully to stay inside of me. I sigh as he relaxes, pressing me into the mattress with his weight, coming down from the high as our bodies continue to rock together, no real chase for pleasure in the movement, just a desire for closeness.

"I'm proud—" Zhongli starts, pressing another kiss to my lips. "—so proud to call you mine."

I muster just enough energy to smile, lifting my hands to thread them into his hair and hold him against my lips a moment longer, before I fully collapse, exhausted.

Looking up at Zhongli, wrapped in his arms, I watch his face soften. The severity of his expression eases, tension melting from him, until he finally seems relaxed.

"I'm sorry." I mumble again, quiet. "I'm sorry for breaking the contract."

Zhongli smiles, soft, bringing a hand up to cup my face, running his thumb along my cheek.

"I forgive you." He says. "It was a mistake."

His hand lifts from my face, grabbing one of my hands at the wrist. He places it above my head, curling his fingers around the bracelet he gave me to signal our bond.

"If you choose to do it again... I won't hesitate to remind you that you belong to me." He says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my lips.

I nod, eyes barely open, body sinking into the exhaustion that envelops it, finally feeling settled with the spoken forgiveness.

I would never get drunk in the middle of the day.

—but, if it means getting punished like this...

I might repeat the mistake.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact #genshin #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #zhongli x y/n #zhongli

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sitp-recs · 3 years

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hi :) i simply adore your blog and your fic recs are so spot on, you’ve made me fall back in love with drarry and hp. I rly love reading a fic before I go to sleep but I end up picking a 70k word one and end up staying up much longer than I wanted to so could you possibly recommend me any fics max 15k words, with a happy ending pls i need the cuteness to help me sleep 🥰 Thanku so so much xx

Hi anon! Thanks so much, I’m thrilled to know I had a small part in making you fall back in love with Drarry, that’s amazing! And what a mood lol I used to pick long fics before bed too, it’s a mighty trap 😂 I’ve read many short fics in the last year so I decided to go for these delightful and not-as-popular shorts, with excellent build up and happy endings. Perfect bedtime reads in my opinion! I got a bit too excited with this list so I’ll call it 31 Bedtime Reads! One for each day of the month ;) enjoy!

The Long Fall by @tackytigerfic (2021, M, 3.6k)

It's supposed to be a simple house renovation, and maybe it's just the paint fumes, but Harry is feeling dizzy around Draco Malfoy. And what's the real meaning of family, anyway?

oxygen by @maesterchill (2020, T, 4k)

Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe.

A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (2017, E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

Harmony (Left-Handed Melody Remix) by mindabbles (2010, M, 5.8k)

He is the last person Draco was expecting, but then again, this is not a place Draco ever expected to be.

Vintage by momatu (2017, T, 7k)

Of all of the vineyards, in all of the regions, in all of France, Draco's blasted editor sends him to Potter's...

Our Ordinary Days by Lomonaaeren (2012, M, 8k)

Two men, both fathers of sons, meet in a bookshop. And the rest is the kind of history that doesn't make history.

Ice Snakes, Glow-worms and Wolverine Stew by khalulu (2015, M, 8.4k)

Harry Potter apparently wants to talk to Draco about something, but odd events keep getting in the way of that conversation – and bringing them closer together.

The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)

In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven. Naturally, her favourite targets are the poster boys of the two sides of the war: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

Blind Date by JosephineStone (2016, T, 8.6k)

Draco’s been working with Harry for years when another one of his relationships goes stale. He has to be married within a year, and though the WizNet has burned him in the past, Draco finds a new possibility in man as desperate to marry as he is.

Stories in E Minor by @huldrejenta (2014, E, 8.7k)

Draco has found his place in the Muggle world. He's got his music, he's got his neighbours and he is content. Until a certain someone from the past enters his life again.

Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 8.8k)

Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

Til Our Compass Stands Still by china_nightingale (2018, M, 9k)

Harry and Draco eventually realise that things don't always go to plan, even if it's a plan they've been carefully crafting to keep themselves safe from each other.

The Interest Here by disapparater (2015, T, 9k)

Draco has his own morning show on the wireless, which he loves; an ambitious assistant, whom he needs; and days in The Tea Shop, where he relaxes. He also has a new caller on the show, whom he finds bloody annoying.

Tidings of Comfort series by @blamebrampton (2012, G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

Sweet Indulgence by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 10k)

It doesn't matter that Marcy from Accounting is dancing on the tables, Shacklebolt is wearing antlers, and Elliot from Transportation is on his third round of Mariah Carey on karaoke because all the free champagne in the world won't salvage the Ministry Christmas party for Draco if Potter doesn't show up soon.

Settle in in my slow-burning heart by orphan_account (2015, NR, 10k)

Five years after the war Draco is working a tech developer job in the Auror Office, and it's all great except this one thing: Harry Potter works there, too.

Adventures in Truth and Texting by @fluxweeed (2020, E, 11k)

Former Death Eaters are being targeted with a Veritaserum curse – it’s permanent, and makes victims speak aloud their every thought. Luckily, it’s easier to control when writing.

fine i'll hold my breath / til i forget it's complicated by teatrolley (2015, NR, 11k)

Harry and Draco become friends with benefits, and Harry thinks it's more complicated than it actually is.

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (2011, E, 11k)

Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.

Cold Like Fire by QueenofThyme (2012, M, 12k)

Head Auror Harry Potter had no problem with mandatory consent training for his team. He’d actually been looking forward to it, that is, until he discovered who the teacher was.

What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (2018, E, 12k)

Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken (2020, T, 12k)

What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn.

Kill, Fuck, Marry by @lettersbyelise (2018, E, 12.6k)

Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by whiskyandwildflowers (2018, E, 13k)

“I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."

Evolution by @potteresque-ire Pie (2013, M, 13k)

Draco Malfoy was condemned to live a Muggle’s life for his three-year probation. His wand was locked away, and he was forbidden to set foot in Wizarding Britain until Hermione Granger secured a job for him in the Aurors’ stock room.

Plan Alphabet by @xx-thedarklord-xx (2019, T, 14k)

After realizing that his feelings for Harry were unfortunately real, Draco embarks on a foolproof—yes, Longbottom, foolproof—plan to woo Potter.

Countdown by dysonrules (2013, M, 14k)

When the Wizarding world is plagued by random outbreaks of Dark Magic, the Ministry assigns Curse-Breakers to assist Auror teams on their missions.

All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (2015, G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

Espresso Patronum by @tasteofshapes (2020, T, 15k)

When Draco reappears five years after the war and opens a wildly popular coffee shop, Harry’s pretty sure that Draco’s Up to Something. He just has to prove it.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (2014, E, 15k)

Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (2019, T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #bedtime reads

748 notes · View notes

venusiangguk · 3 years

Text

gold rush pt. 3 | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader

>>genre: pwp, v little plot, smut, kinda fluffy, college au (kinda), established relationship

>>word count: 9.9k um?

>>warnings: pegging!!!, butt stuff!!!, sexy anal!!!, sub jk, soft dom oc, crying why do i always make everyone cry, fingering (m), strap on, dildos, vibrators, sex toys, sex shop adventures, explicit sex, like so explicit this bitch is basically 10k, mutual masturbation, coming untouched, kisses, aftercare in the form of snacks, titty squeezing, dirty talk, excessive use of pet names, yoongi exists

>>notes: i wasn’t gonna write this bc ur girl does not know the first thing about pegging, but jk sucking the strap came to me in a dream and i had to do it. it was highly requested so i hope u like it! i wrote and poorly edited this whole thing today so im sorry for any mistakes !!

>>summary: jk wants the strap, and jk gets what he wants !!

pt.1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

The sun is shining, and there’s just the perfect amount of breeze to cool Jeongguk as sweat runs down his temple. The soccer pitch just got cut, making the ball much easier to control, and therefore much easier to aim at Jimin’s ass. It’s cool-down time, so the team is in groups of three, idly kicking the ball between each other, for the last few minutes of practice. All in all, a great day to talk about getting pegged with his best friends.

Jeongguk glances around the field, making sure the other groups are far enough away from him and his friends before clearing his throat. “So… do you guys like… get pegged?”

When Taehyung passes the ball to Jimin, Jimin completely misses it due to the fact that he is looking at Jeongguk like he is the most pitiful human on the planet. Jeongguk adjusts his shin guard to avoid the scrutiny.

“Gguk… honey… are you dumb?”

Taehyung’s jogging back after retrieving the ball that ran astray. “No, Mini. He’s straight.” He kicks the ball to Jeongguk. “If by ‘pegged’ you mean fucked in the ass by a real dick, then yeah. We do.”

Jeongguk receives the ball with a ‘rainbow’ and juggles it from his thigh to his laces, balancing the ball for a second before kicking it to Jimin. He nods, contemplative. “Nice.”

“Okay ace.” He passes to Taehyung, before throwing Jeongguk a teasing look. “You thinking about taking it up the ass, Gukkie?”

“Perhaps I’m contemplating.” He sniffs nose in the air.

Taehyung laughs. “Got your button milked once and now you wanna take a phallic shaped object? Proud of you.” He places his hand over his heart, like the mere thought of Jeongguk getting railed makes his heart warm.

A whistle blows, and Jeongguk kicks the ball up to his arm, tucking it into the curve of his trim waist. “Why does everyone call it a button? And it hasn’t only been once.” He sounds exasperated and so so tired.

His friends jog to bump shoulders with him as they make their way to the locker rooms. “Hey, jokes aside, I think it’s cool you’re like comfortable enough, or whatever, with __ to explore the things you like.” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Okay Dad.”

“No seriously!” Jimin insists, holding the locker room door open for them. Fuck the rest of the team. “She seems good for you. Babys you like you need.” Jimin laughs.

Jeongguk’s shirt gets caught on his head as he squawks. “I don’t just like being babied, fuck you.”

“Okay so she also entertains your sadistic side. She’s the full package.”

Jeongguk looks down with a blush. He shrugs his shoulders lightly before bending over to get out of his gear. “She’s pretty cool I guess.”

Taehyung knees him while he’s still bent over making him stumble a bit. “Awe, Jeonggukkie is in love.”

“Shut up.” Jeongguk smacks him in the face with his smelly sock.

“When you gonna do it?” Jimin asks, buttoning his new pants.

Apparently they aren’t showering today. Jeongguk will just have to stop at his dorm before heading to yours to help you study. That reminds him that you have a test on Friday, but are free this weekend. He just so happens to be free as well. The team they were supposed to play had to forfeit because their coach got caught sleeping with one of the cheerleaders. Sucks, but good for Jeongguk and his little asshole.

“Maybe this weekend.” With their backpacks on, they start the trek back to the dorms. It’s nearing night now, the sun just starting to set in the sky. Jeongguk pulls out his phone to tell you he’s stopping by his place before heading to you. You reply quickly.

baby🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

okie

wanna have sex instead of helping me study

me:

yeah but im not gonna

just think about how good the sex will be when u get an a

baby🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

🙄

When Jeongguk pockets his phone, Taehyung speaks up.

“You think she’ll be down?”

Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, probably.”

Ever since the first time you made him cum untouched, butt stuff has been a moderately regular occurrence for you both as a long-term, healthy, pro-ass eating couple. Honestly it was mostly him getting his butt played with, but he supposed it made sense. Like Jimin explained to his once naïve self, it was just biological- or something. Whatever. He wonders if three fingers will be enough to fit a fake dick in his ass. He asks his friends.

“Eh…” Jimin starts, looking up like he’s thinking. “Maybe, but you might wanna try to get to four, maybe five if you're using hers, since she’s tiny.”

Jeongguk’s mouth falls open and he pales. Taehyung notices and laughs.

“Don’t get scared. It’s just better to over-prep than under-prep. And like obviously you work up to it, she’s not just gonna shove her fist or her cock up your ass.”

Her cock. A little tingle settles in Jeongguk’s lower belly at the statement. He’s been thinking about this for a while, looking at porn in his free time. Seeing the way the guys moan on their girls’ strap always gets him hard. Seeing how hard their cocks get when the toy hits them just right. He throbs when he sees the guys cum just from the strap, no hands. Maybe he should fuck you when he gets to your dorm instead of helping you study. His cock is feeling a little plump.

“Alright well… Bye, thanks for being gay and answering my anal questions!”

As he’s pressing the button to his elevator, they lived on opposite sides of the athlete dorm and there were different elevators for each of the wings, Jimin chirps, “Don’t forget to empty your asshole really well, and don’t eat the day of! Also buy extra lube and put a spare blanket down!”

Jeongguk winces. Valuable information indeed, information he mentally pockets, but did he need to yell it in the dorm common room?

“Noted!” He yells back at the elevator dings and opens up. Jeongguk pretends like he doesn’t meet the curious, kind of confused gaze of one of his teammates. He must have walked in while Jimin was yelling and only caught the end of the conversation while waiting for the same elevator. Jeongguk gets in and immediately closes the doors. He can catch the next lift.

~~~

Jeongguk’s got his head in your lap and you’re running your fingers through his long, silky hair. He showered today, so waves of his aromatherapy lavender shampoo are wafting up to you. Sweet boy. He seems sidetracked, occasionally sighing and subtly twisting, but is still more or less purring on your thigh, feet tucked up onto the cushion of the couch. Netflix is on the small tv that was left by the last person who lived there, you’re mac book connected via HDMI. You’re not really paying attention. Mind kind of tired from all the studying you had done this week. Jeongguk fidgets a tiny bit again, wiggling like he’s trying to get comfortable. He huffs a sigh.

“Hey,” You say softly, getting his attention.

His body curves at the waist, causing his t-shirt to bunch up and show off the dip of his hip bone. He looks up at you with wide eyes. He seems surprisingly awake. Must have some busy little bees buzzing around his mind. He makes a little questioning noise.

“You okay? You’re kinda fussy.” You murmur.

He groans. “I- am just thinking.”

“About?” You drag the word out in a singsong-y manner.

The way Jeongguk’s face flushes is so pretty, you have to stop yourself from cooing.

He moves himself from your lap and sits facing you. He looks like he's thinking about what to say, or how to say what he’s thinking so hard about.

Eloquently he states, “I’m horny.”

You glance at his cock. Not quite hard, but a little happy and excited. You chuckle, leaning towards him, giving him a playfully sexy look. “Okay, let’s fuck baby.”

Jeongguk blushes even more, cheeks tinted red, while he leans away from you.

You pout. “What?”

Again he pauses, a small pout on his lips. He seems to be in a soft, needy, difficult mood. You’re probably going to have to pry what he wants to say out of his mouth.

With another uncalled for exasperated huff, Jeongguk rolls his eyes and moves closer to you before catching you by surprise and swinging a leg over your lap. He’s facing you while he straddles your thighs. His arms are looped around your neck, he’s playing with a little bit of your hair, twirling the long length around his fingers. You smile up at him, gently. Your palms squeeze at his narrow hips encouragingly.

“I want to try something new…” He says. He sounds nervous and looks at you the same.

“Mhmm.” You say, fighting a smile.

“Really bad. Like I want it really bad.” His hips roll, probably unconsciously from the way he closes his eyes to ground himself.

You peek at his lap, and his cock is bulging, the fabric of his sweatpants doing nothing to help hide it. You bring your hand to it, and massage him through his pants.

He whines and pushes against your palm before a hand comes down and grabs your wrist, stopping the movement. “Quit it, I’m trying to talk.” He’s so petulant and whiny.

You move your hand away and place it back on his hip, giggling a little. “Well spit it out, then.”

He scowls. You reach up and smooth the wrinkle in his brow before trailing it down and cupping his cheek. He softens immediately, melts like butter in your hands. His eyes close and he lets out a soft sigh, body relaxing a little.

He’s whispering, kinda giggling out of embarrassment, when he says, “I want you to fuck me.” He pauses, peeking at you through his lashes. “Like for real.”

Almost instantly a little spark ignites in your belly, and you feel your pussy get that telltale heartbeat. You didn’t want to push Jeongguk into anything, but you’ve been thinking about taking the ‘next step’ with your… ass-plorations for some time. But you figured he would get to the same point on his own, and would come to you when he was ready. Turns out you know him as well as you thought you did.

“Yeah?” You rub your free hand up his side.

He nods quickly, eagerly. You pinch his cheek lightly, and he retaliates by trying to bite at it. To avoid the attack it finds his way back to his waist.

“When did you want to? Tonight?”

He wiggles impossibly closer to you. Kisses you quick before nodding again. “Yeah. I um. I already like prepped… mostly. I prepped what I could by myself.” He pauses with a cute thinking face. “You will probably have to help me a little. But yeah. I got ready for you just in case.” He nods.

You hum, glancing at the old clock on the wall, another gift from the prior tenant. 11:52 pm.

“If we hurry, we can make it to a sex shop? They don’t usually close until 2 or 3 in the morning.” You suggest.

Jeongguk bites his lip, smiling excitedly. “Really? Can we?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, duh.” You lean up and give him a speedy, but thorough kiss, smiling into it. “Been wanting to peg you for so long.”

His face scrunches endearingly. “Don’t call it that.”

He hops off your lap, and goes to grab the keys, wasting no time. He stands by the door expectantly. His cock is, extremely obviously, sticking out. Someone didn’t wear his briefs today.

“Can you like… kill that?” You’re laughing as you tug on some sweats of your own, having only been lounging in your panties and one of his shirts. Your usual at home attire.

He looks down, and has a smug grin on his face when he looks at you again. “It’ll go down in the car. Hurry up!”

~~~

A dildo looks so much bigger when one is looking at it knowing that it will be inside of them within the next few hours. And there are so many options and colors. Some vibrate, some have fake pubic hair on them. Some have balls that are squishy and feel eerily… accurate.

Jeongguk isn’t having second thoughts, no. But he is having thoughts. Very overwhelming thoughts.

You’re next to your boyfriend, glancing between him and the varying selection of fake cocks displayed in front of you both, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks a little pale, but tentatively excited. Curious at the very least.

“Which one do you want?” You ask.

“No idea.” He responds, eyes wide.

Like most store clerks, one shows up, almost like they have a built in ‘customer needs help and has no idea which dildo to get to peg her super hot boyfriend’ radar.

“You guys need help?” He is a small man, with a monotone voice. He looks like he would rather be anywhere else at 12:30am on a Saturday night.

“NO!” Jeongguk says quickly and loudly. Very loudly.

Both you and the store clerk flinch, looking at him shocked.

Jeongguk shifts on his feet. “No.” He says in a more socially acceptable tone. “No- I’m sorry. But we’re uh-” He grabs your arm and pulls you closer. “We’re good, thanks.”

The clerk looks between you and Jeongguk and the dildos. “Um… Alright.” He starts to walk away before he turns back around. “Well if you change your mind, I’m Yoongi and I’ll be at the counter. If your toy is electric I’ll test it in the back before you leave… We uh- provide batteries with your purchase if needed…” With one last glance, a very judgmental one in Jeongguk’s opinion, Yoongi takes his place at said counter. His eyes flicker to you guys every once in a while.

“Baby,” You grab Jeongguk’s face between your palms and make him look at you. You squeeze and his lips poke out making him look like a guppy. He blinks. “I know you’re nervous, but it’s going to be okay.”

He rolls his eyes, guppy face and all. “Well obviously. I just- We don’t need help.” He wiggles out of your grip, much like a… guppy.

You grin, trying not to laugh, and just be the supportive girlfriend you are. “Okay, did you decide which one you want?”

A side glance. “Not yet…”

You walk up and go to grab a pink sparkly one.

“Uh, not that one.”

You quirk an eyebrow and move your hand to a larger one.

“No.”

You play a little game of dildo hot or cold until you have a better idea of what Jeongguk wants. His preference seems to be skin tone, close to his own, with a more realistic feel. Normal balls though, not squishy. Also no faux hair. You thank him for that. If you actually had a penis it would surely be waxed. Bless Jeongguk for doing the same. As for size, he leaned more towards a very normal, moderate size. Maybe 5 or 6 inches at most, not too thick. Smaller than himself. One last option.

“Do you want it to vibrate?” You ask, holding one in your hand testing the numerous different settings.

He shakes his head, answering quick. “No.”

He pauses.

“Wait.” He thinks. “Maybe. Should we? You could use it too?”

Sweet, kind, considerate angel. Always thinking about you and your pleasure. Couples who share the strap last the longest.

You shrug, pointing out, “I could use one that doesn’t vibrate too.”

He looks offended and sounds snotty. “Uh, you don’t need to.”

“Whatever. Why don’t we get both?”

You had a point. He pretends to ponder it, before nodding, already persuaded. “Okay.”

“We need the harness now.”

You begin the harness hunt, walking through the store, coming across many a things, but for some reason you both keep missing them. They’re nowhere to be found.

“Maybe they’re sold out?” He tries.

“Doubt it. Let’s go ask.” You grab him by his pinky and try to drag him to the counter. He resists.

“Let’s not.”

“Koo.” You say giving him a look.

He whines, throwing his head back. Borderline throwing a fit. You hold your ground, smiling.

He’s easy to give in. Being a brat just on principle. “Fine but you’re talking.”

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Of course, baby.” With his pinky in hand, you make your way to the counter.

The store clerk, Yoongi, if you remember correctly, is sitting behind the counter hunched over smiling at his phone. He doesn’t seem to notice you’re there.

You clear your throat gently, “Excuse me?”

Yoongi jumps, almost throwing his phone. “Fuck!” He exclaims. His fists come up ready to fight before he sees it’s you and Jeongguk. He then places his hand over his heart. “Shit, you scared me.” He chuckles, recovering quickly. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer before speaking up. “Um yeah, I was just wondering where your harnesses are?”

He leans on the counter, head in his hand looking kinda bored. “Hanresses? What kind? Hanging harness? Body harness?”

You glance at Jeongguk and he looks like he’s going to die.

“The um- strap on harnesses?” Your voice goes to a whisper when you say it, despite it just being you guys in the store.

Yoongi sits up, and looks at you, and then looks at Jeongguk. A look of understanding comes over his face along with an amused smile. He nods to himself, while getting up to help you. “Nice. Follow me.”

Jeongguk gapes at the ‘nice’ and looks at you in disbelief. You pat his butt telling him to get going.

With some help from Yoongi you pick out a harness that looks supportive and comfortable, the ring that holds the dildo, compatible with both the ones that you plan on getting. It’s a simple adjustable black one. Yoongi recommended wearing something under it if the straps dig into you and irritate. He seems bored, but he’s actually very good at his job, and very knowledgeable.

Finally you’re at the counter. You place all the items in Yoongi’s reach and he’s just about to tell you the total when Jeongguk perks up.

“Wait!” He says before scurrying off.

It’s quiet for a split second. Before the clerk speaks up.

“He’s cute.”

You smile, “Thanks, he’s mine.”

Yoongi laughs, small little fish teeth and gums on display. Must be a Pisces. You know Pisces teeth. “Does he have any cute friends?”

You nod. “Yeah, but they are dating.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“Uh… I can give you their Instagrams?”

He pulls out his phone, and follows them right there after a quick glance at their pages. Confidence is nice.

There’s a short lull in the conversation. And Jeongguk seems to be taking his sweet time getting something you guys must have forgotten. Or the poor things lost. It’s a big store. You speak up this time.

“Do you have like a manager I could leave a review for? You were really helpful, and seemed like you really knew what you were talking about.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I own the place. You think I would be here on a Saturday night if it wasn’t obligatory? Thanks, though.”

“Oh.” You say. That was pretty impressive. The store was quite successful based on the reviews. You would make sure to let Jimin and Taehyung know Yoongi was a business man.

“Okay, I’m back.” Jeongguk announces. “Sorry I forgot where it was.”

He places 2 (two) large bottles of lube on the counter. You cough out a laugh.

“Baby, we have lube at home.”

“But do we have enough?”

“I think maybe one more would be more than enough.”

He ignores you, looking Yoongi in the eyes for the first time tonight. “Add both please.”

Yoongi nods, looking a little scared of Jeongguk’s seriousness, and does as he’s ordered.

After Jeongguk pays, and you both are making your way to the exit, Yoongi calls out, “Good luck, tell your friends to follow me back!”

“Uh- Okay?” Jeongguk yells back. When you’re in the parking lot, he asks, “What the heck was that about?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “Don’t worry about it.”

~~~

As soon as you get back to your dorm, the atmosphere is thick, full of tension and nervous anticipation. Jeongguk’s fidgety, eager to get started. You’re not far off, but contain yourself a little more. Need to keep control of the situation in case Jeongguk gets deep into his mood.

You guys are in the bathroom now, each one washing a toy before you use it. You make sure to unwrap the harness and the lube as well, both at Jeongguk’s insistent request, ensuring you don’t have to stop and deal with it later.

“Let’s just get undressed in here, it’s where my hamper is.” You say already tugging your shirt over your head, tits bouncing freely. Jeongguk went without briefs today, and you went without a bra.

Jeongguk quietly follows suit, and you don’t miss the way his hands are trembling a little in anticipation. When you’re both naked he kisses you quickly, and jiggles your boobs a little just because they are there and because he can, before saying, “Okay, lets go.” He’s out the bathroom before you can even respond. You laugh to yourself and gather the stuff he forgot in his excitement.

When you walk out with your hands full, you see Jeongguk spreading out a blanket over your comforter.

“Whatcha doin?” You ask curiously, placing the items on the nightstand.

“Gets messy. Wanna save your bedding.” He states.

You squawk, grabbing the blanket he set up on your bed. “Not my baby blanket you monster.”

He laughs, abs tensing. You notice he’s already hanging a little heavy between his thighs. “Sorry. Was the first one I saw.” He walks over to the couch and replaces the blanket that’s hanging over the back with your baby blanket and resets up. “Better?” he asks, extended his arm towards your bed to show off his work.

You nod, and take the few steps needed to close the space between you both. Your hand runs down his belly, and you feel his muscles jump, and you see little goosebumps sprout all over. His hands come up to cup your tits. You kiss softly where his heart is. You look up at him.

“I love you.” You smile.

He blushes. “Love you.” He whispers, before he leans down and slots your lips together.

It’s eager from the start. Your bodies press together, as your hands roam. When he takes a breath and surges back in, your teeth click together is his haste, before his tongue slips into your mouth. He groans into you, his hand going down to cup your ass, squeezing and pulling you impossibly closer.

You feel his cock against your belly, almost fully hard already. You reach down to wrap a hand around him, wanting to help him get there before you get started. He hisses, thrusting forward instinctively before pulling away. He looks like he hates that he does.

“No- I,” He’s already short of breath, chest rising and falling a little bit faster than normal. “I wanna watch you cum. With the toy.” He reaches around you, grabbing the vibrating dildo. “Please?” He asks. His eyes are fervent.

You take the toy in your hand, and kiss him again softly. “Yeah, baby. Whatever you. It’s all about you tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Always about you too.”

Your heart beats, happy in your chest. You thought about it earlier in the night, but Jeongguk really was the best lover. He always, always made sure you were taken care of, before, during, and after sex. He was so vocal and communicative, genuinely wanting you to know it was always about both of you, even if one was receiving more attention. He was caring like that in and out of the bedroom. You were so lucky to be his.

“You’re too good to me,” You laugh, climbing onto the bed. You settle back against your pillows, propping some behind you so you can see him, and watch him while you get off. He takes his place in front of you, looking at you expectantly.

He’s impatient, placing his hands on your knees, spreading you open so he can see your cunt. You let him get you into position before saying, “Keep your hands to yourself now, okay?”

He nods, eyes never leaving your pussy. He licks his lips. “Okay.” It’s said in a distracted kind of far away tone.

You hum as you bring the toy to your mouth, getting it wet. You wouldn’t need any lube, you would be dripping in no time. You don’t waste any time putting your free hand down between your legs and spreading your pussy lips, so your clit and the pretty pink center of your cunt are displayed for Jeongguk. You glance at him through your lashes, when you hear a small gasp fall from his lips. He’s already got a hand around himself. Just the tips of his fingers stroking his length, at a leisurely pace.

“She’s so pretty… You’re so pretty.” His eye flick to your face before zeroing in on your center again.

“Tell me how to do it baby. Tell me what you want to see.” You say, voice salacious and soft. You circle your finger slowly around your nub, dipping inside just a bit to spread your slick around.

When he swallows, it’s audible, his Adam's apple jumping. “I want you to turn it on low, and put it on your clit. I want you to feel good.”

You smile, and drag the tip of it down your body to just above your clit, turning it on the lowest setting before making contact with your sensitive nub. Your legs jolt, almost closing when you feel the vibrations. Even the lowest setting was strong. Your head falls back, and your legs spread more for him once you get used to the strength of the toy. “Fuck…” You breathe.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, greedy for your pleasure.

You nod, eyes still closed, focusing. You move the vibrator in small circles over your clit. You can hear Jeongguk’s breaths speed up.

“Turn it up.” His voice gives away that he’s speeded up his hand on his cock too.

You do as he says, looking at him as you do. He’s sin personified. He’s on his knees, sitting back on his feet, so his thighs are flexed and bulging. His abs tense when his palm twists under the crown of his cock. His eyes almost look black, pupils blown so wide, lust taking over his face. He’s got his plump bottom lip drawn between his teeth. He looks up from your pussy and catches you staring. He smiles shyly.

You keep your eyes on him as you bring the toy back down to your core. A short high pitched moan falls from your lips, as your brows knit together, before your eyes roll back. He groans, your expression enough to make his cock start to leak.

“Feels so good, Jeongguk.” You moan. The vibrator is right where it feels best, pulsing against your clit, causing pleasure to bleed into your veins.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks, he’s breathless, sounds like he’s in love. With you, your cunt. “Tell me.”

“‘S just right Koo, could make me cum just like this…”

He curses, and you open your eyes just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, keeping himself in check. “Not yet, baby. Little longer, please.” Still so polite and good for you, even when he’s the one telling you what to do.

He has you keep the vibe there, for a while longer, right in the spot that’s gonna make you lose it. He watches as a tiny clear drop leaks from you pink little pussy. It looks like it’s heavy and about to drip down to the blanket under you. He doesn’t notice your legs shaking until you’re gasping, “Koo, I’m almost- I’m gonna-”

“No!” He says quickly, his hand reaches out to pull the vibrator from your cunt just before you get your high. Your pussy aches and throbs, wanting to cum so bad.

Your chest is heaving when you ask, “Are… are you edging me?”

He shakes his head, even though your eyes are closed, trying to catch your breath. “No, no! I just. I got distracted.” He looks at that small drop of slick again. Fuck, he wants to lick it up and drink you down. “You’re leaking.” He states.

You laugh, breathing getting back to normal. “Yeah?” You reach your hand down to collect the distracting little droplet and bring it in front of you. You press the sticky finger to your thumb and then pull them apart to see the clear strings stay connected even as you pull. You hum, before offering your hand to Jeongguk. He sucks in a breath.

“Want some?”

He’s quick as he crawls between you legs, cock fully hard now. He watches you as he sucks your fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around getting every last bit, before he sucks off with a pop!

He crawls farther up your body to kiss you deep, wanting you to get a taste of yourself too. He pulls back just a bit, and whispers against your lips, “I want you to fuck yourself with it, okay? Just for a little bit, then you can cum?” He’s phrasing it as a question, knowing he really doesn't have the final say, not tonight. But his voice is shaking from how turned on he is, how could you ever say no?

“Sit back.” Is all you respond. He does as he’s told.

You buzz the toy over your clit again, just because you can. Wanting to see how long Jeongguk can be good before begging. Turns out it’s not long at all.

“Put it in…” He moans. You look at him and his mouth is parted, and his eyes heavy as he watches you. His hand is moving fast over his cock, sticking straight up to his tummy. “Please.”

You drag the toy down to your slit, and tease it there before just barely pushing it in just a fraction of the length. Jeongguk whines, high and desperate. Apparently you’re moving to slow for him.

“More,” He begs.

You sigh, “You’re so needy tonight, baby.” He nods, agreeable.

When the toy sinks inside of you all the way to the hilt, you and Jeongguk both moan a quiet, “Fuck.” simultaneously. You’re coherent enough to laugh a little at the jinx, but he seems to barely notice, too focused on watching the toy sink into you, and then come back out to vibrate your clit again. You keep up this teasing pattern, again waiting to be told what to do by him, waiting to see how long he makes it this time.

“Harder, do it harder,” He’s panting. Moaning every word that leaves his lips.

You do as he says, and finally push the toy in at a pace that gets you climbing to being close again. You won’t be able to come like this though, and he knows that. Knows that you can only cum from penetration with him. He leans over and grabs the other toy from the end table, spitting on it and spreading it around until it's covered well.

“Use them both, want you to cum for me.”

With two toys in your hands, one in your cunt, filling you up, and one on your clit, making your legs shake, you do your best to make yourself cum. But it’s not enough. A soft whine falls from your lips, you’re so close, but you need more. More than you can give yourself.

“Faster baby, faster. You’re so close.” He whispers. He got both hands working now too, one stroking and one down tugging on his balls.

You whimper, “I can’t my arm hurts. It’s tired.”

Immediately he stops pleasing himself and gets right to pleasing you. Your pleasure taking priority. “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll help you baby.”

Jeongguk sits between your legs, and takes over the toy fucking into you, and turns up the one on your clit. With him pushing the toy in at a pace that you couldn’t do yourself, and the other toy vibing your clit incessantly, it takes barely any time at all for you to cum. You were so close already, just needed him to push you over.

Your legs are shaking and your toes are curling, when you cry out, “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby. Wanna watch.” He’s quiet, paying close attention to your body and the reactions he’s helping pull from it. He’s part of the reason why your face looks so pornographic as you finish. He’s part of the reason why your back is arching off of the bed. He’s part of the reason why your toes are curling, and why your legs are shaking, and why your pussy is contracting over the toy he’s still thrusting inside of you, working you through every last second of your orgasm. He reads your body cues, and slows down and pulls it out when you start to come down. You look blissed out, and you bring a hand to your hair and fluff it a little before laughing.

“That was good.” You sigh smiling, and when you look at him an image forms in your head, and you have every intention of making him carry it out.

Right before your eyes, Jeongguk wraps his lips around the toy that is going to be inside of him in just a short while, sucking off your slick. He laps his tongue around it trying to get it all. He’s obscene.

“Gimme,” You say sitting up with an extended hand.

He pouts at being interrupted, but does as he’s told. He takes your spot on the bed, and you head to the bathroom, stopping by your dresser on the way.

When you get to the bathroom, you close the door and get to cleaning the toys once again. After, you get to the stuff you grabbed from the wardrobe. A lacy pair of black panties, and sheer black thigh highs with matching lace adorning the tops. You slip into them, and then move on to the strap on. You hold it in front of you and try to make sense of which part goes where, and which holes your legs go into. It takes a second, but you get into it, adjusting it so it's nice and snug. Your outfit probably won’t help much with protecting your thighs, but at least the little part above your pussy will be safe. You look at yourself in the mirror. Not too weird or scary yet. You glance at the dildo on the counter.

It’s not too big so hopefully it’s not too… jarring when you see yourself with it. You get to work, slipping the suction base of the non-vibrating toy into the ring that’s meant to hold it in place. You look at it sticking out from your crotch and take a deep breath before turning to the mirror.

You gasp, before cackling quietly. You knew it was going to be weird. Like you knew. But actually seeing yourself with the whole get up is funny. Right now at least. You know it’s going to be sexy, once you get used to it and into the moment and inside of Jeongguk. You wonder how he’s going to react. Only one way to find out.

While you're walking to your bedroom from the bathroom, the dildo bobs, and you're giggling distractedly until you lift your eyes to let your boyfriend know you're ready. Again you’re met with a scene so indecent it belongs in a porno.

Jeongguk’s eyes are closed and soft moans are falling from his lips as he strokes his cock. He’s got three fingers in his ass, opening himself up for you, for your cock. Such a good good boy. He was so patient and productive while you got ready for him.

“You’re so good baby,” You murmur softly.

Jeongguk blinks his eyes open slowly, and rolls his head to the side to look at you. He doesn’t even falter in his movements at all, hand still moving, fingers still thrusting. He smiles a little when he sees you, but his eyes are hazy and he sounds lust drunk when he simply says, “You look sexy.”

You blush and a fond smile graces your lips, any embarrassment or self consciousness you were feeling prior to seeing him spread out for you on your bed, quickly vanishing.

You settle on the bed between his legs and watch for a moment as his hole takes his long fingers in. “Want me to help?” You ask quietly.

“Mhmm,” He nods, eyes closed still, tongue peeking out from between his lips. He doesn’t take his fingers out, though.

You grab the lube next to him, and flip it open. “You gonna get out so I can get in?”

He shakes his head. “Nuh uh. Put one in with mine.”

Something about that makes your body tingle. Inside of him with him. Opening him up. You can’t explain it, because you don’t really even get it yourself, but it makes you buzz and feel almost high.

You slick up your middle finger, and drizzle some more on his for good measure. He jumps slightly, and then giggles softly.

“Cold.” He says.

“Sorry,” You say distractedly. Your finger is lined up with his now.

“I’ve never done 4 before so you… have to go slow…” He pauses as he speaks, letting himself moan freely when his fingers graze over that secret spot that he’s grown to love so much.

“Tell me to stop if you need to.”

He doesn’t reply, just stops his fingers so you can wiggle yours in next to his. At the first push against his hole, there’s resistance. Very much expected. He’s quiet, teeth gritted, but he never says stop, knowing his body wants it, and knowing it will accommodate what he wants. After the second knuckle, your finger sinks in, almost gets sucked in, by his hole.

He lets out a shaky breath.

“You okay, baby?” You check in.

“Yeah just… full.” He moans when you wiggle your finger experimentally. “”S good. Move it some more.”

You do, and his start to move with yours. You can feel his fingers curl inside of himself to reach his prostate, and it’s pleasant in an out of body way, knowing when his face is going to contort in pleasure, and when he’s going to cry out, when you never really knew before. You’ve milked him before, of course, but feeling him do it to himself from the inside? It’s kind of thrilling.

“Pull, stretch me out.” He moans, voice impatient and needy.

He gets kinda slutty when something’s up his ass.

He swears when you do, his finger rubbing insistent circles on his prostate to distract himself from the minor sting of the stretch. His moans, start to raise in pitch and his hand that’s on his cock, still jerking it, starts to speed up. You can tell he’s close. He clenches against your finger that’s still stretching him open.

“Fuck,” He says, on a breathless giggle, “Take them out. Or I’m gonna cum.” He’s still stroking his cock, like he doesn’t wanna stop.

“You c-”

“No. Out.” He demands, hand finally pulling away from his cock, and his fingers inside stop. You gently ease out of him.

When Jeongguk’s fingers slip out, you gasp. His little pink hole is clenching on nothing, still open just the tiniest bit, thoroughly stretched.

“You know how you always say my pussy is pretty?” You ask, fingers tracing around the puffy stretched rim.

He makes an affirmative noise, watching you with hooded, lazy eyes as you touch him. He even spreads farther so you can touch and see better. You marvel at the difference between the embarrassed boy you made cum untouched a couple months ago, and the one in front of you now, so comfortable and relaxed. It makes you happy.

“Well, your butthole is pretty.”

He snorts, and kicks you lightly. He smiles at you, soft and sluggish. “Just fuck me.”

He sounds so wistful and just ready.

But you’re not.

You grip the base of your cock, and stand up. You walk to the head of the bed, next to his confused face. You stay there waiting for him to get it. He doesn’t.

“You want me inside of you right baby?” You ask, voice gentle.

He nods, eyes no longer hazy, but wide and confused. He looks between you and your cock.

“I think that means you have to get me ready. Get me nice and wet, right?”

You can physically see when Jeongguk gets it. When it clicks for him. His eyes darken, and he licks his lips. “Yeah… You’re right. I should… help you.” He whispers, sitting up. You back up enough for him to have a place on the floor.

Jeongguk on his knees for you isn’t a new sight. He’s eaten your pussy like this before, you either grinding onto his face, or him holding you still and making quick work of your clit. But Jeongguk on his knees for you to suck your cock? New, and lewd.

He looks nervous, kind of hesitant. A hand is raised midway, like he isn't sure if he should grab it.

“Lick it, baby.” You encourage.

He glances at you, doe eyes seeking approval as he leans forward and gives a kitten lick to the tip. You nod, letting him know he’s doing well. His hand comes up and replaces yours at the base and he opens his mouth enough to wrap his lips around the head, and he swirls his tongue.

He pops off, and strokes up to where his mouth was and spreads the little bit of spit. The silicone is still dry though, so he spits on it more, straight from his mouth. You suck in a breath.

“Fuck, you’re so hot baby.” You whisper a breathy moan as his hands move up and down your cock. He adds his mouth again.

He hums a little, before backing up and looking at you again. “Does that feel good?” He asks.

You laugh lightly, in pure awe of him. He’s so sexy, and so sweet, and so incredibly lust inducing. Your pussy aches behind your cock. “Feels so good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He hums, still stroking you off. “I really want it inside me…” He says, hinting that he’s ready.

You have mercy on him, having fulfilled your newfound personal fantasy enough for the night. Maybe you could revisit it another time. But now it was time to fulfill a mutual fantasy.

“On the bed, hands and knees.” You tell him.

Excitedly he hops back onto the bed, and gets into position, his hole on display for you. His back is arched and you can see the plush swell where his lower back meets the top of his cheeks. You settle behind him, and his shoulder to waist to hip ratio, is sinful. He’s always had the daintiest waist, strong, but still so small. But at this angle, it’s cinched and the way his legs are spread makes his hips look wider, accentuating the dip at his middle. You rub your hands over the narrow curve, all the way to his cheeks, grabbing handfuls of the muscle. There’s a slight give when you squeeze your hands.

Jeongguk’s head drops, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, he’s got the chills again, and he’s got a constant thrum coursing through his body. “Please…” He moans, so quietly, so desperately.

You kiss the small of his back before grabbing the lube left abandoned on the bed. You lather 2 of your fingers, and push them into Jeongguk’s hole making sure he’s nice and slick. There’s no resistance at all, hole loose and ready enough for them to slip right in. Then you lather your cock, probably with too much lube, honestly, but you wanted to be so sure that he didn’t feel any more pain than absolutely necessary. You knew the first initial push in would be the worst, but you were hopeful you both had stretched him out enough to at least minimize or diminish it altogether.

You grab the base of your cock and line it up with his hole. It flutters, when you barely press against his rim.

“Ready?” You ask, giving a heads up.

“Yeah.” He says softly.

He’s tight. His hole sinks in with the tip of your cock before the rim gives and swallows around it. Jeongguk tenses and his hands grip the blanket under you.

“Shit…” He groans. He sounds like he’s clenching his teeth.

You rub soothingly at his lower back, fingers dipping when you run them over the dimples at the bottom of his spine. “You’re doing so good baby.” You tell him.

“Doesn’t really hurt, I’m just stretching.” He says through his teeth. “I can take it though, keep going.”

You grab the lube and drizzle more directly onto his hole. He doesn’t mention the cold this time, too focused on taking your cock. You push against him, and feel yourself sink deeper into him. It’s like after the tip was in, his body knew what to do to take the rest. The slide wasn’t a swift, fast stroke, but it was a smooth and slow glide. When you bottom out Jeongguk’s arms give out from under him, his face going to the bed.

“Holy fuck.” He keens, resting his head on his arms. Your hands are constantly on him, soothing him in any way that you can.

“Tell me when.” You whisper patiently. He nods. With his head turned to the side and pillowed on his arms, you can see his eyes are squeezed shut. The inhales and exhales you can see in the expanding of his ribcage, tell you that he’s taking deep breaths working through the stretch, getting himself used to it.

“Okay… Ready.” He murmurs.

You pull out just a bit before pushing back in. Jeongguk moans softly. Spreads his legs even wider, arches his back even deeper. He’s pushing his ass out for you, his body begging you to make it feel good.

You keep a slow pace, kind of nervous to speed up.

“You can go faster, feels nice.” He says. He’s been puffing out little gasps of air every time you bottom out with your slow pace.

With his consent, you grab at his hips and pull out to just the tip, before swiftly pushing back in, fast and hard. His cheeks bounce on the impact. You grab one and jiggle it a little, thrusting into him again, drinking down the whines that slip out.

“You’ve got such a bubble butt, I never noticed before. But it like… bounces.” You say, wonder in your tone.

“Thanks, can you like tell me about it later?” He asks, voice strained.

Point taken.

Your thrust game is kind of shitty, in reality. It’s hard to find a rhythm, your hips not used to moving this way. But Jeongguk is moaning freely underneath you, just happy to have something inside of him after thinking about it all week. So you keep going, and eventually, the pattern comes to you, still kind of messy, but now you’ve got him cursing beneath you. You’ve got one hand on his ass, the other braced on his arched spine.

A particularly good thrust has Jeongguk burying his face into the bed, teeth biting at the bedding. “Yeah fuck-” He groans with his mouth full of blanket. With his hands now free, he brings them behind him and settles them on his cheeks and spreads.

You watch clearly as your cock sinks into Jeongguk’s ass. You’re out of breath, but you make sure to tell him how good he looks, how pretty his hole looks swallowing your cock, like it was made to take it.

“Wanna ride you.” He says. His voice is pitifully wrecked and he sounds so thoroughly fucked, you feel a little proud. Still, you’re grateful for a break. You don’t know how he fucks you like he does. ‘Topping’ is tiring. You pull out of him, and realize that when you were in awe of his hole at taking your fingers, it was premature. Jeongguk’s hole after he takes your cock is vulgar. It’s properly gaped now. Not huge, but around a fingers width.

He rolls over, and settles on his back like he just needs a moment. His chest is heaving, similar to yours. You hop off the bed, and a needy keen comes from him. You glance back at him, and he looks like he’s going to get up and follow you, but you hush him gently.

“I’m just getting some water, baby. I’ll be right back.”

He huffs flopping back onto his back. “Hurry please.” He whines.

You get back as soon as possible with a glass of water for you both to share. He sits up onto one elbow and makes a grabby hand for the cup after you’ve had your share. You swat his hand away and hold the cup to his lips. He hums, gulping the water down. He’s happy to be coddled and taken care of. When he finishes with a cute little gasp, you place the cup to the side, and brush your hand through his sweaty hair.

He butts his head against your palm and laughs. His eyes shut, and crinkled at the corners. His water break seems to have perked him up. His cock hasn’t deflated one bit. Rock hard and red, throbbing against his tummy. It’s messy and wet too.

You’re about to ask if he touched himself while you were inside of him, but before you can, you’re getting manhandled until he’s on top of you. He’s got your hands pinned above your head, and he smiles at you playfully, before leaning down to kiss you, deep and slow. He sucks on your lip, and slowly grinds his cock onto your belly, soft whines spilling from his tongue. He brushes his nose against yours as he sighs into your mouth, finally allowing himself the pleasure of paying attention to his cock.

He doesn’t allow himself relief for long, however. He’s sitting up and looking from side to side for the lube before finally spotting it. His movements are quick and hectic, like he’s too excited and overly eager.

You rub your hands over his strong thighs. “Hey, slow down. You don’t have to rush. We have all night.”

He sighs at your touch, and nods softly. He whispers. “Yeah… okay. I love you.”

The little affection makes you swoon, absolutely smitten. “I love you.” You squeeze at his legs, tenderly.

He hums. “Gonna ride you now.” He opens the lube and continues with eager actions, almost like you didn’t even slow him down just a moment ago. You smile fondly to yourself. Jeongguk’s too busy slicking up your cock again to notice the mushy look.

He’s got a hand reaching behind him and he’s gripping your cock to line it up with his hole. He wiggles to get into the right position before slowly starting to sink down. His eyebrows are pinched, and his mouth falls open. But his eyes roll back when he bottoms out. His hands are braced on your stomach.

“Oh, I love it like this.” He whimpers. His legs tense at your sides, almost like he’s trying to close his legs at the pleasure he feels from your cock being tucked inside of him, hitting all the right places. He starts to grind on your cock, soft pleasured little mewls just tumbling off his tongue.

He looks so good, whining, grinding on you with his weeping cock displayed. But you wanna see him lose it on your cock. See him fall apart at how good it feels, not watch him bask in it.

“Bounce on it.” You say, voice sounding almost as fucked out as his. You know your panties are soaked through at this point, pussy pulsing and neglected, tucked away behind the strap.

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah, wanna.”

He’s lifting himself off your cock to the tip before sliding down on it again, hard and fast. It punches a sharp gasp from his lungs. He finds a pace he likes and keeps it up, his thighs tensing, and his abs flexing as he tests his stamina, chasing that euphoric feeling he wants so so badly. He’s so strong and fit, bouncing up and down on your cock as loud unabashed moans fill the room.

The force of him riding you makes your tits jiggle, bouncing around until they catch his attention. He groans before his hands find them, squeezing hard, using them as leverage as he pulls and drags his hips over yours. Your cock must be rubbing over his prostate because he’s losing his mind. All kinds of noises leave his mouth, and the expressions he makes are filthy.

“Fuck baby. You make me feel so good. The best- I-” He eyes squeeze shut and his mouth opens in a silent moan, overwhelmed, before a guttural groan sounds from deep within his chest. “God. Wanna cum on your cock, baby. Fuck me-”

You laugh, wonderstruck, and kind of deliriously high on the satisfaction and fulfillment you get from seeing Jeongguk feel so just…. Good. “Yeah baby? You’re gonna cum for me? All over my cock?”

He whimpers and nods as he gets back to bouncing, a desperation to his movements that wasn’t there before. His cock is slapping against both of your stomachs with nasty wet noises due to his precum getting everywhere. You feel some fly and hit your neck, his cock just dripping, weeping and begging to cum.

It won’t be long though, before he cums. You feel the way his thighs tense, and he gets that confused look on his face, and he’s got that puzzled pitch to his moans. It’s the way he always gets when he cums untouched, always in awe that he can do it himself, without a hand around his cock. His whole body is flushed and hot to the touch, sweat making him glow in the soft light of your bedroom lamp.

He throws his head back, neck extended, and veins bulging, before looking down at his bouncing cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He’s so whiny and noisy when he moans.

“Yeah?” You ask again, “Do it baby, show me how. You can do it, cum for me.”

He’s nodding frantically, “Yeah- I’m gonna... Fuck, yes- Yeah, I’m-” He bounces a few more times, silent aside from the obscene squelching noises of your skin meeting, before his body tenses one last time before that string in him snaps. “Cumming-” He chokes it out. His moans don’t stop the whole time his cock shoots out his load, landing on your tummy. The moans even turn into cries, actual tears filling his eyes and falling down his cheeks. His body jerks and twitches with his orgasm. But still, he’s grinding on you, your cock still rubbing that spot inside of him, it’s like he never wants the feeling to end, even if it’s devastating, bordering on too much to handle.

You smooth your hands all over his sweaty body, before firmly placing them on his hips, stopping him. “Hey. You’re good, you did so good baby, you don’t have to keep going.”

Jeongguk’s cries are quiet, and he takes a few deep stuttering breaths to try and calm himself down, nodding with your soothing words. He rubs the back of his hand at his eyes, trying to dry them. It doesn’t help much, he’s calmed himself some but a few silent tears still make their way out, along with some soft hiccupping breaths.

“Lay down, and wait for me, hmm?” You whisper gently. He nods and lifts himself slowly, wincing at the sore ache in his hole. It’s more prevalent now that the pleasure has subsided. He all but collapses onto your pillow.

“I’m gonna get some more water, and a towel okay?”

He grunts in response.

Before you go, you strip out of the gear, just tossing it on the ground, eager to get back to Jeongguk after getting the things you need.

When you get back, he is in the same exact position, and you laugh lightly.

“Baby?” You ask, making sure he didn’t fall asleep.

Another grunt.

Good, he would hate you in the morning if you left him to sleep being so messy.

“Sit up, I have water and snacks and cleaning supplies.”

His head pops up. “Snacks?” His hair is sticking up on one side.

You laugh, endeared. He’s not crying anymore either, a good sign that he will be okay in just a little while after some kisses and love.

“Yeah, I got some of those seaweed chips you like, and some water.”

He sits up, leaning back on the pillows knowing the drill for after butt stuff. You hand him the water and the chips. He eats first.

“You hungry?” You ask, fitting yourself between his legs with the warm washcloth. He opens easily, munching away. You both are far past after sex shyness.

He talks with his mouth full. “Yeah. Jimin said not to eat the day off.”

You hum curiously, but don’t question it. Jimin partakes in butt stuff much more than you both.

You’ve got all the lube cleaned off his thighs and cheeks, now all that’s left is his hole. You do it as gently as you can, knowing he’s sore just from how red and swollen and puffy it is. But he still winces.

“How bad is it?” He mumbles.

You hesitate. “Um… You’re gonna be a little sore.” You tell him simply.

He groans, before downing his water. When he’s done, he says, “Practice is going to suck.”

You nod in agreement. It was. You wrap the used cloth in the blanket you used to protect your sheets, once again just tossing the bundle to the floor.

“Worth it though,” He smiles, pleased.

You chuckle as you find your place by him. He’s set his refreshments aside and lets you curl against him. His body sags with exhaustion when he feels your warmth press into him. You plant kisses on every inch of skin you can reach. He purrs.

“Why’d you keep going?” You ask, between smooches.

“I don’t know… it just felt so good. I guess I didn’t want it to stop.” He’s quiet, and his words are said on a sigh.

You nod, your kisses making your way to his lips. You just kiss him, slow and easy, for a few minutes until he yawns into it. He giggles.

“I’m so tired man.”

“I bet man.” You tease.

He kisses you one more time before asking, “Will you tickle my back until I fall asleep?” It’s hopeful and so sugary sweet.

“Yeah roll over.”

It’s barely a few minutes before you're met with his soft snores. You kiss his shoulder blade, before following right behind him.

~~~~

you ask for pegging and you shall receive :] i hope you liked it and that it met ur pegging standards askdkhjd as always, comments and feedback and asks and notes are loved and appreciated. thank you for reading friends ily :*

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