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beskar-cowboy · 4 years

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The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight

Part 4 of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: You catch an accidental glimpse of the Mandalorian without his helmet, his instincts kick in. (4.4k words) link to read on ao3 here

Warnings: NSFW, Mando is kind of mean, the helmet is off but its still canon?, PIV sex, rough sex, he low-key kinda threatens the reader idk, spanking, soft ending to make up for whatever the fuck i just wrote <3

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (linearly in my masterlist) <3

Perhaps swaddling the child to your chest on a desert planet was not the smartest idea. The heat was blistering, even though you wore less layers than usual. Just a tank top, some utility shorts and a blaster holstered to your thigh. And the baby of course, who had not stopped babbling since you left the ship, the only thing distracting you from this damned heat.

You could only imagine how Mando was feeling underneath all that beskar as he walked alongside you in silence, only stealing glances every now and then, as he usually did.

Even after travelling with them for half a cycle now, Mando still withheld so much from you.

Even after the two of you slept together for the first time, after some close call on some jungle planet, he still retreated into his usual silence.

But there were more gentle touches now, more lingering hands, more helmet tilts, but he still hadn’t let you in. You were okay with that, you knew that this was what he was used to, so you didn’t think too much about it.

You let him take what he needs without asking too many prying questions. If you were being honest, you liked the way he used you, you liked how he took it out on you, you liked how rough he got, how possessive, how starved he could be.

It had only amounted to a couple of times over the last month but… but you loved it. You looked forward to it, you thought about it, dreamt of… dreamt of him, of Mando, inside you, above you, under you-

Mando squeezed his large hand around your bicep, breaking you from your thoughts before nodding to you, then he departed. Off to meet with… whoever.

You stayed in the market and bought stuff for the ship.

Some new screws and bolts for parts that were missing or had to be fixed, food rations, dried meat, fruits that you knew Mando was fond of, some weird, shiny little trinkets the child seemed attracted to, and a new bar of soap. You had just finished the last one a few days prior.

After buying the necessities, you wandered around the little market with the child, bouncing him up and down against your chest and talking to him softly. He was very responsive today, not seeming too bothered by the heat thankfully.

But the sun was high in the sky, most likely at its peak, and it was unrelenting. The desert environment of the planet gave way to little shaded spots so you looked for water instead, finding a little mist station where children laughed and played. You ran through it a few times with the child, he screeched with joy.

On your last run through the mist, you caught sight of Mando approaching the two of you again.

That saunter… the way he walked was so intimidating, so sensual. You couldn’t help but let a shy smile stretch across your face at the people who cowered away in fear of the bounty hunter.

You made sure you had all your things in your sling, checking to see that the child hadn’t dropped his new toy and then you were off, heading back to the ship.

The walk felt longer now due to the long exposure you both had in the sun. Mando seemed to be trudging along just the same as you, profusely sweating and in desperate need for some water. And a shower.

Mando opened the hatch and you both stumbled inside, dropping your bags and untying the child from your chest where he had left a giant sweat stain from how tightly he had been pressed to you. Suddenly aware of how sweaty, sticky and disgusting you must seem, the only thing on your mind was a shower.

“I got you some Meiloorun, they seemed ripe.” You smiled at him as you gently placed the child on the floor of the Crest. He waddled towards his father, trying to show him his new toy.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” He said in your direction, that deep modulated voice making you shiver. He seemed hesitant to look away, but picked up the child regardless, letting him show off his new shiny thing. Mando took it into his hands, playing with him, you smiled fondly.

“I’m going to go take a shower if that’s okay? To cool down a bit.” You’re not sure why you felt the need to ask his permission after all this time but you still felt the need sometimes. Maybe he would want help putting the stuff away that you had bought, maybe he wanted you to help with the child or something? You just couldn’t help the way your mind only fixated on the sweat and grime sticking to your flesh.

“Of course.” Mando nodded. You nodded back, turning on your heels to head into the ‘fresher just around the corner in the low cabin of the Crest.

You leave the door open, you think you don’t mind Mando seeing you if he decides to look or happens to catch a glimpse. Even though he’s never taken any of his armor off (besides his gloves) for you before, he’s seen every single inch of you.

You quickly peeled off your damp clothing, turning the water on and making sure it wasn’t too cold but cool enough to relax your heat exhausted body. You stepped in quickly, eager to cool yourself down.

You visibly relaxed as soon as the water hit your burning skin, your shoulders sagging, a sighing escaping your lips. You dug your fingers into your own flesh, trying to knead the tender muscles which strained under the weight of the child and the supplies. It wasn’t much but you still ached, the heat had definitely contributed to that.

Supplies… your new bar of soap! You had been excited to use it but completely forgot about it the second you returned to the ship, mind wiped blank by the desire to rid yourself of your dirty clothes.

Suddenly thankful you left the door to the refresher open, you stick your head out from behind the curtain and call for Mando, wondering if he could retrieve the sparkly blue soap bar for you.

Instead of being met with an empty doorway, you’re met with something else. And it’s as if the world moved around you in slow motion, your emotions moving over you like molasses.

First, confusion.

Hair. A head full of light brown, golden hair. It curled near the ends, into little wisps. It couldn’t be-

No. That couldn’t be Mando. It was as if your brain refused to acknowledge the shiny beskar that sat underneath that head of hair, refusing to realize it was the tin covered man you were looking at.

Second, curiosity.

Your eyes scanned over his head, taking in the way the bathroom light shined over his hair, making it reflect all different shades of brown and caramel.

It was now that you realized that his head was turning, that’s why the light was bouncing off it so dynamically.

His head continued to turn. An ear.

Third, shock.

It was only when you saw the sliver of skin, the shell of his ear, the inner workings of the intricate cartilage, and the profile of his supple cheekbone that you let out a startled, and perhaps unnecessary, shriek.

Your hands flew up to cover your eyes, to shield them from the forbidden view. You turned back into the shower, facing the wall, away from Mando.

He saw more of you than you had of him. He saw the way your chest heaved, the way the water flew off your body as you twirled to face the tiled wall of the shower, away from him. He watched the water hit your back-

You had seen him. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

He hated the way his instincts kicked in. He hated the way he was trained to kill whoever saw him, whoever looked, whoever dared unmask him.

Almost innately, his hand reached for the light switch, plunging the refresher into darkness as he stalked towards you, pressing his hand to your head and pinning you against the cool tile of the shower forcefully and efficiently.

Mando’s body followed suit, bringing both of you underneath the steady shower stream, pinning himself against your backside. The cold bite of his beskar in contrast to the cool water making you whimper, the force of his hand pressing your cheek into the wall made you see stars behind closed eyelids.

“What did you see?” He asked, voice gruff, strained, unmodulated.

Fuck.

Of all the months you had spent aboard the Razor Crest, living with him, fucking him, you had never heard his voice without the helmet, without some sort of barrier. You regret the way it made you moan, how easily he could make you melt.

“N-nothing, I didn’t-”

“What did you see?” He pressed onto your harder, with his hand and his body weight, pining you completely to the wall, making you at his mercy. You cry out at his cold touch, at his harshness. Mando had been frustrated, even angry, with you before but now… now he was about to truly end you.

But all you could think about was how beautiful his real voice sounded. It always sounded beautiful to you, from the moment you met him, it had made you weak, but this… this was unlike anything you could have imagined.

“Hair,” you cry, unsure if you were truly crying or if it was just water from the endless stream running above both of you now. “I s-saw your hair, your ear… I-I’m sorry-” You hiccup, trying to regain your breath and not inhale too much water as your chest heaved.

Without the helmet Mando was quickly realizing that he could genuinely hear you for the first time, your trembling voice ringing through his ears without being slightly distorted by the helmet’s filters. He could….

He could smell you too. The sweet scent of your skin, of your wet hair tangling in his fingers as he continued to hold you in between the tiles and his unforgiving beskar.

You… the sight of you pinned against him, your wet skin, water dripping down your flesh in rivulets, your whimpers, your cries, your tears, the way your eyes closed, the way you kept them closed even now, drowning in darkness, your cheek flush against the tile.

Completely at his mercy.

You weren’t even fighting him.

“Fuck.” He groaned, leaning his forehead against your temple. You whimpered at his sudden movement, so on edge.

You knew he was trained to kill. You knew what happened to people who even attempted to look at him. You had seen it, you had been there when it happened once, ignorant vendors trying to taunt him, trying to tease the Mandalorian. How stupid they were, now dead somewhere in a ditch. Would he do that to you? It would be so easy for him...

Mando wondered if you could see him in the darkness as well as he could see you. He knew you couldn’t, the lack of windows deprived the room of any light sources. Luckily, his eyes were trained and used to harsh environments, low visibility. Luckily, he could see you trembling against him.

He removed his hand from your head, sliding both of his hands now to hold your hips, digging his blunt nails into the flesh, leaving crescent moon-shaped indents behind. You yelped at the sting but didn’t pull away. You liked it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop talking.” He growled and you bit your lip, unaware that you had opened your eyes due to the deep, dark abyss you had been plunged into.

You could truly not see a thing. All your senses became focused on the way Mando touched you, the way he’s wedged you between the wall and himself, the death grip he had on your hips, the way his breaths came out quickly and evenly onto your cheek. He was breathing almost as hard as you were.

He nudged his nose onto your cheek and you nudge your cheek back onto him, trying to remind him that it was just you, that you’re not a threat, it’s just you, it’s just you, it’s just you.

This is The Way. This is The Way… This is The Way… This… is-

Fuck. You were distracting him. Your little whimpers, the way you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. So willing, you were always so willing for him. So fucking easy and it drove him crazy.

His skin… it felt so good against yours. You had only felt the rough, rarely tender caress of his rough palms. Never of his face, his lips, his nose… You felt like you were being driven insane, you couldn't believe how close his unmasked face was to yours.

You could kiss him…

Mando continued to rub his nose against you, suddenly so lost in the feel of your skin against his. No one had ever been so close to him, so invasively close, breathing in and breathing out the same air, sharing. Feeling your eyelashes flutter against his own, your lips, open panting, swollen and pliant and inviting. He could… he could-

“Mando-”

You’re cut off by his hand suddenly slithering down your body and cupping your cunt. You gasp, unable to help the way your hips involuntarily rock into his hand, into his own hips as well, feeling a growing hardness between his legs.

You were hot, so, so hot down between your thighs. Slippery too, and Mando knew it wasn’t just the water. It was thick, sticking to his fingers, practically begging for him. Mando groaned against your open lips, both of you panting into each other’s open mouths.

“You... you fucking like this, don’t you?” He rasped, biting onto the side of your bottom lip. You whimpered, hips bucking into his hand again. What were you supposed to say? How were you to answer that?

Yes Mando, I like how fucking intimidating you are.

Yes Mando, I like how much bigger you are than me, how easy it would be for you to snap me like a twig.

Yes Mando, I like when you’re rough with me, I get off on it, I crave it, I-

“Fucking answer me.” Mando growls, latching his teeth onto your earlobe now. His hand continued to cup your sex, not truly going anywhere near where you needed him. You still couldn’t fucking comprehend that he was without his helmet, his face right next to yours…

“Yes!” You squeaked as his fingers brushed along the inside of your folds, parting you, dragging his fingers along the length of you, slipping through your sweet cyprine. You let out an unholy moan, so ashamed at how easy you were for him.

Mando kisses your ear, trails his tongue down your neck, collecting the water that pebbles down your flesh as if it were syrup.

This… is, The Way. This is- The Way-

His fingers brush up against your clit accidentally and you buck into him again, desperate for any sort of friction, any sort of attention he could give you.

Mando was trying to calm himself down. He had just been on the brink of snapping your neck and now he was overcome with lust, the desire to fuck you, stuff you full of his cock. The two extremes were dizzying, he felt drunk off of some fancy and expensive cider from some far off planet in The Core. But he supposes that’s just what you did to him.

Before he even realizes it, he’s unzipping his pants, letting the top fall undone and pulling his cock out, letting it rest against your backside. You bite your lip, trying to turn your head to look towards him but your eyes are unable to adjust, you feel as though you can see the outline of his face but… but you’re sure it’s an illusion of the dark.

“Please, Mando-” You weren’t one to beg, Mando wasn’t one to make you beg because he was always as desperate, always as pent up, touch-starved, hungry as you were.

When you two fucked it was never slow, never drawn out, never languid, luxurious. No, it was rough, mean, volatile, desperate and just fucking needy. You needed each other, and Mando fucked you like it would always be the last time, every time. Like he would never have you again, like he would never split you open again.

Mando shoves his entire length into you in one hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you from how deep he reaches so easily at this angle. He rests for a moment, savouring the way your pussy flutters and clenches around him from the sudden intrusion, trying to adjust to his substantial length.

His head pressed right up against yours, he can hear all the pretty sounds you're making, even over the loud patter of water against his beskar which begins to weigh him down from how soaking wet it's getting.

But Mando doesn’t care, he can’t, not when you’re whimpering for him in that pretty way you do, not when you clench so tight around him that he feels like he could cum without even having moved. You beg, you beg and beg and beg for him to move but he just closes his eyes and feels you pulse, hot and tight and snug around him with that perfect little cunt of yours.

You hadn’t seen him, he thinks to himself. You hadn’t actually seen him, he’s okay, it’s just you, it’s just you, it’s just you.

You.

Quivering at the end of his cock, moaning, grasping at the tiles, trying to find purchase on something, taking him all the way in like you always do, like a good fucking girl.

He hadn’t even realized that he had started thrusting, in and out with reckless abandon, bottoming out every single time before pounding back into you, making you whimper and cry.

“W-what’s my name?” He asks suddenly, pulling you from floating away towards whatever astral plane you were near close to ascending too, the one his thrusts were pushing you towards as he rearranged you from the inside out.

You had to think, you had to think of his name because your find was blank, he was fucking you dumb.

“Mando.” You whimper, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the cold tiles, keeping your head turned so that he could keep his face pressed into your cheek, nose nudging yours, lips brushing but not kissing.

“No… what’s my fucking name?” He grits from behind clenched teeth, punctuating his words between harsh, unforgiving thrusts. You hiccup, unable to swallow down air properly as he fucks you into the wall.

His name?

What did he-

Oh.

His name. Mando had never told you his name, his actual name.

Was this a test? You shook your head ‘no’ as his arms wrapped around you, locking you in place as his ungloved hands came to grope at your breasts, using your own body as leverage to fuck into you harder. You let out a wanton moan, throwing your head back, letting it rest on his beskar covered shoulder. You turned your head and let your lips brush against his cheek but he turned his head too, lips brushing against his own and you both gasped and whimpered in unison. He seemed insistent on not kissing you, so you just went along with it, all your wits being literally fucked out of you.

“I-I don’t know.” You finally answered, your voice coming out small, between laboured breaths.

You didn’t know him, he thought. He still had something of his identity held in privacy, you didn’t know him, you didn’t know him.

“You don’t- you don’t know me,” He begins to say and it makes you cry, you cry against his mouth, your body shaking, bouncing against his, water beating down on both of you. “B-but you still let me fuck you like this, don’t you sweet girl?”

You scream. You scream when his hand lets go of your left breast only to come back down onto it, slapping the underside of the supple flesh. You wail and cry and moan the only name he’s ever told you.

Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando.

He grabs your jaw in one of his strong hands, angling your face towards his, a sight unseen.

“Answer me when I speak to you, cyar’ika.” He says forcefully, regardless of the nickname.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, trying to nod your head in his tight hold but you barely can. You were right on the brink, you felt as if he were to say one more thing in that deep, rough voice of his you would cum.

“Yes, what?” He grits, fucking your harder, moving his hand down to your neck and pushing you back against the cold tiles, making you yelp and cry for him, at the cool bite of ceramic materials.

“It’s c-cold, Mando.” You whine. He slaps your ass, his hand cracking down on your flesh, no doubt leaving a mark to find again tomorrow. You squeeze your eyes shut, bordering on overstimulation from his cock, his slaps, the water turning colder.

The ship never had a great water supply.

“Answer me.” He fucks you harder, faster, deeper, un-preciously and slaps your ass again, the other cheek this time.

“Y-yes! Yes I..I still l-let you… let you fuck me like this!” You cry and shake against the tile.

Mando’s arms quickly wrap around like they had before, hauling you back into his body. He snakes his hand down and rubs against your clit in fast, precise motions.

Almost instantaneously, your mind goes blank, your eyes roll into the back of your head. One of his arms wraps across your front, against your chest, holding your shoulder in a death grip, his other hand still working on your clit, his thrusts unrelenting as you cum and cum and cum around his thick cock.

“That’s it. That’s it... Good f-fucking girl.” He rasps, holding you tightly, thrusting a few more times before he empties himself inside you with a growl, painting your walls with him, branding you, owning you.

You moan at the sensation, the way his hot cum fills you to the brim before leaking out, back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs. You both pant, your chest heaving in time with his as he fucks it back into you as deep as it’ll go, stuffing you so, so full of him.

You keep your eyes closed, afraid of opening them, afraid he can see you even in this darkness. Even though you know he can.

Mando stays inside you until he’s softened, relishing in the way your pussy trembles around his girth, sucking him in as deep as you can for as long as possible.

When he eventually does pull out with a low growl, you hear him twist the knobs of the shower, the water suddenly becoming warmer, heating your now freezing skin. All these temperature changes were making you feel light-headed, the rough fuck you just got from Mando not helping your case either.

“Wha-”

“Stay here, warm up.” Mando cuts you off, you hear him step out of the shower.

A series of loud bangs resonate throughout the refresher, making you jump. Only one thing could be that loud. Is he… removing his beskar?

“Mando-”

“You’re always so cold when we’re travelling… can’t believe you were taking a cold shower.” He mumbles to himself, you can imagine him shaking his head. You’re stunned honestly, at how much he’s talking, especially without the helmet, that fact alone still lost on you. His voice was so beautiful, you had thought it to yourself about a hundred times now since you first realized he took the helmet off.

You stand under the warm stream, your quaking shivers slowly dissipating. You feel his presence enter the shower again, this time you can clearly feel his body heat, more flesh. He’s naked.

Mando is standing naked with you in the shower.

You involuntarily step away from him but he catches you, his hand landing on your waist, his hand softly grasping the flesh there. Such a stark contrast to the way he just fucked you into oblivion.

He’s naked.

This man had never removed anything besides his gloves. Even when he fucked you, the armor stayed on. You’re not sure if it was an issue of trust or due to his boundaries or his Creed. But considering he almost just killed you for accidentally seeing his ear and cheek, and was now standing naked with you in the dark… well, maybe it was a bit of both. You were having trouble wrapping your head around all of this, nothing was making sense to you.

The hand on your waist pulls you closer to him, your chests and bellies bump together and you gasp. Mando is firm, you knew this but… but to actually feel him against you, well, you could cry about it honestly.

You felt uncertain about what to do with your hands, unsure if you were allowed to touch him but you tentatively lifted them to his chest anyways, letting them rest against his solid pecs. His skin was soft despite the random series of raised flesh that seemed to brand him, his scars. You don’t think you ever wanted to see someone’s scars, someone’s skin as badly as you do now. But you would right out ask for it, you couldn’t.

You felt Mando lift something to your skin, it was smooth as it glided along your arm, your shoulders, across your back. A fruity, earthy scent filled your nose.

Your bar of soap.

He must have grabbed it before he took off his beskar. You lean into him unknowingly, the hand at your waist moving to hold you against him more easily as he washed you. You let your face rest against his chest, the little spot where his throat meets his collarbones. He smelled like sweat, grime, gun powder, he smelled like Mando.

You pressed your lips to the skin, the skin you knew was tanned and rugged, worn down, tired, in need of more kisses than he would let you give.

At the gentle press of your lips, that’s when Mando speaks again. It’s so hushed amongst the falling water, you almost miss it, but the few words don’t fall deaf to your ears, you hear every letter, every syllable.

“My name...” You look up to where his face would be, trying to imagine what expression he wears as he speaks to you in the dark. Your forehead not too far from his lips, you can almost feel the ghost of them on your flesh.

“My name is Din.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #din djarin #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you

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danishmiilk · 3 years

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when thunder splits the sky - na jaemin

au || royalty!au, soulmates!au

genre || angst, fluff, slight crack

warnings || swearing, death mentioned, almost deathly sickness, a lot of stress on jaemin and y/n’s part, throwing up.

summary || soulmates. the source of happiness, the source of sickness. you’re shocked that your best friend (and the second prince) is your soulmate, but it shouldn’t be too bad. after all, you’re best friends, right? you know each other better than anyone else in the world. but when jaemin refuses to realise his love, shit hits the fan.

word count || ~10k

note || this is a collaboration piece with @astroboy-lele for @k-dinernet‘s dance off event!

you and jaemin were close, closer than a commoner and a prince should be. but since you were the main cook’s daughter, it wasn’t too uncommon to see the two of you running around with bright smiles lighting up your faces. then studies took over for jaemin. he was constantly studying to become a better king than his dad, which was slightly unfair since he wasn’t even the crown prince. but accidents could happen, so jaemin had to be prepared. so you were left to your own devices most of the time, fiddling with things in the kitchen, or helping clean the monstrous castle jaemin called home.

“jaem!” you giggled happily when jaemin emerged from the library’s study. he looked tired. more tired than a 17 year old should be. dark circles contrasted his pale skin, and your hand automatically came up to rub at his slim cheeks. “you should get more rest.” you chided him.

“can’t.” jaemin responded curtly, removing your hands from his face. “i need to study.”

"but you're always studying," you sighed. it shouldn't be this hard to spend time with your best friend, but you supposed it was one of the cons of befriending the second prince of your kingdom.

"you don't understand, y/n! how could you? it's my duty to my family and my country to keep studying in case, heaven forbid, anything happens to doyoung hyung!" he snapped sharply at you, and though you knew he was clearly overstretched and stressed beyond anything you'd ever seen him (or didn't see him, he was always in the library nowadays anyway), you still took a step back and flinched away, hurt. jaemin stepped forward, mouth trying to form apologies. you shook your head, eyes glassy.

“don’t.” your voice was softer than expected. “i’ll.. i’ll leave you to it.” you ran off before jaemin could even react, wiping at your eyes.

jaemin watched you go. he watched you leave, back retreating into the dark hallways. he felt bad, of course he did - jaemin would never snap at you for no good reason. the last time he actually wanted to hurt someone was when you came to him sobbing, one year ago. the memory was still fresh in jaemin’s mind.

you supposed it could be you being too sensitive, but it was the toll the absence of jaemin took on you. sure, absence made the heart grow fonder, but it also did make cracks emerge in a friendship. you couldn’t see your cracks yet, but they’d emerge soon enough - it was the first time in so long you’d managed to talk to jaemin, and he’d just brushed you away brusquely. your hand raised to your eyes to wipe away the stray tears that had fallen.

without looking where you were running, you’d bumped into something very solid. something very human. roughly, you placed your hands on said solid thing and pushed yourself away, speeding around the obstacle to the forest, tears still filling up your eyes. you didn’t blink them back - if you’d blinked, they were sure to have fallen out.

“y/n?” the very confused crown prince shouted out from somewhere behind you, “what’s going on?” and unbeknownst to you, his brother was soon to follow, brushing past him like he was invisible (last he checked, he wasn’t.) “jaemin?” the pair of you had left long before there was a chance to provide the prince with any of his requested answers, leaving a very confused doyoung standing in the middle of the hallway. sighing, doyoung brushed off his clothes. sometimes he didn’t know what he put up with you for.

once you set foot into the forest, immediate regret almost washed over you. it started raining. not gently either, it came down in harsh droplets, hammering into your clothes, thoroughly soaking you to the bone. you shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, trying to bring warmth to yourself. it didn’t work, so you settled with standing under a tree in an attempt to stay out of the storm. you gazed up at the sky, wincing as thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding you of your fears. you wished with all your might that the storm would stop. it didn’t. of course it didn’t. why would it, it was nature, and nature didn’t listen to common people, only the gods above. “y/n? y/n! oh my god, y/n!” you heard a shout echo through the forest, and you shivered again. “there you are, do you know how long i’ve been looking for you?” jaemin accused, hands grabbing at your shoulders. you glared back, though it wasn’t threatening as you were shaking and shivering, teeth chattering. “you know it’s the rainy season and almost winter! what the fuck were you thinking?” jaemin huffed, but shrugged off his coat and draped it around your shoulders gently, concern making his eyebrows knit together.

“it was sunny before.” you protested, and jaemin exhaled, shaking his head with disappointment at your naive actions.

“you should know the weather changes quickly,” jaemin retorted, and that shut you up. you knew the weather changed fast, but emotions took over you, just wanting to escape the castle jaemin called home. “we should find some shelter. i know there’s an old cottage somewhere, i just don’t know where.” jaemin sighed.

you raised your eyebrows at him, “what, it wouldn’t be some strange warped hansel and gretel remix going on, would it? because we’re not smart enough to push witches into ovens.” jaemin smiled widely, chuckling at your small jab at yourself and him.

“no, it’s completely safe.” he assured you, grabbing your hand. jaemin nervously cleared his throat. “uh… i, i should apologize for earlier. it wasn’t right for me to snap at you.” you squeezed his hand gently.

“i know you’re stressed, it’s okay. i really should be more lenient.” you sighed, slightly disappointed in yourself for not understanding your best friend’s struggles. his hair was sticking to his forehead, yours similarly sticking you your arms and neck.

“it’s just the expectations, you know. of my parents, of the people… of the country.” jaemin’s eyes widened in horror and fear, an expression that would be almost comical under different circumstances and whispered, “what if i have to rule the country one day?”

your friend blanched and you sighed, tightening your hold around him to anchor him to reality, “look, i’m not saying you’re incapable of doing it, but it’s really quite impossible that something were to happen to doyoung, so i don’t think you really have to worry about that too much. still, being royalty is probably way harder than i could imagine.”

his voice wistful, jaemin’s eyes shined with tears - or perhaps it was just the rain creating illusions. “sometimes i wish i were never born into royalty. but you know what, there’s pros and cons to everything, that’s just how life is. we get privileges, but we can’t have the best of both worlds. still,” he looked down at the wet ground, “every time i see children running about or playing with their friends in courtyards or in the streets, it makes me wish i had a childhood. makes me wish i had friends, and was allowed to play with them, to live a normal life. normal. what a beautiful word, really, and how ironic that millions of people would give anything to be a member of the royal family, while the second prince would do anything to get out of being one.”

there wasn’t very much to say, you thought, considering jaemin very rarely went into long, emotional speeches like this one. you’d never be able to understand, and you weren’t about to try. softly, so very softly, you whispered, “but you have me.” jaemin smiled softly, and slightly proudly at you.

“yeah. yeah, i do.” and he did. he’s always had you, from the first day he sneaked into the kitchen for a taste of his birthday cake before he was supposed to, until- well, there isn’t an until if you’ll have his back forever, is there?

a cottage was beginning to come into view in the distance, a quaint little thing fit for no more than one person (or perhaps seven dwarves, no reference to snow white intended). the rain blurred your vision and wind whipped through your hair, but it was shelter, and so hand in hand, you ran towards it.

“to what honour do i owe the presence of the second prince at my humble abode?” a boy’s voice, sweet and melodic, came from behind you.

you jumped. “jaemin! i thought you said it was safe.” you hissed, clutching at jaemins arms. jaemin just shrugged. you sighed, keeping an eye on the strange boy. jaemin gripped your hand tighter, however.

jaemin gestured vaguely around, staring at the auburn-haired boy with no small amount of skepticism, “i thought you’d be… older. like, an old lady.”

the boy scoffed. “who’s to say i’m not? witches don’t always have to be middle aged ladies with no fashion sense and even less hair. i’m donghyuck, by the way. come on in.” jaemin was still looking the boy up and down in curiosity, finally blurting out, “witches use umbrellas?”

“no, we’re waterproof,” donghyuck deadpanned, sarcasm filling his words.

“jaemin,” you frowned, “do you know him?” a quick shake of his head confirmed your suspicions. “then why,” you half-screeched into his ear, “do you assume he’s safe?”

“i’m not. i could turn you into a frog, if you want.” the boy suggested, waving a hand, making you flinch and jaemin move your smaller frame behind him. donghyuck moved a shoulder evenly up and down, “joking.”

“that wasn’t funny!” you gasped. donghyuck moved his other shoulder up and down, doing a strange half-shrug again, “nobody gets my humour.”

you followed him into the house, dripping water all over his doormat and the wooden planks of his floor, but not daring to move any further than that. donghyuck waved his hand, slamming the wooden door shut behind you and lighting the fire, “will the two of you stop looking so shocked? it’s not like i’m going to cook you for dinner, so why are you acting like you’ve never seen a witch before?”

“because we haven’t,” the note of childlike curiosity reappeared in jaemin’s voice, and you were glad his mind was taken off of his royal duties, “they were outlawed a long time ago.” “right,” donghyuck levitated a couple mugs of cocoa over to you, “i forgot, sorry.”

“so your existence is basically illegal, and yet you’re serving the prince of your kingdom hot chocolate in the middle of the thunderstorm like nothing’s wrong?” you sputtered in disbelief, though you didn’t actually splutter, of course; that was rather an expression authors liked using. “all in a day’s work,” donghyuck glanced at you again, “come in and stop dripping water on the mat. would you believe it, magically drying the mat is harder than magically drying the wood.” very honestly, you didn’t know what to make of that boy.

you stood awkwardly, pressing yourself into jaemin’s side as you watched donghyuck bustle around his house, ironically not unlike an old lady. “so, ummm, could you show us some magic or something?”

“like drying our clothes,” jaemin added, motioning to the soaked fabric draped over his body.

“they’ll dry, just sit by the fireplace. in the meantime, i can show you a soulmate spell if you’d like to see it. it’s one of the easier and prettier spells, so i think you’d enjoy it, even if it’s highly unlikely it would work. soulmates are rare things, and even rarer are soulmates who discover each other and the fact that they are soulmates. so i’ll do it, but if you two don’t turn out to be soulmates, don’t be disappointed. if you do, there isn’t going to be a flash of golden light and a shower of sequins either, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“you’re saying like what would happen is one of us would die and suddenly come back to life.” you sarcastically commented, but eyes growing wide as the moon above when donghyuck looked around nervously.

“well…” he started, but you held up a hand.

“excuse me, what. come again?”

“let me just show you.” donghyuck sighed, and got up, grabbing a book from the large shelf pushed against the wall. he flipped through a few pages carefully, and let out a satisfied “ah,” when he found the correct page in the yellowing book. “the concept of soulmates hath been the strongest bond known to man since the beginnings of time. for the true blossoming of true love takes place when the eyes of soulmates transform into colours of the fall. time and time again, history older than anything thou or i could ever imagine hast proven that soulmates are rare, ones who know about them even more so. for thee, the pair who is reading this, thou art soulmates. it would be an insult to fate and everyone who cannot experience such a connection to not realise your feelings. thou hath one month to realize feelings or one half of the pair will be fated to a cruel ending. as mere mortals, we do not make the rules. nobody can help thee except the other, but fear not. you are soulmates. you have a bond. said bond shalt be enough, if thou realises it.” haechan read, rubbing the thin, old pages of the book between careful fingers. you glanced over at jaemin who was shifting his weight back and forth, not knowing where to put his feet. “so, basically,” donghyuck started, ignoring jaemin’s nervous state. “if your soulmate doesn’t acknowledge their feelings for you, or you don’t, one of you would basically die.” he shrugged. your mouth dropped open. how in the world was he so calm about it? “what the fuck? they could die?” jaemin seemed to share your sentiment.

“what is a fuck?” donghyuck furrowed his eyebrows together, evidently confused as to what this strange new word meant. jaemin faltered, taken aback, “wait, dude, you look like you’re, what, seventeen, and you have no idea what fuck means?” donghyuck looked at jaemin like he was an idiot, “never gotten the chance to interact with a lot of other seventeen year olds.” jaemin nodded solemnly, “can relate. only got this loser for a friend.” jaemin hooked a thumb in your direction. you rolled your eyes.

“let us begin the spell! i feel like i’m conducting a child gender reveal party,” he exclaimed happily, rubbing his hands together with glee. you held up your hand.

“hold the fuck up, you’re not performing this spell! one of us could DIE!” you exclaimed.

“there’s the word fuck again. kinda catchy.” donghyuck tested it out under his breath. “any other new words?” he asked. jaemin opened his mouth, no doubt to actually teach donghyuck how to swear, and well, you weren’t exactly opposed to letting him, but not dying came higher than teaching people you just met how to swear on your priority list.

“don’t worry. there’s only a slight chance that you’re soulmates anyway, and it’s better to know than to remain in oblivion. i’m not kidding.” “ignorance is bliss?” you suggested, desperate to stop donghyuck. “no, y/n. i think… if we indeed are soulmates, we deserve to know. i want to at least know why i died if i do suddenly die.”

“i have heard of that saying, y/n, was it? say, can fuck be used as a noun, a verb or an adjective?” “any way you want,” jaemin grinned, “reality can be anything you wish it to be!” “sweet,” donghyuck plonked a cauldron of unknown origin onto the table, “i like that word already.”

pulling a ladle out of seemingly nowhere, donghyuck pointed said ladle at you, “what’s your favourite flower?” you stared at him blankly, “you need that for the spell? i don’t really have a preference.” donghyuck rolled his eyes, “no, i was just curious. if you’re interested, your aura says daisy and jaemin’s absolutely screams carnations. for the record, i have zero idea what those flowers mean, but who cares?” he waved an arm over the cauldron which then proceeded to bubble, pushing dandelions and carnations to the surface. white. all white. “pretty enough, i suppose. i don’t usually give my services discounted, so you can just teach me some new words and it’s a deal.”

as you thought back, you did have a small memory of making flower crowns with jaemin. you often made daisy crowns, while jaemin’s were, as far as you knew, carnations. they were always given to you, all his carnation-based flower accessories: crowns, necklaces, bracelets.

you were jerked back to the present and away from distant memories as jaemin helpfully, or not so helpfully, instructed donghyuck on how to swear, “so, motherfucker is a noun. the verb equivalent is motherfucking, but that’s usually used as an adjective anyway. can also be shortened to mf. bitch is a more female-specific curse word since its original meaning was something along the lines of female dog.”

“i thought dogs were nice,” donghyuck pointed a finger aggressively at the bubbling liquid inside the cauldron, flowers obscuring most of its contents, “this always takes way too fucking long to boil so i can’t do anything. how perfectly bitchy of it.” jaemin’s face lit up with that mischievous smile you were so used to, “you’re a natural!” “why, thank you.” you had to be imagining things. either that, or your ears were waterlogged. shaking your head wildly, all you got was a headache, so no, your ears weren’t waterlogged. and so the two boys before you were complimenting each other casually on their ability to swear, even as one’s existence was against the law and the other was the prince of your kingdom. because that was not… strange. not strange at all.

“why don’t you teach him things like crap, hell and damn? why… fuck and bitch?” donghyuck had settled into an armchair by the fire, snapping his fingers every minute or so to keep the cauldron’s contents boiling, “you want to learn the interesting shit. like, you know, if i can learn shit and motherfucker then why am i learning crap and hell and damn? they sound lame compared to bitch, fuck and shit.” donghyuck shrugged, you sighed, and jaemin nodded like he’d birthed and raised donghyuck for seventeen years just for this moment.

“i mean, my parents don’t let me curse, but it’s fun to see them mad sometimes.” jaemin shrugged. you shook your head at the boy next to you (we shall omit the fact that he learnt half his curse words from you, and the other half from the legendary crown prince’s speech in which he accidentally swore half a dozen times in front of the whole nation. doyoung got grounded, but it made jaemin, and by extension you, developed a heck of a lot more respect for him.) you watched quietly as the two boys exchanged details about their lives and excitedly swore together. unconsciously, you started shivering again, your clothes still not quite dry. jaemin noticed, and picked up the blanket laid across his lap, wrapping it around your shoulders, making sure the blanket was secure around you before turning back to donghyuck. you learnt he also liked to be called haechan or hyuck, lived out here all his life, and didn’t know much about the kingdom from having to stay hidden from the world. jaemin’s expression held a hint of guilt, knowing that he was a member of the family that had caused huyck's plight.

“ooh! the spell is done!” hyuck clapped, and scrambled to his feet, once again doing the weird shrug thing, skipping over to the cauldron. his hair bounced and jaemin snickered while you quieted him. you shrank back into the couch as the sounds from the caldron became louder and donghyuck’s eyes started to sparkle. jaemin grabbed your hand, palms slightly sweaty. donghyuck peered into the large metal bowl, and smiled. his smile made you a bit uneasy.

“ready?” he asked the two of you, and jaemin nodded while you hesitated.

“yes.”

nothing happened for a moment and haechan waved his hands over the flower-filled water, mumbling some ancient words. you watched, eyes wide, as the water came out in a stream, winding around the circumference of the small cottage, and then around you and jaemin’s hands. you gasped, as the water was ice cold though it was boiling just moments ago. a daisy settled on jaemins wrist, wrapping around it tightly. a carnation wrapped around your finger, like it’s own special promise to you. jaemin frowned.

“is that supposed to mean something?” he asked, tugging at the flower. it didn’t move or tear. haechan eyes doubled in size as his eyes zeroed in on the flowers.

“you’re… you’re soulmates.”

jaemin stood there in shock, and shook his head. “no way. we’re best friends.” he protested. your heart was slightly crushed, as you liked him for a few months now. who wouldn’t? “we can’t be soulmates. no way.” he shook his head again, as if to clear away the water clogging his ears. you let go of jaemin’s hand. your heart was hammering, matching the raindrops that pelted to the ground.

“are.. are you sure?” you asked, voice wavering. haechan nodded. your hands were shaking now, and jaemin was ignoring you. “can i… may i lie down?” you asked, twirling a finger around your long strands of hair. donghyuck nodded, pointing you to what you assumed to be his room. as you slipped off, you heard jaemin and donghyuck whisper something together.

the next few days you didn’t see much of jaemin, only when he came out of the library to get food. even those days were rare, as he often ate in there, or brought his lunch in during the morning. and each day, jaemins face looked more and more pale. the flowers had vanished, though they left marks on where they rested just a week ago. you cast a glance down the empty hallway to the library, feet hesitating. you made up your mind, pushing open the large oak doors and… found jaemin passed out on the ground.

you gasped, rushing over and checking his temperature. it was abnormally normal, though he was sweating. you called a maid over, and soon you found yourself in the hospital wing. how were you going to break it to his parents that their younger son was sick because you two were soulmates. the thought itself was ridiculous.

“is jaemin okay?” well, fuck you, he’s obviously not. an undertone of worry was detected from the trained calmness of doyoung’s voice. the king and queen had yet to arrive, and doyoung stood behind you, hand resting on your shoulder in a slightly failed attempt to calm you. quick breaths left you, panic filling your mind and cluttering your lungs. the crown prince patted at your shoulder awkwardly, turning to leave as he couldn’t really do much. besides, it was fairly obvious the two of you needed to be alone.

as the day faded into night, jaemin was still, not moving as you watched him, hands grasping at your hair. this was all your fault. no, it was that bitch of a witch named donghyuck. he cast the spell. you wanted to blame jaemin for not accepting that you were soulmates, and now he was going to die because of it.

obviously, you hadn’t had a soulmate before. but you could sense it, you knew that no matter what jaemin had done, you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him. to love so hard you’re falling, but you know you’re flying. you’re not there yet, definitely not. there was an inkling of the possibility of that happening, though. you barely blamed jaemin for everything (which was mostly his fault anyway), and staring at the pale complexion of the boy in front of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay angry. you slipped your hand into his (see? can’t help it. this was all because you were soulmates, and totally not because you just wanted to.), and as storybook-esque as it was, it felt so right. a maid brought you dinner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scoop the rice and noodles into your mouth. your stomach was protesting, but you didn’t care, resting your head on your arm, you clutched jaemin’s hand tightly. tears pricked at your eyes, and this time, you didn’t stop them.

doyoung came by again in the morning and found you awake, dark blue and purple eyebags obnoxiously present. “have you been here the whole night?” you stretched, not letting go of jaemins limp hand, back aching from the uncomfortable position you were in for the whole night.

“is there a wrong answer?” you asked, yawning as you spoke. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples.

“he’ll survive, y/n. it’s just sickness. we have the best doctor-”

“it’s not just a sickness!” you snapped, fire igniting in your stomach, the need to protect haechan slowly shrinking. you found yourself telling the oldest prince everything from getting caught in the rain, jaemin having a breakdown, the walk in the woods, to finding the cottage, and even the witch you encountered, though his existence was very much illegal. doyoung listened. he listened to every word, and nodded along, though his eyes were slowly going from panicked to angry.

“so, you found a witch, donghyuck, was it?” you nodded in confirmation, death gripping jaemin’'s hand. if he ever woke up he would for sure scold you for making his dominant hand ache. “he cast a soulmate spell, and jaemin didn’t accept. so now the gods are punishing him?” you nodded again. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples again. you watched anxiously, worried for donghyuck’s safety.

“could you get donghyuck to come here?” doyoung asked. that is not what you were expecting. blinking nervously, you nodded. you remembered the path jaemin took, right? if not, you could just shout.

“do you promise not to kill him? or like, arrest him? he’s an annoying motherfucker, but i think jaemin would be sad if you did,” you inhaled. doyoung nodded with a perfectly straight face. “he could turn you into a frog.” you added, deciding to trust him. doyoung looked a bit shocked, but you reluctantly stood up. “i’ll be back.” you whispered to jaemin, leaving doyoung to look after his brother.

setting off in the woods alone was scarier than you thought. shivering, you really wished you had jaemin in that moment. really wished. the sooner you got to donghyuck, the sooner he would be better, right? wrong.

“what do you mean you can’t remove the spell?” you shrieked, panic filling you once again. donghyuck looked sorrowful, and doyoung was standing with his arms crossed off in the corner.

“i can’t, i’m sorry, y/n. jaemin has to realize he loves you for the sickness to go away. and either way, all my spell did was prove that the two of you were soulmates. the sickness stems from the heavens”

“i have to what?” jaemin’s voice cracked slightly from not using it for the past few days. “jaemin!” you practically sobbed, hand clenching around his fingers from where you’d reached for them unknowingly. he squeezed back weakly, coughing. “what do i have to do?”

“realize you love y/n.” haechan said simply.

“i don’t think it works like that!” your voice came out slightly higher than usual, laughing nervously to stop jaemin from feeling uncomfortable. he had to, love didn’t work as such. you just didn’t decide to go, ‘okay today i have decided i love y/n!’ jaemin looked at donghyuck with visible confusion. all haechan offered was a half shrug in return.

“what happens if i don’t?” jaemin whispered. haechan glanced at doyoung, nervous that someone so high and regal was standing in the same room as him - jaemin didn’t count, seeing as he’d spent the first hour of knowing hyuck teaching him to swear, and he wasn’t the crown prince anyway - if he did or said the wrong thing, he would definitely get executed.

“we’ll get there when we get there. how long does he have?” doyoung asked. you gripped jaemin’s hand tighter, nervous of the answer. “it… depends?” donghyuck offered. doyoung scowled. “very helpful.” “i’m sorry, i’ve never had to deal with this kind of fuckery before,” donghyuck waved his hands around, “okay, swear i’m not doing magic, but i really didn’t cause any of this. okay. maybe a bit. but it would have happened anyways.” your eyebrow lifted.

“what do you mean, anyways?” jaemin asked, frowning.

“the soulmate spell only helps the soulmates find each other. and gets the show on quicker, but a year from now, the same thing would’ve happened.” haechan explained, still waving a hand. doyoung’s eyebrows knitted together. “so, jaemin and y/n should spend as much time together as they can.” hyuck concluded.

“and die faster?” jaemin snarled. haechan shook his head quickly, eyes straying to the other royal member in the room.

“no, if you spend more time together, then it’ll slow down until you realise you’re in love. usually, you get only a week, but if you spend every day together, it’s up to… a month?” haechan shrugged, letting the slightest hint of resentment slip into his voice, “maybe i’d know better if i actually could come out of hiding to be taught by more experienced witches. my work here seems to be done anyway, adios!” it was like donghyuck was born to be a showman. he ripped the curtains off and disappeared under them with a flash, letting the rich fabric settle slowly to the ground. doyoung sighed.

“well, you guys heard what he said. spend as much time together as you can.” doyoung shrugged. “and jaemin, try not to die.” doyoung added, a small smile playing at his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. jaemin nodded, head thrown back onto the plush pillows. you frowned, jaemin usually loved to hang out with you. something definitely changed over the last few weeks.

try not to die, he said. well, you were definitely dying inside. and jaemin wasn’t getting any better, coughing, occasional throwing up, and sneezing. he barely could keep his food down, let alone sit up without any help. it worried you. it worried you a lot more than you let on. to say things were awkward was putting it lightly. everyone avoided the two of you, seeing the tension held over your and jaemin’s heads. you started to get fed up after a few days.

“what happened? aren’t you supposed to be with jaemin?” doyoung asked as you stormed downstairs.

“he’s not talking to me. what’s the harm in taking a small break?” you exhaled, running a hand through your now messy hair. doyoung frowned, the worry lines creasing his forehead. “don’t worry, i’m going back to the ward in half an hour. it’s just so… infuriating.” you ranted to the crown prince, resting your head on the stairwell railing. doyoung had stopped you half way down the stairs. “we’re soulmates for god's sake! can’t he just… talk to me? when did he start to see me as a bother? when did he… start to hate me? it’s like we never were friends. i miss him, doyoung. i miss my best friend. i miss his smile, his laugh, his weird antics, i miss my jaemin.” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes for the third time today. jaemin being sick and ignoring you while, quite literally, on his deathbed did not help. especially since you two were soulmates.

“when did you start to fall in love with him?” doyoung questioned softly. you thought for a moment. when did you truely start to love jaemin? not in the rain. not when you had your first fight when you saw him. no, it started a while ago. when jaemin started to grow up. when you stopped making flower jewelry and when he started to give you real gems. when? you weren’t exactly sure. maybe you always loved him. maybe he always loved you. but when would he figure that out? doyoung just nodded, understanding your confused gaze, unfocused and misty-eyed. he stood up, brushing his black slacks and deep red shirt. “give him a bit. jaemin is a bit slow with these kinds of things.” you only nodded in response, mindlessly walking back to the ward jaemin was residing in.

jaemin still was not getting any better the next few days. he still refused to talk to you, only nodding or rolling his eyes as a response to you trying to start to converse. you were starting to lose hope.

you were surprised to see him lying on the cold tiled ground.

“jaemin, why are you on the ground? you should be in bed. it’s cold out.” you scolded, moving towards him. jaemin held up a hand, draping his hands over his stomach.

“the floor is nice and cold,” he uttered, sighing with relief as the tile cooled his sweaty body down. you frowned, huffing. jaemin, once again, did not listen.

“the ground is dirty. i can turn down the heat-” jaemin cut you off.

“shut up! i’m dying, i don’t care if the ground is dirty!” jaemin hissed, and you backed up, saddened by his tone. jaemin didn’t notice, too busy coughing into his elbow to notice your state.

“you’re not going to die,�� you whispered, and jaemin moved his elbow away. “you’re not. i refuse to let you. i don’t care if you don’t love me right now, but you’re my soulmate, jaemin. soulmate. do you know how many people wish to have soulmates? jaemin, i’ve been by your side since we were in diapers. we played in the mud together. we got in trouble together. we did everything together, jaemin. i watched you grow up. i watched you become more responsible. i watched, and i waited for you to confess. but you never did, so now you’re sick, and it’s all your fault. don’t push the blame on me, on donghyuck, or on anyone. this is on you. if you want to sit here and wallow in your self-pity, go ahead. i’m tired, jaemin. i tried to give you time, but you only have three weeks left. i don’t…” you choked on your words. “i don’t know what i’ll do if you ever die suddenly.” you whispered, backing out of the door. jaemin struggled to his feet, but you were already gone, ends of your hair and dress flowing behind you.

he stared at the empty spot where you’d been just moments before, feeling the same emptiness in his heart. bitterness welled up from within him. he wasn’t that dumb either, but love just didn’t work that way. just because some spell told you that you were soulmates didn’t necessarily mean that with a magical click of your fingers you’d stare into each others eyes and sappily declare your everlasting love.

doyoung stepped out from nowhere, looking around with a confused expression, “where’s y/n? i swear i saw her here just a few minutes ago.”

“hey, hyung.” doyoung hummed in response. jaemin sat up with some difficulty, holding a hand up to stop doyoung from trying to help him, “what if this sickness has got nothing to do with the soulmate fuckery? what if i just, uh, have the plague or something?”

“have the plague or something,” doyoung drawled sarcastically, “the last time the plague was going around was, like, a hundred years ago.” jaemin winced.

“or maybe i have cancer.”

“or maybe,” doyoung narrowed his eyes at his brother, “you’re just being a fatheaded dick who can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re soulmates with your best friend, and have to realise your love for each other so you don’t suddenly stop breathing!” doyoung stalked out of the room without a single word, pausing to seemingly contemplate whether slamming the (very heavy) oak door would help prove his point. he very intelligently settled on just stamping his foot. it made him look like a child, but jaemin hadn’t seen doyoung this upset in a while. and frankly, it got him thinking a bit.

you walked into the hospital wing as usual without greeting jaemin. it wasn’t like you got a reply anyway. “hey,” the prince offered as you took up your usual spot by his bed with a book, a clear indication that you didn’t want conversation.

your eyebrows twitched a little. granted, you weren’t expecting him to say anything, but it must be a testament to your friendship if your little blow up had at least gotten jaemin to think a little. you stared pointedly down at the book you didn’t even know the title of.

“y/n.” still no response. “you’re holding the book upside down,” jaemin sighed.

furious with yourself, you flipped the book the right side up again, “you don’t want to talk to me. stop forcing yourself to.”

“i do want to talk to you, okay? i don’t particularly want to die either, the soulmates idea is just hard to stomach.”

“what, does loving me sound so bad? am i so unlovable?” you slammed your book closed, trying not to choke on the shower of dust that came with it. logically, you shouldn’t be getting mad. jaemin was just trying to make things better, but he sounded so forced. “you sound so forced to do this, jaemin.”

“oh, are you getting mad at me now? you were sad because i wasn’t talking to you, and now you’re mad because i am! what the fuck am i supposed to do?” jaemin glared at you from underneath the covers, “i’m trying, okay? i thought you said you didn’t want me to die!”

“i don’t want you to die!” you hissed back at him, tears springing to your eyes again.

“are you crying again? if every time we talk you get that sad, then maybe you should just let me die!”

you dusted yourself off and ran out of the room, not even bothering to give jaemin an answer. why didn’t he get it? it’s not that hard to understand! (when else but) on your way out, you bumped into (who else but) doyoung, crying (what else but) angry tears. again. you really had to stop doing that.

to nobody in particular, doyoung whispered, “why are they so angsty?”

“we need to talk,” doyoung declared the moment he walked into the room in one of the pockets of time that you weren’t in it. jaemin looked up from the extremely interesting loose thread on his blanket and nodded, “what about?”

“y/n.”

jaemin’s expression darkened in a nanosecond. “no,” he practically growled, “not her again. i can figure this out myself, doyoung hyung! you don’t have to help me.”

“if you can figure this out yourself, the two of you wouldn’t be the embodiment of every sad angsty book ever written.”

“it’s our way of coping with things.” the words sounded fake even to jaemin’s own ears.

“no,” doyoung deadpanned, “don’t fuck around with me.” he hissed, “you know she cries every time you give her unwanted insults. let’s count how many times i ran into her, sometimes quite literally, in the hallway with her crying. one, the day you two got lost in the woods. two, when you were passed out and unresponsive, three, a few days after you woke up and weren’t talking to her, four, literally yesterday after you basically told her she was unlovable.” doyoung held up his fingers mockingly and it felt like jaemin had just been slapped in the face. “four times, na jaemin. four times you fucked up, four times y/n felt worthless, four times more than needed. four times. thats more than anything that happened in the last 16 years of your friendship. four times in less than a month. get your shit together, jaemin.” doyoung snapped, and spun around on his heel. jaemin felt like everyone was against him at this point.

a week passes and hey, what did you know? some improvement was showing. you and jaemin could hold, an (albeit very awkward, but still) a conversation. it was a relief to you, but you were slightly suspicious of him. jaemin still couldn’t look you in the eyes, glancing away or inspecting his nails. but you couldn’t ask anymore of him, he went from straight out ignoring you, to asking how your day went. jaemin sent you a small smile, fiddling in his seat.

“how… how are you?” jaemin asked, glancing at your features shyly. you smiled, though it felt more forced than genuine.

“i’m good. have you been getting better?”

“well, you know. not really,” jaemin shrugged, not looking at you, “it hasn’t been getting worse either, though.”

you ignored the way jaemin was pointedly avoiding your gaze and offered a half smile you didn't really mean, “the weather isn’t very good today, is it?” the weather hadn’t been really good for the past week or so. even if you weren’t spending every waking (and sleeping) moment by jaemin’s side, you wouldn’t have been able to go out of the castle. the relentless rain pouring down on the windows made sure of that.

“y/n, i still think we have to talk.” jaemin’s expression turned serious, “i know i’ve been a dick these few weeks, and i’m not even going to try excusing myself for that. but i want you to know that no matter what, i still treasure you a lot as my best friend. i think i just need time - okay, admittedly we haven’t got very much of that left, about a week and a half or so, but i struggle with feelings. i really struggle a lot and it’s overwhelming and i miss you so much, i miss talking to you not-awkwardly and i want our old relationship back.”

you promised yourself you weren’t going to cry again, because god knows you’ve cried too much. “okay then,” you laughed lightly, “if you’re going to make this a deep sentimental talk, just know that i’m willing to wait for you for as long as you need. sadly this isn’t up to me.”

jaemin remained silent for a bit, taking in what you just said. when he spoke again, you were shocked. “do you think i love you?”

you cocked your head, “what i think doesn’t matter. the question is what do you think?”

“i want to know what you think.”

knowing he wasn’t going to let you go until you told him so, you sighed, “i think you do.”

“platonically or romantically?”

“my father wants my help in the kitchens, your highness. i’ll see you later.”

it was raining again, and you didn’t show up in his room like normal. jaemin was worried, and he got out of his bed clumsily, grabbing a cane, which he winced at. he looked like an old man with it. drawing back the heavy velvet curtains, the glass of his widow was covered in water droplets, all racing to the window sill. jaemin spotted you running around the courtyard, mouth open with a muted laugh and eyes sparkling even though you were soaked to the skin. jaemin found himself smiling, watching you with fond eyes. his senses kicked in, and he realized. he was truly, and utterly, with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body, in love with you. with his best friend. with the person who stuck by him all these years. who loved all his flaws and imperfections. he, na jaemin, second prince in line, never to sit on the throne (he didn’t mind that part), was in love with you. a cook's daughter, a commoner, but most importantly, his soulmate.

when you came inside, your teeth were chattering and you were shivering all over, but it was the happiest you’d felt in a while. nothing was better than dancing in the rain, really, except dancing in the rain with jaemin. that now… that was a hundred times better, but na jaemin was sick, so you’d have to forgo that. practically waltzing into jaemin’s room, you grinned at him, your good mood making you forget all the awkwardness. he was just your best friend, your best friend of so many years. awkwardness who?

“jaems!” it might have been the prior realization of love making jaemin completely disregard any tension that might have been between the two of you earlier, but he grinned back at you just as happily as you’d greeted him, “y/n!” he frowned, pretending he hadn’t been watching you from his window just a few minutes prior because that was borderline creepy, “why are you all wet?”

“i danced in the rain. oh god, jaemin, do you remember that time when we were dancing together in the rain and then decided to use a banana leaf as an umbrella but we got wet anyway? and then-”

“and then,” jaemin picked up seamlessly from where you left off, the grin not disappearing, “doyoung hyung came to check on us because he was scared we’d catch colds from running around in the rain all day. then we slipped and fell into the mud, splashing him all over.”

you laughed, a light tinkling sound that reminded jaemin again of why he loved you, “i swear the mud mask made his skin better.”

jaemin practically screeched with laughter, “you mean you’ve been looking at my brother’s skin?”

the overwhelming love and affection you felt for your best friend in that moment, both platonically and romantically, made you throw your arms around him, instantly soaking him through with your wet clothes. somehow, the two of you ended up sprawled on his bed.

“you know what? i love you.” jaemin sighed, snuggling into your embrace. your ears burned red.

“you.. you what?” you asked timidly. you really hoped jaemin said what you thought he said. jaemin smiled, leaning back more, adjusting the position the two of you were in. you now were snuggled into his chest, sighing as you felt your eyelids droop. jaemin chuckled lowly, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll be here when you wake up.” he whispered softly. you fell asleep, mind calm for once.

“jaemin- okay, you can explain why y/n’s soaking your bedsheets through and the both of you are completely drenched in rainwater first,” doyoung arched an eyebrow, “have y’all finally gotten your shit together?”

“i think i love her, hyung,” jaemin’s arm curled protectively around you, “really.”

doyoung clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval, “you think? be sure of it, jaems. i’ve practically raised the two of you and watched you grow up, and now you say you only think you love her?”

“i love her.” jaemin struggled to hold back the laugh that was threatening to spill out of his chest. “i love her!” he repeated again, louder this time. seeing the finger doyoung had to his lips, he quietened down to prevent waking you up, “thank you, hyung. for knocking some sense into me.”

doyoung smiled, “anytime. it’s my job, after all. now, i think you two need some alone time. see you at dinner, i truly doubt you’ll still be sick.”

you were awakened by the sound of the door closing. rubbing your eyes tiredly, you looked around, disoriented, “did someone come in?”

“it’s nothing, y/n. just a servant. sleep, i love you.”

you yawned, “i love you too.” and you snuggled back under the covers with him, acting like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

“hey,” jaemin whispered in your ear, waking you up gently, “i hate to have to wake you up, but dinner’s in a few. my parents want to see you too, apparently.”

you blinked the sleep away from your eyes, looking at his smiling face. waking up to jaemin’s smile was something you could get used to, you thought. “what?”

“i said, we have to go get ready for dinner. you too, yes, main banquet hall, my parents want to see you.”

your mouth dropped open, all thoughts of sleep gone, “i don’t have clothes suitable for a fancy dinner!”

“oh yes you do. wear that yellow dress with the sunflowers.”

“is that formal enough?”

“y/n, like, you’ve literally talked to my parents so many times. they watched you grow up. they’re not so different from doyoung and i.”

“but this is the first time meeting them as your girlfriend!” oh god, did you really just say that? you cringed inwardly. you hadn’t even put a label on the relationship yet. rushing to make amends, you stuttered out, “soulmate. i mean soulmate.”

“you’ve always been my soulmate. as for girlfriend, well, you can be if you want to, but we have explaining to do. now move! the entire bed is wet!”

with strength a sick person shouldn’t possess, jaemin threw you out of his bed playfully. you looked up in shock and happiness, “you’re well again! you’re not sick anymore!”

jaemin grinned down at you from his bed, “we realised our love. see you in twenty, adios, au revoir, zaijian, sayonara!” yelling at the top of his lungs, he pushed you out of his room and slammed the door, and you honestly couldn’t care less. you were flying (figuratively, of course), drunk on the sentiments of finally realising your feelings for your best friend and soulmate.

growing up in the castle had taught you some things about manners, especially when the queen insisted you attend some etiquette lessons together with jaemin (to keep him in check, she’d said). dropping into a deep curtsey in front of the royal family, you rose again when the king placed a warm hand on your shoulder, “get up, y/n. we’re all family here, there’s not need for such formalities. you never really did those before either.”

“i was eight and didn’t know much about manners,” you protested lightly as he steered you into your seat beside jaemin, then taking his own at the head of the table - the king’s seat.

you ate in silence and as fast as you could without being rude. nobody made a move to break the silence, so you sat and waited until the last of the plates had been cleared away by the servants, then leaned forward, “if it isn’t rude to ask, may i know why i’ve suddenly been called here for dinner?”

the queen smiled kindly at you, “of course not, dear. well, today we have two announcements to make, one of which concerns you.” she glanced at the king, who inclined his head at her with a smile as if to say “the floor is all yours, dear.” the queen turned back to you, and seeing the dying rays of last light hit her face, you were again reminded of how beautiful the queen was. “firstly, about doyoung. now, we all know that my dear son here is turning twenty one in a month’s time and has finished his education. and so, doyoung, my son, your father has decided to pass on the kingdom to you. the announcement to the people will happen in a few days’ time, if you agree, and the coronation shall be held on your birthday. you are a much beloved crown prince, and i am sure the news of your coronation will delight the kingdom. i do hope you accept. so,” she practically glowed with pride, staring at the shell-shocked prince, “do you?”

“it would be an honor, mother. but didn’t father say he enjoyed being king?” doyoung, the rightful heir to the throne and the one who’d been trained for this his entire life, looked shocked, to say the least. you couldn’t blame him; it must’ve felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“your mother and i have long been dreaming of a proper honeymoon in the carribean. away from the eyes of the public,” his father’s voice boomed encouragingly.

“then yes, i accept,” doyoung’s eyes were shining with tears and you really hoped he wasn’t about to cry. knowing him, once he started crying, he wouldn’t stop and that would really… kill the mood.

“cheers to king doyoung,” jaemin raised his glass of juice (seventeen is not of a legal age to consume alcohol) to the sky, looking elated for his brother, “and for heaven’s sake, king doyoung, don’t cry!”

doyoung sniffled a little, holding his own goblet of wine to his brother’s, “i won’t cry! thank you so much!”

“congratulations,” you grinned at doyoung, who’d been just as much your elder brother all these years as he’d been jaemin’s. just in the past month, he’d slapped the two of you so hard to get your shit together, and he should honestly be crowned fairy godmother of the year. except that he wasn’t old, didn’t have white hair pulled up into a bun, and (sadly) didn’t own wings.

“now for our second announcement. doyoung’s explained everything to us already, i hope you don’t mind.” doyoung grinned guiltily at you over the table - honestly! like he’d done anything wrong! “you’re obviously too young for marriage, but y/n, your parents, whom i’ve just talked to, and us - we give you all our blessings. let this relationship prosper!”

jaemin squeezed your hand in his assuringly with a victorious smile like he’d known all along that this would’ve happened. you choked back a sob of your own, “thank you! thank you so much.”

“we’ve never known that soulmates existed, but now that we do know, there isn’t a truer pair than you and y/n,” she addressed jaemin, “treat her well.”

“i swear, mother, you love her more than you love me,” jaemin half-groaned, ignoring his mother’s angelic smile and reply (“i do not! i merely prefer to be around her.”)

“to the new king and couple!” jaemin’s father raised his goblet for another cheer, and you downed your drink in one gulp. tilting your head to grin at jaemin, you thought there really couldn’t be any happier moment in the world.

©danishmiilk, 2020. ©astroboy-lele, 2020.

#kdinerdanceoff20 #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream #nct #na jaemin #jaemin

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sugar-petals · 3 years

Note

When I look at yuzuru he strikes me as a really soft cutesy charming etheral individual not really homme fatal kind of guy that's why I think he's pure romantic rather than TR what do u think? ( love you btw)

i’ve been thinking about it as well, but it’s not a crystal clear case. he’s a sportsman, skating morphs the body in the most uncommon ways which makes it harder to narrow down the type.

basics first so we get the foundations right: pinpointing the kibbe category he is + isn’t and why, the subtype after.

1. which one of the big 5?

- safe to say, yes: he’s somewhere in the romantic category. nobody does these outfits quite like yuzu. light fabrics, intricate embellishments, he is famous for all that gorgeous princely tailoring. the sport is all about the sequins, he definitely shines in them. every professional figure skating photographer out there will tell you that he hits different and you can see why.

WOW.

i’ve witnessed people complaining that the glitz and glam no longer suits his age, he gets scorn for not dressing traditionally masculine, but i don’t know how it wouldn’t look appropriate. the only valid criticism is that it’s often a hit or miss, but we’d be damned if this isn’t what an ice prince looks like.

he’s the best in the world and his main goal is to put on a show. rolling up in a polo shirt would contradict the objective, being an allround artist first and only then a jump technician. he’s exactly how you’d expect a yuzuru hanyu to look like. if you appear ‘like yourself’, it’s the right kibbe category.

R clothing typically has a sexy edge as well, you can’t put a kid into that. cut out cleavage, transparent, figure-hugging, no way. if anything, most R styles seemed all over the place when yuzu was younger (this is from 2010). yin is meant to be tailored for adults to begin with, you can’t make it teenage gamine.

eleven years later at 26, yuzuru hanyu in 2021, adult man, wearing the hell out of a skating gala outfit. this would be tacky on someone any younger. R is not just light and sweet but also dignified and mature. long story short. he’s grown into a yin-dominant type. fits to a T, a feast for the eye.

- meanwhile: you can easily exclude dramatic. very thick, stable fabrics with large lines are gigantic on him. D clothing is a yuzu charm killer, figures because it’s the type opposite to romantic (pure yang). it washes out the face and is twice as wide as his frame is, bulks out around the shoulders.

- not a natural type either, it feels a bit too simple, underchallenging. ruffled hair appears dishevelled where it’d be just right on a natural. it doesn’t fully highlight him: natural looks aren’t the most memorable on yuzuru even if they tend to be rather neutral and don’t look too off per se, it has a bit of draping after all.

he looks really good in the below outfit, but his frame doesn’t fill it out. he’s all elegant underneath and radiates ballet while N is a rough, easy-going, and leisurely concept for very bulky frames. the waist gets missing in translation, the mid-section of shirts like these is too wide.

- not a gamine either. he might appear like one and i deliberated back and forth whether he is Pure G or FG, but the material mix, line breaks, and fashion experiments are creating chaos rather than something put-together. it just isn’t as flattering as when he does drapes and florals. the hair being cropped (typical gamine cut) often obfuscates the face. G styles are confusing on yuzu.

his skating is from outer space but this is probably a bit too galactical 😅

- not a classic. something’s not right, suits like these contrast a lot with how round his face is and sit on his body very randomly. missing waist again (yin). the same people who want him to dress more conservatively/masculine have been roasting yuzu for looking like a salary man in that style 🤔 i sense hypocrisy. in any case, classic underwhelms, he’s made to dress up. more points to yin, he he’s too petite to wear C.

now, we got the main category down, time for subtyping. romantic has two options.

2. which romantic?

arguments in favor of Theatrical Romantic:

this type is what he often portrays in the rink (e.g. the phantom of the opera programme) and has become his secret weapon. whether that speaks of his true type is the question. what i mean is, he can pull it off, the seductive homme fatale. compare jimin, people lose their minds over theatrical romantic men. yuzu is in that lane as well.

as in, balance of main yin with a yang undercurrent — the very gentle, princely young man with the soft face who gathers everyone’s hearts, and he is a damn flirt on ice, but who can give a very visceral, dark performance. that shows a tremendous fervor and an edge, with an athletic and taut body.

he does have some yang elements to his physicality. streamlined silhouette, some narrowness, extreme flat muscle, long triangular upper body, some vertical line. also — his color palette (aka skin undertone, cool v warm, hue, chroma, deepness etc) might match TR. on the other hand, it might simply be the black hair giving him the contrast for it.

the reason why we might get the TR impression is that he often wears all black which suggests dramatic, and the athleticism in his profession has trained away the chubbiness he might naturally have. the face as the only part that won’t be somehow affected by his routine is all yin.

arguments in favor of pure Romantic:

... as you pointed out. in private life and backstage, he is quite effortlessly sweet- and small-looking. with the delicacy and doe-eyedness you’d expect from pure romantic, very unlike his performance persona.

if you didn’t know he’s copyrighted BDE on the ice, yuzu seems like he can’t harm a fly, round rosy bean he is. he makes a very innocent and soft 1st impression in candids which no other type except soft gamine does.

facial features, all opposite of yang. not long, not sharp, not planar, not angular, not bony, not narrow. the button nose, full lips, and puffy cheeks is all you see. you’d not think of him as striking (=D, FN).

that’s also why he’s always pitted as nathan chen’s opposite in whatever he does. nate is on the other end of the kibbe spectrum, people probably don’t even realize that their physical lines are contrasting archetypes. it’s subconsciously part of why people can construct such a rivalry.

study nathan’s face and it becomes apparent. very oblong shape, flat-laying flesh and an asymmetric jaw that couldn’t be any more prominent (=yang). the brows and eyes create a powerful horizontal unlike yuzu’s more wide-set puppy eyes. the nose is longer, the ears, too. nathan looks sharp, piercing, and intimidating rather than soft. you see the exact outline of the bone.

with him, you assume the reverse of what people think of yuzu at first glance. if you didn’t know that nathan couldn’t be any nerdier, you’d believe he’s 1000% jock-off-the-charts. how he has a lot of yang contributed to his on-ice image, too. one’s kibbe type can shape life choices since people see you in a certain way simply based on your lines.

how yuzu is such a visual difference to nathan further points to how he’s closer to pure yin: rather than a subtype that picks up elements from dramatic. otherwise, you’d see some of that angularity. but no: roundness over structure, you see the flesh, not frame. you couldn’t call him a jock by all means 😆

you won’t see that chiseled geometry and crazy jawline/browline. as you say he’s more cutesy, and a charmer, the whole fandom will agree. pure romantics have everyone wrapped around their fingers (and their booty lmao!) because you want to pepper them with kisses, yin types all look so non-threatening and beautiful. ethereal is the right word.

and they’re the sexiest ofc, since they’re curvy. R got hips.

sigh... this type is a showstopper. what to do with him. he can beam at ya or he can sway his hips at ya, another unsuspecting hanyu interessee falls for the guy. he does the prince concept and the sexy cutie alike.

he tries to convince us otherwise 😂

sexy aside, he looks great in the respective clothing recs, with waist emphasis and rounded edges. kimonos are often soft dramatic or natural-inspired, but it works out well this way. and again: romantic is not childish/playful clothing of some kind, it can be very official and deliberate.

rather than in edge tailoring which is very loose around his arms and does yuzu no justice. that’s actually the kind of clothing that makes him appear either younger or older depending on if it’s D or C.

TLDR - he might not seem completely yin in his appearance, but that’s because of his excessive sports regimen. since yuzu has been training since he was a kid, we never saw how he’d normally be. he rocks the pure romantic regardless and it’s likely it’s his kibbe type. him wearing R is always a spectacle.

bonus kibbe meme: yuzu, photoshopped to the moon and back, wearing soft dramatic for a toothpaste ad. amazing.

#kibbe #kibbe body types #yuzuru hanyu #kibbe types #figure skating #cub mail 🐆#anon #ask #long post #yuzuru hayu thread

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millie-ionaire05 · 4 years

Text

A Shadow’s Light

Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fae AU ♕ Monarch Yoongi ♕ Fantasy AU ♕ CEO Yoongi ♕ Soulmate AU

Summary: The approaching solstice reminds Yoongi that his time for remaining Monarch without a kindred soul is running out. As each day goes by, the shadows around him become more unruly, and his emotions become harder to control. Even as his right hand, he’d never considered you as someone to court, not until he realized your light could tame the shadows. Oh, but your light brought more than that, it brought a burn that had desire curling deep within him. A desire that he won’t allow to slip away.

Word Count: 4,130

Rating/Warnings: M for Mature (+18); Monarch Yoongi; Confidant Reader; Female Reader; CEO Yoongi; Slightly Dom Yoongi(?); Office Sex; Unprotected Sex (wrap the schlong before you sit on the dong); Oral (f receiving); Fingering; Multiple Orgasms; Overstimulation; Bottom Yoongi; Top Reader; Squirting

Author’s Note: I’ve dreamed of this Yoongi quite a few times over the last few years, and so I finally decided to write it. Albeit, this is a completely shorter version than the original one I started years ago, but I think it’s fine as I ease my way back into the writing scene. Thank you so much to @dee-ehn for the amazingly beautiful banner; it’s absolutely stunning! Hope you guys like it 😊

The feel of cold paper against his fingertips is almost a welcomed reprieve compared to the monotonous drone of the head of marketing, an older man with a pinch in between his eyebrows and a smug expression. Yoongi’s mind is filled with a million other incessant thoughts, ones that are far more pressing than the steps on appealing to the board of directors.

For one, the solstice was tomorrow, and the primal hunger for a kindred soul to be at his side was becoming even more difficult to deny. He knew if he was unable to find someone this year, the Elders would begin to question whether he truly should be the Monarch for their kind. His kind. Just the notion has his wings twitching in anger before it is dwindling to a burning frustration, his fingers reflexively crumpling the edges of the paper he held.

“Sir?”

He turns merely a centimeter towards you, his eyes forcefully focusing as they make contact with your own. You seem almost taken aback by his gaze, your lips having parted and your eyes wide. He must not have realized how hard his expression had been, but he quickly softens it, a rumble of an apology carrying its way to your ears only. Your gentle eyes turn sympathetic, your mouth curling up to show a bright smile, and it almost blinds him.

It was no secret within the world of Fae that he was the first shadow chosen as Monarch, much to his surprising dismay. It was not so much a surprise that he was chosen per se, as he had been groomed for it during most of his childhood, but it was the fact that he was groomed at all that surprised him. Even as Monarch, the Fae were wary of those ‘cursed’ by the shadow. It was not only uncommon amongst their kind, but it was also dangerous if not controlled properly, and it could rarely be controlled. Before his ruling, parents would often tell stories of shadow monarchs who grew out of control, their shadow swallowing the settlement whole.

Whether parents continue to tell their children such stories is lost on him, as he very rarely is included in conversation when the settlement gets together. He wouldn’t be surprised though, as he, too, worried for the safety of everyone around him.

You on the other hand, he was the least worried about. You were the complete opposite of him, as you were blessed with the light. A rare gift. It was always said that the light could tame the shadows, but he only feared you would make his grow, like how an increase in light source could cast a stronger shadow of a human figure. Especially if it got too close.

But regardless, you were also groomed similarly to himself as a child, so that you would be by his side. A loyal….assistant….if he had to title it. You were his confidant, his right hand man (or technically woman), so to speak. The Elders had thought it wise to have you close to him, and while the thought had initially made him uncomfortable - the shadows around him twitching in disgust at the light you brought - he had grown fond of your company within the last several years. The shadows around him had ceased their fury long ago when you were near, and he was grateful for at least that respite.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you carry on, oblivious to his internal torment. “Would you like me to escort you out of here?”

He can’t help the twitch of his lips, an eyebrow raising as he allows his body to turn towards you, his chair barely squeaking at the action. He watches the way your cheeks flushed at his stare, your eyes casting down to your lap as your fingers fiddle with non-existent lint. His eyes roam to your wings, watching how the beautiful white seems to shimmer as they fluttered slightly. He knew he could fluster you - he often found it entertaining - and quite frankly he also found it adorable. The shadows around him groan.

With a tsk, his lips twitch down, and you immediately sense his shift in emotion. You were so perceptive to him, and yet still so obliviously unaware of how his shadows reacted when you shined so bright. In those moments it was very painful, and while he could usually muster through the pain, he found that it was actually difficult for him in that second.

Fear zings through his body as his shadows laugh, their forms swiftly quivering in excitement at the thought that he wouldn’t be able to stop them, that he wouldn’t be able to prevent them from consuming what was around him. His body becomes rigid, his eyes closing as he works to compose his emotions, his mind fighting with itself as his heart thuds within his ears. He can faintly hear you calling out to him, but he is too busy focused on his task.

A sharp sting envelops his hand, and his eyes snap open to find your own hand against his, the shadows retreating to the furthest recesses opposite of your shine, and his heart stutters. Never have the shadows withdrawn so quickly, no matter how many lessons the Elder’s had given him, he has never been able to control them. Not to say they are controlled per se, because he knew they could never be controlled, but they were tamed for the moment. Your hand continues to burn against his, and he slowly pulls back from your touch, his eyes meeting yours once again.

A small nod of his head is all you need, your body instantly moving as you announce their departure, your figure guiding him back towards his office. His eyes never waver from your wings, watching how they are so delicately beautiful and white, a complete contrast to his sharp black wings. Your wings were round, many swirls intricately woven in various degrees of white, sparkling no matter what time of day. While his wings were sharp edged, and of the deepest of blacks, a color that portrayed an endless void. He’d been told, more often than not, that his wings seemed invisible if he flew around the city at night. It didn’t just stop there though, as the shadows also allowed him to blend in to the darkest corners, keeping him out of sight if he wanted.

He was such a contrast to you, not just in wing shape and color. It was normal for women’s wings to be larger than men’s, just like a female bird was larger than a male, but your wing size complimented you so well. Everything about you and your gift suited you. Your gift gave you the ability to travel at the speed of light, not that he’d ever seen you use it. He supposed there hadn’t exactly been any reason to use it, so of course he wouldn’t have seen you. Or maybe he hadn’t seen you because you were simply too quick for him to catch, he wasn’t entirely sure. He made a mental note to ask you one day.

“Would you like me to clear the rest of your day, sir?” you ask, watching him as he moves around his desk to his chair, your eyes wide with concern.

“Yes, please,” he murmurs, his eyes closing as you rattle off into your phone for all of his meetings to be cancelled.

The shadows are still in the corner of his mind, having shifted so they were completely opposite of your presence. Yoongi’s heart races with the speeds of a thousand mustangs, the beat traveling up his neck and into his ears, and he isn’t sure what to do. You had stopped the darkness, which had seemed to be even more out of control lately, but you had done it. His eyes can’t help but open to stare at you, your body now resting on the chair across his desk, completely oblivious to his gaze as you scroll through your phone.

With a simple command, he orders the shadows to close his office door and lock it, and he watches as they are quick to avert your presence and complete his task. He wonders if they fear the torture of the light again, and whether that is why they are so compliant. Nevertheless, he has an image in his mind that couldn’t be wiped, and that image was you. In all his years of life he had not looked at you in any way more than a friend, a confidant...until today.

He smirks at the way your body jumps, your head turning to see the office door closed before your gaze whips back around to look at him. He knew how you felt about him, because while he was quiet for the most part, you were like an open book. Your emotions were as plain on your eyes as your heart was on your sleeve, open and bared for him. You didn’t cower from your feelings towards him, but you also weren’t jealousy possessive when the Elders ordered him on many courtships with other women. No...you stayed by his side and supported him, even as each of them failed to subdue his darkest demons.

Slinking from his spot, he slowly makes his way around the desk, stopping until he has leaned against it in front of you. Your body instinctively shifts back against your chair as your gaze lowers, though he knows this was out of respect as the Monarch, he doesn’t want you to pull further away from him. His hand still burned at your contact, and a deep part of him begged to feel it again, begged to feel the pain.

“Stand up,” he orders, and watches with satisfaction as you instantly comply, your body a mere few inches from his.

The shadows quiver at the proximity, which only brings a shaky breath from his lips, his hand reaching forward until the tips of his fingers graze your cheek. Your eyes rise to meet his, confusion trying to mask the culmination of fear and desire he knew you felt, but the words of your open book practically scream at him. Beg him.

In one swift movement his hand grips the back of your neck, his fingers burning, but he doesn’t care as his lips meet yours. And oh, how soft your lips were against his, it had to be a crime. He had been with sparingly few people in his life, but nothing compared to how you felt against him, how your light seared him in magnificent ways. A moan escapes from your velvety lips and it can only be accompanied by the groan from his own as he shifts his head, taking advantage of the new angle to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Oh, had he known how compliant you would be under his touch, he would have tried this ages ago. So soft and supple, yet you burn hotter than a thousand suns as the shadows practically whimper at the onslaught, yet the pain was quickly becoming something he relished. Something he needed. An addiction that he wasn’t sure he would be able to fulfill. Your pretty moans only further the tingles in his body, their assault almost unnecessary since his pulsing cock was tightly confined to his work slacks, but it only furthered his need for you.

Pulling back swiftly, he practically melts at the whine that escapes from you, your gaze hazy as you stare at him in a mixture of confusion and disappointment. It almost makes him lose it. Almost.

“Please tell me you want this,” he states, his breathing heavy as his chest heaves to allow more air in, but it seems almost futile.

Your face contorts into an expression he can’t seem to understand until it shifts into understanding, a soft smile falling on your lips. Your hand comes up, cupping his cheek and his heart jumps at the contact, the burn intensifying. Your eyes silently consent, but he wants to hear you say it. No…he needs to hear you say it, and he can see it in your eyes that you know that.

“I want this,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs.

The room envelopes in a darkness like no other, the pure desperation in your eyes as he swiftly swipes his hand across his desk, items clattering onto the floor. You squeal in a mixture of delight and surprise as he unexpectedly throws you onto the now cleared desk, the chill of the wood bringing goosebumps onto your skin, and he doesn’t miss it. No, he sees you so clearly, it is as if all the noise in the world has cleared away to provide the perfect picture that is you. He can’t keep calm as your back arches, your chest practically begging for him to come closer, to ravage you.

Reaching forward with trembling hands, his fingers deftly unbutton your blouse, his eyebrows rising when he’s met with the most complimentary color of silk that cups your breasts. Your skin is illuminated with a flush as he continues to stare, his moves slow and methodical, and he takes note of the clench of your thighs as you attempt to relieve the pressure. He doesn’t speed up in his ministrations though, slowing even more as he allows his fingertips to trace from your neck down to your hips, stopping right above the barrier of your tight pencil skirt. He relishes in the way you quiver as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of the skirt, finding the clasp and button with ease and opening it before you can even comprehend what’s happening.

He thanks the Heavens that you hadn’t chosen to wear pantyhose this day, because he would feel guilty having to tear them off your body. Well...only slightly guilty. He can’t continue the thought process though, because a deep groan is pouring from his lips at the sight of your matching underwear, his cock now at full attention and already weeping through his pants. His teeth grips at his lower lip as he forces his body to remain at a glacial pace, but with every second that passes, he’s finding it utterly difficult. Your panting did nothing to calm him, your breaths coming quick as your blown out pupils stare at his hands, your tongue coming out to moisten your reddened lips.

Oh he needed something on his mouth, and he needed something on them now. Discarding your skirt to some unknown spot across the room, his hands grip right behind your knees, fingers tightening so he can forcefully spread your legs. He can feel the muscles in your legs resist as you try to snap them together again, but he doesn’t allow it, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of you. So pretty, so beautifully created, and the burn against his hands strengthens. Grunting at the pain, he is practically salivating as it mixes with the pleasure, the shadows quivering around him, but they remain compliant.

And you remain compliant, too, your wide eyes moving to meet his own. A smirk claims the corners of his lips before he leans forward, allowing his hot breath to seep through your underwear. Your legs are trembling within his grip, and you try with all your might to bring his mouth closer to where you want it. Where he knew you needed it. And he is content on giving it to you. Moving his hands from their spot, he uses the angle to spread your legs further apart, his hands coming to your hips. The cry of pleasure that escapes your mouth is pure bliss, your body clearly stiff with shock at the sudden action of his fingers having pushed your underwear to the side so that they could flick your clit.

Yoongi’s mouth salivates at the sight of your entrance, completely wet and dripping. He wants to ask if it’s because of him, but his body is working faster than his mind. His mouth begins to suck at your juices, his nose bumping into your clit and you jump, his hands swiftly moving to hold your hips down. Oh how sweet you were. Like the sweetest of treats, but a rapidly addicting taste that he isn’t sure he can stop. He is sure you don’t want him to stop either, considering how your hand has desperately moved to his hair, fingers gripping at his locks. You tug when he purposely licks your nub, a mumbled whine of his name falling from your lips, and he can’t help but groan.

With all thoughts of a glacial pace flying from his thoughts, he allows himself the pleasure of wrapping his lips around your clit, alternating between sucking and licking in hopes he could hear you call his name once more. At least once more.

Oh but he doesn’t have to wait for long, his name practically pours from your lips in rapid succession as he continues his actions, the tremble in your legs intensifying. Shifting in his spot, he blocks your leg with his shoulder so that he can free a hand, the tips of his fingers promptly prodding at your entrance. Earning an anguished whine from you as he leans away from your pretty pussy, his heart thrums at the way your eyes roll back when he shoves a finger inside of you, quickly following it up with another.

There isn’t much he is proud of, but his fingers are one of them. He doesn’t miss the way your back instantly bows off the desk when he curls them and finds your sweet spot.

“Y-yoongi,” you cry out, beginning a new song of his name with explicit curses that sound so sinfully sweet, his jaw is aching.

Desperate to see how quick he could get you off on his fingers, he leans forward again to provide unabated licks to your clit. The light behind his eyes is almost blinding as your bodies remain connected, the shadows sticking to the far walls away from your shine, but quaking at the pleasure they feel through him. He wasn’t even undressed, and he felt as if he could cum on the spot, just on the feel of you against him. Of the mix of pleasure and pain as he refuses to lose any form of contact with you. And you must have felt the same, because you basically wail your impending orgasm a mere second before it comes crashing.

But he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He continues sucking at you and savors the battle your body has, conflicted on whether you should withdraw from the overstimulation, or stay under his tongue as the pain rolls into renewed pleasure. All Yoongi can think about is pleasing you, devouring you in every way he can because this is nothing he has ever felt before.

Your grip in his hair tightens painfully, and he moans at the way you try to stop him. Finally caving in to your demands, he pulls back from your clit and looks you in the eyes, a growl tearing from his chest at the look on your face. You had to be as far gone as he, possibly further gone considering your pupils had practically consumed the iris, your wings spread taut across the desk. His own wings twitch at the sight, and it only takes him a mere five seconds to pull his clothes off and throw them across the room with yours.

Five seconds seem like too much to him, and possibly to you too, because you are standing in front of him by the time he finishes. You have managed to remove your bra and panties on your ascent, your hands coming forward to grab his shoulders, a flash of your wings switching your positions. His vision all but careens at the intensely quick motion, unable to keep up with the change as the room spins. When his eyes are finally able to focus, you have him lying against the desk, scrambling to climb on top of him.

His cock twitches at your juices dripping onto him, each drop tingling against his skin until your flesh makes contact with his once again, the sheer pleasure of pain zinging through him. Reaching forward, his hands grab hold of your hips, desperate to bring your entrance against his member. Your mind seems to be in sync with his, as your hand shoots down to grip his cock, bringing his head to your dripping core. He growls at the onslaught, his thighs tensing for fear that he would lose if before he could get himself in you.

You waste no time in letting his thick cock slide in, your neck becoming exposed as you throw your head back, a cry echoing in the office. The shadow’s tighten their position, absorbing your moans as you beg him to release his grip on your hips, desperate to move so as to allow the tip of his dick to rub over your spot. But his grip is ruthless, the onslaught of pleasure and pain putting him at the edge, and he was not going to lose it now.

Tears are trailing down your cheeks as you meet his gaze, your eyes widening as you observe the slithering shadows wrapping around his neck, quivering in hopes he would lose control in this moment of fragility. Your hands move towards the shadows, the tips of your fingers connecting with the skin at his neck as they retreat, the thrum of his pulse accelerating beneath your fingertips. All control flees from him as his hands grab yours, your fingers intertwining before he thrusts, a silent command to move.

Oh, how you felt above him. Pure bliss. Your hips snap as you grind against his cock, your back arching as you try and move faster. He can feel the shake of your thighs, the shivers as goosebumps travel down your body, turning your nipples into hardened nubs. He lifts himself slightly to take one of those buds into his mouth, groaning against your skin as you practically cry his name. A constant tune of his name on your lips, collective curses intertwining between your bodies as your grip on his hands tighten.

He forces his eyes to remain open, unwilling to lose contact with your body above his, his eyes flitting to all parts of you. He never wanted to forget how beautiful you look above him, how well you balance him as your skin made his burn in all the best ways. Your walls tighten around him, signaling your fast approaching release, and your cries of pleasure grow in volume. Digging his feet into the desk, he lifts his lower half in hopes it will give you more leverage against him, but it was also his desperate way to be closer to you in all the ways he could be.

Your back curves as you halt above him, your walls spasming against him as your juices gush out, the push of your orgasm almost causing him to slip out. He grits his teeth as he forces himself to stay inside of you, his grip unmerciful as you continue to squirt on his cock, soaking his lower abdomen.

Desperation consumes his body as he watches you unravel above him, and his grip on your fingers release, his hands moving to your hips as he adjusts his stance. He revels at your cry of surprise when he begins to slam himself up into you, your chest coming forward to rest against his own, changing the angle in which he enters you. Your lips rest against the thick vein in his neck, your teeth nibbling at his skin as your hands run up his arms before slipping through his hair. If the pain was intense before, his body was practically aflame as your fingers grip at his hair, your walls remaining clenched around him. His thigh muscles scream as he chases his high, frantically speeding up further when he feels the end near. His wings twitch, pitching forward as they comfortably make contact with yours, the bond of a thousand lifetimes pushing him over the edge.

It takes him a moment to realize you’re both in the air, his wings having carried you both off the desk, and you both softly float back towards it. You remain on top of him, your eyes searching his own as your wings stay connected, cocooning your bodies as the bond is finalized.

“I found you,” he whispers.

A small smile claims your lips as you stare back at him, his heart swelling at your reply.

“I found you.”

#Bts #Bts smut #Bts Yoongi #Min Yoongi #Yoongi #Yoongi smut #Min Yoongi smut #Yoongi x Reader #Fae Yoongi #Monarch Yoongi #CEO Yoongi #Fae Reader #A Shadow's Light #btscreatorscorner #bangtanhq #ficswithluv

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lovingmyselfcore · 3 years

Text

(and it dies) a million little times

Part 1 of 2:

For you I would ruin myself

I have to post something so I still feel like I'm accomplishing things while I write (what was going to just be the other half of this) the second part of this. And also while I wait for inspiration so strike for Protect You or Skate Into My Heart because I promise I haven't given up but I have commITMENT ISSUES LEAVE ME ALONE

ANYWAY this is for@the-love-yourself-journal (or I guess @perseusjackson-jasongrace) who is the literal queen of Jercy idc. She got me to ship them in the first place so thanks babe

Ps Percy isn't white because canon Percy isn't white fight me

It felt wrong, hiding such a secret from her. He and Annabeth had always been honest with each other, it was why they had been drawn together from the moment they met.

She was definitely the best marriage option he had seen. Despite that, despite being able to converse with each other in a way that most married couples they knew could not, there was something missing.

When he’d met the blonde-haired boy, he realized what it was.

Percy had struggled his entire life with this. This sickness. It had always been drilled into his mind that people experiencing what he was experiencing was wrong, sinful, in fact. So he never spoke of it. Never spoke of being attracted more to the boy next door than the girl. Never spoke of the fact that aside from his wedding night, years ago, he’d never had sex. He couldn’t. Not with her. Not with any her.

Laughing blue eyes, annoyingly perfect teeth.

He couldn’t tell her. At best, she’d laugh, then ignore it. At worst, she’d tell everyone, and he couldn’t imagine what would happen to him then.

A horrific death on the street, most likely, followed by a long, agonizing stay in Hell for his sins.

A small, faded scar on his upper lip from his childhood.

Percy was sitting at his desk in his office, pretending to work while actually waiting for him to appear. As always before he actually showed up, Percy’s mind ran rampant. His own brain spat insults at him, his gut twisted at what he was doing. What he was doing to Annabeth. His heart screamed at him for not being able to stop himself, from not fighting harder to go back to being in love with Annabeth, despite knowing he’d never been. His soul longed for its other half.

The way his nose would scrunch when he laughed, the laugh only Percy could draw out of him.

Percy shifted in his chair. His tie was too tight around his neck, he was going to suffocate. Maybe he should. The clock continued ticking, as it always did.

The feel of his hands, on his face, his hips, his back.

“He is here to see you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Send him in.” Voice professional, practiced, despite the lurch in his gut. His brain, his heart, his soul all screamed louder, arguing their own points. Waging their violent war within him.

As always, the sight of him quieted them all.

Percy stood, adjusting his tie, and made his way over to the man leaning against his now closed door. His throat bobbed as Percy approached.

Percy lifted a hand and traced that scar, his voice barely above total silence, “I’ve missed you.”

Jason Grace’s breath was hot on his hand. His voice matched Percy’s, “You will be my ruination.”

“You are already mine.” Then Percy lunged forward, capturing his lips.

Looks like his soul had won this one. Again.

~~~~~

Piper McLean fidgeted uncomfortably with the hem of her skirt. She’d ruined many perfectly good skirts like this. Sitting. Waiting.

“Sooner or later you’re going to completely unravel one of those.” Piper looked up and was met with gray eyes. The same gray eyes that had been staring at her all day. She’d been staring right back.

“The children’s break is short,” Piper murmured back, standing from her stool.

“Indeed,” Annabeth replied, moving forward to take Piper’s hands.

“What are we doing?” Piper’s voice was hoarse, scratchy. “We have husbands.”

“Indeed.” Was all Annabeth said again, her grip on Piper’s hands tightening.

“I love Jason,” Piper said, mostly to herself.

Annabeth’s lips pursed, “I love Percy.” She took another step forward, Piper was almost completely pressed against her teaching desk. She dropped Piper’s hands to cup her face, and Piper’s eyes fluttered closed in response. “But not like I love you.”

Piper opened her eyes, “We are going to destroy each other.”

“I would gladly destroy myself for you, moya solnishka.”

“Don’t you feel bad?” The distress in Piper’s voice forced Annabeth to pull back. Her eyes held a level of concern that made Piper’s breath catch.

“I do,” She conceded after a moment of silence, “For lying to Percy. For lying to everyone in my life. For having to hide you. For having to hide us. But I do not feel bad for loving you.” Her voice held a note of desperation, she was begging Piper to understand. “Do you?”

Piper didn’t respond for a beat too long, Annabeth pulled further away, her face flushed.

Their time was up, the laughter of the children echoed through the schoolhouse as they returned.

“I’m sorry,” Piper said.

Annabeth shook her head, “No, Piper. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were miserable, “Forgive me.”

For what? Piper tried to ask but the lump in her throat stopped her.

“I have ruined you,” Annabeth said simply. “I am forcing you to go along with my sins.” Her back was straight, her face was empty, but Piper could see how hard she was fighting to keep it that way.

Piper shook her head but Annabeth didn’t see it, she was walking out of the door already.

Oh, gods. What had she done?

~~~~~

“How was your day?” Jason asked his tone the same forced lightness it had been for months.

“It was good! Nothing out of the ordinary.” Her tone was the same.

Jason nodded from his seat at the couch, “Good. That’s very good.”

“What about you?” Piper’s hands were shaking as she laid the plates on the table.

“My day was the same,” Jason said as he slid into a chair at the table.

Piper looked at him for a long moment and came to a decision.

“Jason?” She asked, clutching her fork tightly.

“Yes?” He looked up from his plate.

“I would like to visit a friend after dinner.”

Jason nodded, “Of course. I’ll invite over one of my coworkers while you’re gone.”

As they resumed their meal, they seemed lighter than they had all evening.

~~~~~

Piper knew she couldn’t very well just appear on Annabeth’s doorstep, so after she washed the evening dishes she called her.

Her fingers were heavy as she slid the ring to dial the numbers she had long ago memorized.

Piper’s hopes were answered when Annabeth was the one to pick up the phone.

“Annabeth,” She was breathless. “I-” She remembered Jason and her voice dropped low, “I need to see you.”

Annabeth was speechless and Piper wished she could see her face, “May I see you?”

Annabeth’s voice was just as low with an edge Piper couldn’t name, “Yes. Yes. Meet me.”

She didn’t have to say where. Piper knew. The place they’d always meet at. That secret place, filled with their sin. Their secrets. Their agonized love.

Piper hurriedly stuck the phone back in its place and pulled her coat over her shoulders. She kissed Jason on the cheek and was out the front door before he could respond.

~~~~~

Jason sat, bouncing his leg until Piper had been gone for long enough. (It may not have even been long enough, it was just until he could not wait any longer.)

He raced to the phone and dialed the number engraved on his heart.

“Hello?” Percy asked. Thank god. Jason hadn’t thought of a decent excuse to give Annabeth if she’d been the one to answer.

“Can you get away tonight?” Jason asked.

Percy waited for a beat, as if in thought, before responding. “Yes, I can.”

Jason smiled, “Piper is out for the evening. You could come here.”

“I’m on my way.” Jason laughed at how quickly the words fell out of his mouth and the hurried click signifying he hung up.

~~~~~~

Annabeth trailed her lips up the column of Piper’s throat, and breathed deeply through her nose, “Is that a new perfume?” They were in their spot, a dark, shadowy corner in between two factories, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Piper dug her fingers into Annabeth’s shoulders, “Yes,” She knew what Annabeth wanted to ask, but knew she wasn’t going to put Piper in that place. “It’s for you.”

Annabeth froze and pulled an inch away from her spot on Piper’s jaw. “It smells good,” Her voice was hoarse and she resumed her ministrations along Piper’s jawline.

“Annabeth, about this morning-” Annabeth cut her off, shaking her head.

“No. It’s alright, sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize for your feelings, ever.”

“The rest of society would disagree.”

Annabeth understood her meaning and ducked her head to hide her face. “How long can we keep doing this?” Desperation.

“I don’t know,” Piper wrapped her arms around the other girl’s shoulders and pulled her flush against her.

Piper breathed deeply, feeling the warmth of Annabeth’s body, a stark contrast to the metal of the factory wall at her back. “All we can do is live in the moment.” Piper pulled Annabeth’s face away from her neck. “Damn the rest to hell.”

Annabeth nodded, “Damn the rest to hell.” Then they were kissing again.

~~~~~~~

When the doorbell rang Jason raced to answer it, feeling like an excited puppy.

Percy was leaning against one of the pillars on the porch. He was beautiful; Jason had yet to see a time where he wasn’t. Shining green eyes, so painfully alive, that black hair Jason knew he frequently fought with to make it ‘work appropriate’. The lean, toned body that Jason often found himself staring at, or thinking of.

Percy was surveying the neighborhood, the picture of unruffled aside from the tightness in his lips. When he heard Jason open the door, that tightness vanished, replaced instead by the grin that Jason had fallen in love with in the first place.

Whoa. Reel that back in. Calm down, Grace. No love here. Just a drug that always gave him the high he needed. No love. That makes it too serious. This is harmless fun. Well, not harmless.

“Jason?” Percy interrupted his spiral and Jason realized he’d been staring silently, that he hadn’t let Percy inside.

He shook his head, “Sorry.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. Percy walked in and threw himself on the couch, looking perfectly content and at home. As if what they were doing wouldn’t result in pain, physical and emotional.

He could always go back, he reminded himself. There was always an out. He was addicted to the poison that was Percy Jackson, but he could always escape.

The click of the door closing was a death sentence.

He could always get out, right?

~~~~~~~

It had been a few days since Annabeth and Piper had seen each other, the two women were teachers at the same school, yet they always seemed to miss each other. In the hallways, the break room, before and after classes, they could never catch more than fleeting glances and the swish of hair and hips around a corner. Annabeth was determined to change this.

She saw a flash of brown hair that she immediately registered as Piper, glancing at the clock to make sure she had enough time before her students were expecting her, she nearly sprinted after the other girl.

Piper was leaning against the wall when Annabeth found her, grinning. Her eyes, shards of multicolored glass Annabeth always found herself drowning in, were glittering in the harsh light. Annabeth stalked closer and Piper’s grin didn’t fade.

“Oh no,” She drawled, leaning enough to rest a hand in the curve of Annabeth’s waist, attempting to tug her forward. “You caught me.” Annabeth couldn’t resist Piper’s smile and met it with her own, the smile she only gave Piper. “What will I, this poor damsel, do?”

This was risky. This was really fucking risky. They were basically out in the open, where another teacher or staff member or even the students could easily find them.

Piper reached up and drew the pad of her finger against that crease in Annabeth’s brow and Annabeth knew she was done for. Piper smiled, this one soft and adoring, and Annabeth melted through the floor.

Annabeth gave up on trying to stay as unaffected as possible, pressing her lips to Piper’s. Piper pressed herself closer as if she was trying to mold them into one person. The soft, smooth contours of Piper against Annabeth’s sharp, hard edges of Annabeth was like some kind of poetry. It was probably a metaphor about who they were as people, blah blah blah. She didn’t have time to think about damn metaphors. Not while Piper was here, kissing her like she actually wanted this. Like she’d do anything to keep this. Annabeth knew it wasn’t true, knew Piper wouldn’t ruin her life for this. (She didn’t blame her, but it was nice to pretend sometimes)

Piper smiled into the kiss and mumbled, “This is nothing like how the fairytales normally go.” Annabeth let out a surprised laugh.

Piper pulled away, staring unflinchingly into Annabeth’s eyes, the storms she was responsible for keeping at bay. “Gods,” She turned her head and Annabeth had no idea where this was going with this. “This is better than any of those fairy tales.” Then she moved, winding her hands into Annabeth’s hair, and kissed her again.

Gods, she’d fallen for this girl. She had no idea when it had happened. Maybe 30 seconds ago, maybe the first time they’d met, three years ago. Maybe it was when Percy was on business trips, which meant that Annabeth could work without anyone to make her sleep, eat or anything ‘healthy’ and Piper would come over. Make her take breaks from her work. Listen to Annabeth rant about things she knew she didn’t understand. Annabeth had so many plans, to escape this hell town, fight for her rights, build something permanent somewhere she loves with someone she loves and be unafraid to live. She also had even more impossible dreams; to build something. Piper humored her, always listened to her, attention never wavering. It was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

She was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

Annabeth pulled away, telling her as much and something flashed in those kaleidoscope eyes but she didn’t respond.

“Piper?” Hazel’s voice echoed into the hallway they were in. Piper leaped off of her, hurrying to straighten herself.

Hazel rounded the corner right as Piper and Annabeth had gotten themselves together.

The woman smiled at them and looked at Piper when she spoke, “Leo needs to see you,” Piper opened her mouth but Hazel cut her off, “I have no idea why.”

"Okay, thanks," Piper said, definitely too out of breath for it to be anything but suspicious. Piper hesitated a second longer, fighting to not look back at Annabeth but finally, she walked off.

Annabeth smiled awkwardly at Hazel and the other girl grinned but it quickly turned somber, "I don't know what you're doing, Annabeth." She shook her head, "I don't want to know. But I want you to know this," She stepped forward and clasped the other girl's hands in hers. "I care about you. I care about Piper. Be careful, please." Her wide gold eyes were begging, "Be careful, Annabeth."

"I'm trying," Annabeth tried to say but it came out a choked whisper. "I'm trying."

Hazel nodded and leaned forward so they were touching foreheads. "I'm scared for you."

Annabeth wanted to reassure her, but the words got caught in her throat. They both knew Annabeth couldn't promise anything.

~~~~~

Percy was staring at Jason.

This wasn't a rare occurrence, the opposite, actually. Percy could often be found staring at Jason.

But there was something about Jason Grace under the moon and her stars that was absolutely breathtaking.

His head was tilted back, eyes closed, breathing deeply, a small smile on his lips. The starlight seemed to wrap around him, shielding him from the world, announcing him as one of them. His blonde hair was damp from their earlier shower and the moonlight danced through the silky strands. Gods, Percy thought, taking him in, he's ethereal.

He was leaning back on his hands, ankles crossed over the edge of his porch.

They were in Jason's backyard, sharing a smoke; Percy took a long drag, trying to ground himself. Piper would surely be back soon, he didn't have much longer. He needed to come back to earth and distance himself from the star that was Jason Grace.

When Jason's eyes fluttered open and he turned those crystal-blue masterpieces on him, his smile growing into something wide and soft and fond, Percy knew he was done for. Fuck coming back to earth.

Jason reached over, and plucked the cigarette from between Percy's lips, and brought it to his own. He leaned back to stare at the sky again and Percy leaned sideways until his head was pillowed in Jason's lap.

Jason kept one hand on the deck to prop himself up and ground the cigarette out, dropping it to comb his free hand through Percy's hair.

"We should leave," Percy said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Jason's hand stilled briefly. "What?"

"Leave town, together."

"Where would we go?" He didn't sound angry (thank the gods), he kept his voice soft, but Percy could hear that note of disbelief.

"Anywhere," Percy replied and Jason huffed a laugh above him.

"That's not much of a plan. Besides, we have lives here."

"You're all I need," Percy said, way too sincerely, tracing a pattern on Jason's knee with his index finger.

Jason's hand stilled again and Percy cursed himself and everything that existed to make him say that. Now I've scared him away, Percy thought bitterly and got off Jason's lap.

Jason was staring at him with a look Percy couldn't decipher, his lips parted slightly. Percy wanted to kiss him; this wasn't the time to kiss him. Keep it together.

"Perce-"

"Jason!" Piper's voice carried out the back door and wrapped around the two of them like a vice.

Jason went considerably pale and Percy stood up. "I'll see you whenever I see you?" Percy said.

Jason just nodded, still staring at him.

Percy opened the backdoor and stepped inside, saying a brief 'hello' and 'goodbye' to Piper before finally making it back to his car.

He slammed his hands on the hood and cursed, "Stupid, Jackson. That was stupid." he opened the car door with considerably more force than necessary and sat down heavily. "Fucking idiot." And now he had to go home to Annabeth and pretend nothing was wrong. Great.

~~~~~

It started with the notes. Sticky notes with slurs scrawled on them (against his race, his orientation, anything they could get a hand on), in horrible handwriting, stuck to his desk at work. Jason didn't mention any, but when he took his coat off and draped it on Percy's couch, one fell out, crumpled as if Jason had furiously shoved it in his pocket.

Percy had picked it up, saw what was written there, and knew that this wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew. Someone knew about them and wasn't very happy about it.

He'd briefly wondered if it was Annabeth, but no, she didn't seem to be angry at him or disgusted, but she had been colder lately. When the notes started appearing in places that weren't as public as his desk, Percy got more concerned.

He still hadn't talked to Jason about it; the notes and what had transpired on Jason's porch either.

They'd elevated too. Notes in his car, calling him a disgrace to his family and god. But Percy wasn't as worried as he probably should've been. After all, this person was hiding behind ink and paper, if they had something to say, they could do it to his face.

But when they started threatening him, Percy finally spoke to Jason about it.

"Have you been getting notes?" He asked.

Jason was sprawled on Percy's bed, sans shirt, arm thrown over his eyes as if shielding him from the light.

Percy himself was sprawled next to Jason, head on his chest, legs twined together.

Jason peered down at him, blinking wearily. His glasses were sitting on the side table. "What?"

"Notes," Percy said as if this explained everything. "That are calling you-" He swallowed and Jason's eyes tracked the movement.

"Yeah," Jason said finally. "I haven't been too concerned." A lie. If Percy knew Jason at all (and he did) the other boy had been worrying himself to death over this, afraid to tell anybody, panicking and overthinking alone. The thought made Percy's chest ache.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Jason said.

"Me either, but this recent one," He trailed off, already doubting if he should be worrying Jason over this. But it did technically involve him.

Percy pushed off of Jason and the other boy made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Percy grinned as Jason flushed in embarrassment.

Percy pulled the crumpled note out of his discarded jacket and read aloud to Jason, who was still on the bed, "I know all about your illicit affairs-"

"Oh, how proper."

Percy snorted, "Tell me about it." He cleared his throat, "Anyway. -with Jason Grace." Jason stiffened. They knew his name. "If you don't do what I want I will tell Annabeth and Piper all about it. And maybe more than just the two of them, too.”

“Mhmm. And we believe them?”

“I’m not sure,” Percy said tossing the note onto the nightstand and belly-flopping onto the bed next to Jason.

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here,” Jason said, practically.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

Percy smiled, "Yeah, I guess you do."

Jason smiled back, only for a few seconds before his face fell; Percy felt his heart jump to his throat. "What are we going to do?"

"You already have an idea," Percy said, staring at him.

"You're not going to like it."

Percy sighed, "Let's hear it."

"We can't see each other."

Percy shot to his feet. "No! I'm not letting some heathen," He pointed angrily at the note. "Bully me into staying away from the man I love."

Jason went deathly still and Percy's brain finally caught up to what just happened.

"'Man you love'?" His voice was quiet and Percy didn't know how to read that.

"Yeah," Percy whispered. "Yes."

Jason wasn't looking at him and every second that passed, Percy felt his heart chipping away.

"I-" Jason swallowed and wet his lips. "I love you." His voice was hushed as if he was scared to be heard.

Percy stared at him for a beat of bated breath before lunging at him. Jason laughed as his back collided with the mattress.

Jason held Percy's face in his hands and looked him over, drinking everything in before kissing him.

The notes could wait.

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morgana-ren · 3 years

Text

Empty

Another small short for Shigaraki this time. I’m sure it had a point originally. Yandere Shigaraki and his captive darling and him being a real dick about proving that you’re better off at his side under his protection than you are on your own in the cruel, cruel world. After all, better the devil you know that the devil you don’t.

Warnings: Kidnapping, allusions to death, rotting corpses and rot (indiscernible animal), noncon, captivity, Shig being fuckin’ mean as usual, purple prose again, whump I guess? (In my sister’s words “It’s sad. Is it supposed to be this sad?”)

Rating: Definitely E on this one.

You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes.

Eyes are how we see the world, but in equal capacity, it’s also how the world sees us. Someone’s eyes, unlike their mouths, don’t have the same capability to lie. They can be a tell-all when we’re reluctant or can express the things we don’t have the courage to say. The things you can learn can be overwhelming. Sometimes you see too much. Sometimes not enough.

And when you looked into his eyes, it was like there was nothing inside them. Nothing at all.

His eyes were beautiful, even if you couldn’t see any of your own humanity mirrored back at you in your reflection. Stark red and violent, an open wound bleeding contempt for the waking world and everyone in it.

It hurts you more than you care to admit to know that you’re included in the group he believes to be the scum beneath his ruby red shoes.

Even as he watches you now through narrow lids with a casual sense of detachment, every bone in your body longs to see something in those eyes other than carefully concealed disgust. Something. Anything. Some shining light of pride or care or even just simple recognition that you aren’t just a parasite that clings to him for some sick sense of purpose, even if he is the one who has bound you here.

But you know that’s impossible. Even if he wanted to. Even if he had the capability.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what it would be like if he did.

The closest you will ever get is that he allows you to ride his coattails alongside the dirt and mud, slowly shrinking in the darkness of his shadow as you follow behind him and stare resentfully as he eclipses the sun and all the light it brings. It’s impossible to bloom without nurture and care but somehow, like a weed, you’ve found a way to stay alive in an environment that wholly starves you and deprives you of love and affection. He makes you whole. He makes you real.

He makes you sick.

Worms and maggots crawl across a dead something or other, blood matted fur giving next to no indication of what the small mammal might have been when it was living. Small pieces of bone are visible through the rotting muscle tissue, mangled limbs sitting limply beside the body. It’s a tableau of death he wants you to witness; decay that makes your still living flesh crawl.

“That’s what happens,” he states matter of factly, pale, thin finger pointing at the carcass as the other squeezes the side of your waist tight enough to make you seize. “When you die. You rot in the ground and no one will remember or care.”

The sick crawls up your stomach, bile resting uneasily at the low of your throat. You don’t want to look anymore, but you know if you try to look away, he’ll make you look again. There’s still tender bruises on your skin from the last time you tried to defy him, and you know what happens if you make him angry. Your tears mean nothing to him and you swear you see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips as he watches your eyes well up.

He’s not giving you a simple organic chemistry lesson, of that you’re completely certain. He wants you to know the power he holds, wants you to understand that if he so chose, he could easily expedite the process of your own fragile form’s decay.

He didn't used to be like this. He used to be Tenko. Used to have a soul.

But he sold that soul the day his daddy took a step too far and then overtook the devils throne and used the contract to wipe his hands clean of the blood. Tenko doesn’t exist. He’s made sure you understand that. Any mention of the boy he used to be is enough to get his fingers twitching and ready on your throat.

He watches as you cry with an expression that’s equal parts elated and aroused, not bothering to conceal it from you any further. Desperately, you shove down your sorrow and keep your back straight against him; your pain is an aphrodisiac for him. Wipe the tears from your eyes and cast them bitterly to the floor. Swallow the hiccups and sobs that bubble in your gut and keep a trembling straight face despite your every instinct longing to curl at his feet and hide your face in the dirt.

It’s far too late.

Anytime you concede to the power he wields, it re-energizes him, and you’re his favorite little power source. He’s learned to tune you like a fiddle until you play whatever song he desires and he’ll dance with you until your feet bleed and your body crumples. He’ll step on the arch of your back and use you as a pedestal to reach the greatness he knows he’s destined for and punish you if you falter under his weight.

It’s a mock symbiosis you live in, neither wholly at peace but each one needing the other. You’ve tried to leave, tried to run. He finds you, dragging you back to him kicking and screaming and clawing at the ground. With a gnarled hand twisted through your hair, he tells you how pretty you are, puckers your ruddy cheeks with his nails and kisses you deeply as the tears stream down your face.

‘Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t survive without me, idiot. Where would you go? Who would take you after I have?’

You hate it, you despise him, but he’s right. Who could ever accept you after you’ve allowed him to have you time and time again? Where in the darkness could you hide that he wouldn’t find you? Even if you did find someone who would care for you after your body had been tainted by his touch, Tomura wouldn’t stand for it. He’d find you as he had time and time again, seek out the source of your light and snuff it out.

“Don’t you care about me?” He’d say, leading you away with hands still stained red. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

And when you start to cry again, he’d simply wipe them away with a filthy thumb, smearing the grime across your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I forgive you. But don’t do it again.”

Long have you given up your silly dreams of freedom, but still he likes to drive the nail further, either out of necessity or malevolence. So he drags you far from home into places you could never find on your own to show you the pitfalls of life without him. Cold and shaking, you’ll follow wherever he leads you because when he asks you nicely to come, there is no other choice. He’ll take you on a personally guided tour of the horrors of the world, horrors he orchestrates just for you and watch gleefully as your vision tunnels and your view of life becomes even darker and more damning until it’s as cynical and deprived as his own and you cling to him for safety.

Only when your eyes clouded and your outlook bleak will he pull you into the dirt, touching you in places that contrast starkly against the misery you feel and coaxing a bliss from you that makes you bend to him all over again. He’ll kiss you softly as he pushes your face harder against the floor, letting the leaves and the muck tangle in your hair, forcing you to face the maggot ridden corpse not far from your entwined bodies. In this moment, he offers you only two choices: Pleasure or pain? Him or death.

Sometimes you wonder how long it will take before you finally shove him off and opt to let him touch you for the last time, placing five fingers down instead of four and watching as you rejoin the Earth as newly formed ash. And that’s if he decides to be merciful. You doubt he’d give up his favorite plaything so easily.

But apparently you haven’t reached your breaking point yet, because you let his fingers wander lower, arching into his touch and keening against his bony shoulder as it digs into your own. Quickly enough, your clothing is cast aside and he marvels in your flesh like it’s the first time all over again. He leaves you bared before him, vulnerable and quaking beneath his cage of limbs. Brand new bruising patterns over the old in a myriad of colors as his hands grip just a little too tightly for comfort wherever he can reach. He holds you callously down, as if you could run even if given the option, and soon his pants are pulled down just enough over his hips to allow him to violate you the way pleases him most.

He pushes inside of you, stealing your bodily warmth for his own. It’s the closest he comes to removing the mask that is his personality now. His mouth slacks and his eyes close and you can forget, if only for a moment, that the man who has chosen you is incapable of loving you, and equally incapable of letting you go. When you can no longer see your reflection in his apathetic eyes, it’s easier to stomach that you’ll be stuck in the suffocating purgatory of his desire until you perish.

It becomes easier to play pretend that he actually cares.

He goes through the motions and hits all your sweet spots, but you know this isn’t for you. It’s for him. He prides himself on being able to feel whatever it is he wants you to feel, and even though you know damn well he’s manipulating you, it’s almost impossible not to take the tenderness when he offers it. Though you are fully aware he is conditioning you to favor him and his cruelty over the world and its cruelty, you are beginning to relent. You can only struggle against the tide for so long before you have to acknowledge that you will never make it back to shore.

So you’ll allow his kisses, sometimes even returning them when you lose yourself enough in the moment. You won’t hold back the noises he wants you to make because the ones he will coerce from you if you do will be less kind. You’ll lock your ankles around his waist and follow his rhythm because he will get what he wants, one way or another.

No matter how uncomfortable, no matter how filthy, you’ll allow him your body because it’s easier when he asks rather than when he takes. It’s better to try and fool yourself into believing that his are the gentle hands of a lover rather than a captor. You’ll revel in the one simple time you are allowed to mark him, and that’s when your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer. You’ll croon into him and say his name in a manner that’s genuine, because in the moment, it is.

You’d give anything for him to love you. Not to own you, but to love you. Maybe then, just maybe, you could find contentment in your place in his world.

There may come a day when he no longer wants you. There may come a day when the indifference in his eyes might seem a gift in comparison to boredom or irritation. On that day, you might find yourself wishing that you had been a little more convincing in your act, or perhaps that you had been a little less difficult. Maybe if you had scooted closer instead of running away, he wouldn’t have tired of you.

Or arguably worse, perhaps he’ll never tire of you at all. Perhaps he’ll keep you caged until your wings have lost the ability to fly entirely and even when offered the chance, you’ll cower at his side. Perhaps he already has.

Chances are that you’ll never know, because when he’s finished and your thighs are slick from his completion, he’ll lead you back home and you’ll follow despite there being no tangible leash that pulls you along. You’ll lie in his bed and eat his food and find false comfort in his arms even as your mind screams to the wind for freedom and you pray for some deus ex machina to set you free.

But even as he sleeps soundly and those empty red eyes aren’t focused on you, you can hear his voice in your head.

‘What would you do without me? Where would you go? Who else could love you?’

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to accept your fate with a sense of dignity than to fight against him and drown.

Maybe this is where you’re meant to be.

#Shigaraki x Reader #tw rl decay #tw noncon #please see warnings for more #yandere shigaraki #smut but saddish lmao #nsft

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fire-mage-719 · 3 years

Text

I made a little story for FireMage the character in @fazbear-ent-official 's FNAF RP blog, pertaining to the type of stuff I think would fit what I want from their character. It's pretty long so I'll leave it below the cut.

I just sort of sat down and wrote something out in an hour or two, so there's probably a few mistakes or something. Above all I wanted to make it work with what everyone's done with the "universe" so far but also make it work (as someone who likes timelines and stories that makes sense).

I'm going to reblog it with a TLDR, and a sort of explanation as to my thought process and how it can work with everything. Doesn't have to be canon in the RP, but I think it might open up more RP opprotunities/paths or something. IDK, I haven't done this sort of thing before. Anyways enjoy.

William sighed before he left the building. The sound of arcade machines, a distant song, and children echoing in the short distance behind him. Exiting the dark building, he shielded his eyes and squinted as he was suddenly bashed by the intense sunlight.

It was a glorious and sunny day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the blue expanse cradling the unwieldy and bright sun. The building, his establishment, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, blocked out all the lights for bright neon signs and shiny decor and moving party lights. The outside was a stark contrast.

Beyond just the sight was the smell. Inside smelled like pizza and soda, candies with enough sugar content to kill anyone in a nursing home, and a tinge of childly stench. Out here it smelled like fire, smoke, and meat. Not just any meat, but good barbecued hotdogs and hamburgers, a steak maybe, a pork rib, William couldn’t tell anymore, really. It was just savory and honestly, a very good palate cleanser to the rubbish that they sold inside.

Manning the grill was a tall figure. They wore an astronaut suit, pale white, with no flags or logos. No NASA logo, no indication that they had ever been to space, and in the end, it didn’t particularly matter. No one seemed to really mind, William the least. Especially with the reason that he hired them for. Though they did intently wish for two more additions to their apparel: a Freddy Fazbear branded apron and a nametag that read “FireMage”.

“Fire, I need you to do what I hired you for,” William sighed, his arm still shielding his eyes from the sun. “Not whatever you’ve got setup here.”

“All due respect sir, someone came in with a t-bone and said they’d pay me more than you would in a week to cook it,” The astronaut said.

The astronaut turned away from the grill, pointing the burger flipper at William.

“A week, boss. Like, rich white ladies are nuts, but money is money,” Fire said, turning back to the grill and plating a few burgers. “Besides, you’ve got a lot more business lately, despite all your goings on. I would like to think it’s thanks to me.”

William grimaced as Fire took the last burger off the grill and onto a bun. William’s eyes were focused on the t-bone that the astronaut mentioned until Fire had closed the grill.

“Besides, I take care of whatever you ask no matter what,” Fire said, turning to look at William.

It was slightly concerning, not being able to look them in the eyes. Even with the animatronics, William was able to look into the glassy fake orbs, but the visor to Fire’s helmet blocked anything but William’s own reflection. Used to the light now, William watched his mirror image let his arm down.

“If you can even remember what that initially was for,” Fire continued, leaning against the grill.

William went to open his mouth, but shut it. He couldn’t remember.

“Is it that you can’t remember, or that you haven’t been made to remember yet?” Fire asked.

William snapped, “Don’t do that. Just… go in and do what I asked, yeah?”

William turned for the handle of the door. Fire was arguably one of the easiest of his employees to deal with. Casual, respectable, and above all somehow able to get away with an odd amount of things, Fire was… one of the least suspicious people at any establishment. Whichever establishment that Afton was at, they seemed to be there. No one minded the obviously fake name, the obviously out of the ordinary outfit, and the odd comments that seemed to slip beyond most peoples’ notice.

“Mr. Afton, I have to ask, what’s up with the sudden influx of employees?” Fire retorted.

William paused and looked back, not angry, but a bit annoyed.

“I don’t know. Must have been Henry or Willow. They’re in charge of new employees.”

“Besides me,” Fire chirped.

William smiled, a bit sarcastically, “Yes. Besides you.”

“I would say that they act oddly in regards to the establishment, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fire started to approach William Afton, and though William knew that Fire wouldn’t do anything, he let go of the door knob and turned to meet their gaze… or as much of a gaze that they could have. Fire stopped a few feet away, and William let himself relax, not realizing the tension he had in his jaw.

“I mean… yes. They do seem odd. That’s nothing too out of the ordinary,” William said back in a neutral tone.

“And there’s that new establishment even, the what…” Fire rested one of their hands on their hip, snapping with the other for a few moments before it clicked. “The Pizza-plex!”

William’s brows came together in confusion, he himself not knowing quite what they were getting at.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, can’t you see? We shouldn’t be anywhere near the Pizza-plex yet!” Fire said exasperated. “We have a location with Toy Animatronics, with the Original Gang, we have the Funtime animatronics hanging out somewhere, none of this aligns!”

William sighed, looking up to the blue sky. If he just waited them out, they would be done, and he could go back inside. They weren’t even wasting time, since no one would interfere with what Fire was meant to do anyways.

“I don’t get what you mean,” He let his head drop to look down at Fire.

His heart skipped a beat when William saw Fire in front of him, grabbing his upper arms, holding him in place.

“Everything is wrong! I thought that something was off when I first got here, but now everything is wrong! All these things existing at once don’t coincide with the story at all!” Fire said. “None of the characters are in the right places! None of the events! The employees that appeared out of nowhere, they’re a part of this somehow!”

“Look, let me go,” William said, not struggling too much to let the astronaut let go of his arms. “I get it, you only agreed to work and do my odd jobs because… well…”

“You don’t remember how I got here, Afton,” Fire said, voice stale and monotone.

“I mean yeah, ok, I don’t!” William exclaimed. “Something is going on! I get it! But I don’t get what’s the deal! That hasn’t been an issue before. Sure! We got some weird employees! That one person with the rats, and that one person who got “adopted by Mr. Hippo”, and the one who started a wrestling ring, but that’s nothing huge!”

“But nothing has changed, yet,” Fire said. “The days go in and out, funky little things happen. But nothing moves forward. The days keep coming. The sun shines. You come out here and ask me to step away from my precious grill and clean up one of your little messes… that you don’t seem to be getting caught or suspicion for, despite the fact that it seems to be well known that Freddy’s is at least a slightly sketchy place.”

“Business is booming!” Afton sighed.

“Exactly!” Fire shouted. “It shouldn’t be!”

“What are you saying? I’m doomed to fail?” William laughed.

“In more ways than one,” Fire said plainly.

William didn’t like that statement, and glared at the astronaut. Fire walked forward, up to Afton.

“You and I can’t remember anything, but out of everyone, we seem to understand that there’s more than meets the eye going on. We’re stuck here, until something happens in this broken universe,” Fire said, inches from Afton, looking down on the man.

“Alright then. And what are we supposed to do about it?” Afton asked.

“Nothing. We can’t do anything. We’re nothing more than perversion, an offshoot of some original universe.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Afton said, aggravated. “All the weird kids to go away? For me to finish my plans?”

“We’re waiting for the story to continue, of course,” Fire turned away.

They walked back to the grill, where sitting propped up next to it was a flamethrower. Dangerous to have next to a grill, to say the least, but William Afton never saw the astronaut without their flamethrower close by.

“There’s got to be some bigger plot point coming along. Something to move us all forward. We have to be going somewhere, but maybe it isn’t out yet. Whatever was going to come next, after Ultimate Custom Night. Before I got here,” Fire continued, returning to Afton.

“You’re making even less sense now,” Afton said, looking with concern down at the flamethrower. “You make it sound like, I don’t know, we’re just waiting for God to come roll the dice and choose what comes next.”

“Not God,” Fire said.

They looked away from Afton. Past him. Past the road. Past the buildings. Past the blue skies. Into the eyes of someone, into the eyes of you.

“No, someone else,” Fire returned their gaze to William. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. That everyone here is a puppet, or a pawn, of some sort. They know who you are, they know what you do, and they might know who each other are. They’re making a story, here, and it’s leading somewhere. Too many things don’t line up with what I know is true, and even the mysteries I don’t aren’t explained.”

William just stopped at that point. He was wondering if they had waited too long, and the cleanup would be harder. Though, he thought, it wasn’t his job to clean up.

“There isn’t anything beyond the locations. There’s nothing more than the world that revolves around you and Henry and the employees,” Fire poked William in the chest. “And the world never moves on. When did you make the Pizza-plex? Don’t answer, I know you don’t know. Why didn’t you shut down the Toy location? Don’t think about it? Here’s an important question, William Afton, how are the kids?”

William would have snapped. Would have grabbed Fire by the apron and strangled them with it. He was angry, but he didn’t know why. He was also sad. Afton stumbled backwards, into the wall. He didn’t know how he felt, it was a cacophony of emotions like an echochamber of butterflies eating at his insides. He looked up at Fire, who just looked down.

“We’re all waiting for them to continue the plot, Mr. Afton. And until they do, you and I are stuck in this little world. And unfortunately, knowing we’re in it, means we’re never escaping it,” Fire kneeled down, their voice soft. “I knew even before I came here about what you were up to. Your employees and coworkers don’t know what’s going on, but they’re too comfy with the nature of this place. I don’t particularly care about what you do, because according to the story, you are meant to complete these tasks.”

Fire offered their free hand to Afton. He looked at it, confused but accepting it nonetheless.

“Until the REAL story ends… and this place ends too… I’m here to make sure you achieve whatever it is to finish it properly.”

“What, like a little henchman?” Afton scoffed as Fire pulled the man to his feet.

“No, more like…” Fire considered for a bit, trying to hold their gaze on Afton and not pull past him, past the world. “More like plot armor.”

“For no other purpose than continuing some story?” Afton continued.

“For finishing the story.”

Fire turned their head to the door, as if they heard something. They slung the flamethrower over their back and walked over to the grill. They closed up the burgers, and opened the lid to the grill. The sizzling meat’s smell wafted over Afton, calming him a bit. Fire flipped it before lowering the lid, and turning to Afton.

“Mr. Afton I hope you remember, in the future, the real reason you hired me. How you got to this point. I hope the story becomes concise for you, because as someone who also does not remember their past… or how the story works… I know it is painful,” Fire picked up the burgers. “Above all, since only you and I seem to notice that something is up, we need to be there when one of us remembers something. Because most likely, it’s not us remembering, it’s us being told to remember.”

“Being told to remember?” Afton questioned, before regretting it. “You know what? Enough. I don’t know how we even GOT this far into whatever crazy conversation this is.”

“Me neither,” Fire shrugged. “It’s something seems to drive the plot of the universe it seems.”

Fire stopped and looked at the door. As they did, it opened. It was Willow, one of three people that Fire referred to as “boss”.

“You have that steak done?” Willow asked.

“Nope, got the burgers though,” Fire motioned by raising them up. “Boss-man Afton here and I were just chatting it up.”

“Alrighty, hurry it up on that steak if you can. And if you don’t mind, William, one of the animatronics is acting up and we need you to look at it. Something about smelling bad as well,” Willow said.

Fire looked at William, whose demeanor changed. He suddenly had a kind smile on, and seemed as if he didn’t have an oddly meta conversation.

“Of course. You go Willow, I’ll get the door for Fire.”

Willow nodded and left, letting the door close behind them.

William looked at Fire with a raised brow. Fire nodded to the door.

“You gonna get that?”

Afton rolled his eyes and opened the door. He went inside, holding it open as Fire walked through. Once Fire entered the dark corridor of the poorly lit building, crossing the threshold, they stopped. They turned their head and moved their body to look back out the door.

Once again they stared at nothing. But was looking right at you.

That is, until the back door to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza slammed shut.

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf rp #IDK how rp really works on tumblr #but writing this was pretty fun #it was also really fast though so #lots of mistakes #doesn't hold ALL the vibes I want #but i think the idea is there #anyways i'll write the TLDR

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Bonus - Songxiao

part of the wwx Emperor AU set post Chapter 35 (morning of Day 6) - technically not a chapter since this fic is unlikely to have any other explicit elements, and my current plan is to keep the rating to teen once posted to AO3

that said, this is smut (if my clumsy effort can be called smut)

It is discomforting, to say the least, waking in his old bedchamber.

Xiao XingChen’s memory of the years spent in the Immortal Mountain lacks all those particulars which he now finds essential. He can recall the color of the drapes, the shine of sunlight glinting off the gold trim, the red and gold pattern of the rugs. But he does not know the distance from the bed to the window, or from the window to the washbasin. He does not know where exactly the tables and the chests are placed, or how tall they are, or when he may stumble into one by mistake.

It is not new to him, being blind in an unfamiliar place. But being blind in a familiar one, a place that still provides the same echoes of footsteps on the marble floors, the same scents, the same texture of silk sheets, it is discomforting in a way he cannot describe. His inability to see is never so restrictive than in the Immortal Mountain City, a home he had only ever known by sight.

It is no trifling, frivolous life, the one he leads side by side with Song Lan. More often than not, it is exhausting, fraught with danger and uncertainty, always lacking those comforts which he had grown accustomed to in his childhood. But at this moment, he would trade all the silks in the Iron Palm Palace for a night under the stars, wrapped in Song Lan’s cloak.

Wei Ying is right. Xiao XingChen would have never returned to the Immortal Mountain just for the Emperor’s birthday. Had the trail they were following simply passed through YiLing and continued on, Xiao XingChen and Song Lan would have done the same, neither one mentioning the mountain rearing in the distance.

The price he had paid to protect the throne was given willingly, and out there in the world, with Song Lan by his side, he often forgets that life had once been different. He does not miss the blue of the mountain creek, when he can smell its earthy scent and hear the murmur of its ripples. He does not miss the green of the grass, when he can feel each blade under the palm of his hand. Out there, he is whole, even with parts of him missing.

Here, in the Immortal Mountain, he can never be whole again.

He hears the silky slide of Song Lan’s hair on the pillow before he feels him move. Fingers brush against his cheek, lightly, a soft tickle that always makes him smile. It is hard to smile this morning. It is always hard to smile when his childhood is clogged in his throat, in his nose, when he can feel the texture of it underneath his spine.

Song Lan knows this without having to be told. He knows the guilt XingChen carries for having abandoned his nephew to a life that he, himself, despises. Song Lan knows that renaming the Emperor’s palace does not erase the blood that had smeared its stone arches or marble floors. He knows that the voices echoing in the banquet hall will always be screams to XingChen’s ears.

There are very few people left who remember YanLing DaoRen; none who had seen his madness first hand and still live to tell the tale. There is only XingChen. And the scars those years had left on his soul are still bleeding and raw, despite having decades to heal.

He can hear Song Lan shift, feels a hot breath caress his neck before lips press to the sensitive spot under his jaw. He shudders, exhaling deeply. Even after all the years they have been together, Song Lan’s mouth on his skin never fails to thrill him, each touch as exquisite as the very first one had been. A hand trails over his hip, every callus as familiar as his own.

He smiles now. It is impossible not to smile. Song Lan’s nose is brushing his jaw, his cheek, feather-light touch of eyelashes tickling his temple.

“I can hear you thinking,” Song Lan whispers in his hair, the hand curving over XingChen’s inner thigh, strong and possessive, the warmth of the grip spreading though XingChen’s skin, coiling in the pit of his stomach.

His breath stutters, the sound loud and new in-between the familiar curtains, reverberating against the familiar walls. They have always shared a bedchamber, those rare times XingChen would allow them to stay in the Immortal Mountain long enough to spend the night. But rarely ever had they done anything other than sleep. It feels awkward here; the shadow of the First Prince he had once been always there, hovering over his shoulder, pressing against his temples, demanding to be acknowledged.

Song Lan’s lips trail over his ear, tongue tracing the curve, teeth scraping against the delicate shell. His hand, well-versed in the layers of XingChen’s sleep robes, does not fumble when searching for flesh. Throat seized with tremors, XingChen wants to speak, but neither his mind nor his mouth has settled on the words he wants to say. A part of him does not want to give in to pleasure here. This palace, these walls, they will never be free of malice. There is an illogical fear that the darkness steeped into its very foundations will somehow seep into the joy he shares with Song Lan, taint it, twist it to its own ends.

Another part of him is already sliding his thighs open, muscles quivering with anticipation, aching to replace the unpleasant memories with something sweet and pure.

When a hand wraps around him firmly, his hips shamelessly arch into the grip. He turns his head to drown a series of whimpers against Song Lan’s mouth. There is always a lazy, languorous quality to Song Lan’s kisses, no matter how large their need, how frantic their bodies. Song Lan kisses as if he has centuries at his disposal, an eternity of pleasure to offer. XingChen has learned to yield to his tongue, to the slow, intoxicating rhythm, regardless of his desperation.

This time, Song Lan pulls away slightly, his breath fever-hot against XingChen’s lips.

“Is this good?” he asks softly, as if XingChen’s need is not obvious, hot and throbbing in his hand, already grown tight and slick to the point of pain.

The part of XingChen that hesitates to give the walls around them any sign of their bliss, to keep their joy forever separate from this place saturated with blood and pain, has shrank small and insignificant, a mere whisper in the back of his mind.

But Song Lan can hear it still. There are no secrets XingChen can keep from the other half of his soul. No grief that Song Lan has not drank from his skin, no tears he has not tasted.

“Yes,” he stutters, hand wrapping around a tense shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle, “It is-- perfect. Do not stop.”

Song Lan smiles against his skin, and pushes the covers aside. The air in the bedchamber is cool, biting, a sharp contrast to XingChen’s overheated skin. His sleep robes are disheveled, gaping open, starkly revealing the most vulnerable parts of him. XingChen cannot see himself, and he has never been ashamed of his own body, aroused and pliant under Song Lan’s hands. But here and now, he feels fragile and exposed, the way he never does when they make love under the stars.

He cannot see himself, but he hears Song Lan’s breath falter at the sight.

“XingChen,” he says, voice hushed and heavy, fingers lightly catching on the edge of the robe, pulling it open further.

Cold air washes over XingChen’s shoulder, his chest and stomach, a series of goosebumps traveling across his skin. It is always overwhelming, the tinge of awe in Song Lan’s voice, the reverence of his touch. XingChen had spent his childhood being wrapped in the most expensive silks, handled with gentle touches, being spoken to with the utmost respect. But he has never felt so throughly worshiped than he does under Song Lan’s hands, under his devoted gaze.

Song Lan’s tongue is searing on his chest, the teeth catching on delicate flesh, gentle but ruthless in their pursuit. XingChen’s body jerks with every scrape, the sensation unbearable, always too much and never enough. Each time, his fingers will tangle painfully in the silky texture of Song Lan’s hair, both to push him away, and to press him harder to his chest. Each time, he can do neither, equally helpless under the insistent graze of the teeth, the lazy soothing of the tongue. It is exquisite torture, this, and XingChen never knows how long he will have to bear it.

A single word would be enough to stop it, yet XingChen has never spoken it out loud. He has never been able to see any marks that Song Lan leaves on his skin. He had given up his sight long before Song Lan would overcome his stubborn veneration, before he would admit his love for the man he had sworn to serve and protect. But he cherishes each mark he can feel, even when they ache.

The bedchamber is no longer silent now, XingChen desperately gasping for breath, the restless flutter of need pulsing in his ears and throat, underneath his breastbone, in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes, this is all it takes; Song Lan’s mouth on his chest, fingers firmly wrapped around his length, the rhythm steady and relentless. XingChen has rarely asked for more; under Song Lan’s mouth and hands he has always felt loved, adored, desperately needed. That alone has always been enough.

Still, when Song Lan’s mouth slides down his stomach, his muscles tense in anticipation. He smooths the layers of hair he has tangled, his fingers shaky and weak.

“It will not take much,” he says ruefully, his voice hoarse.

Song Lan huffs a laugh against his hip bone, the vibration soft and delighted.

The first swipe of his tongue is almost too much. XingChen hears himself cry out, a sound too loud and frenzied for the somber chambers of the First Prince. But he is no longer aware of the space around him, or the walls that had so tormented him in the past. Another swipe follows the first, then another, and another, each excruciatingly hot, each providing lightest possible pressure, both cruelly unsatisfying and utterly overwhelming. The tongue dips lower, slick and insistent, and XingChen frantically shifts his trembling thighs, far beyond hesitation or shame. He does not know what Song Lan wants, but all of XingCheng is there for the taking. It always strikes him as the verge of madness, this shameless state where he is no longer himself. Or perhaps, it is the only place where he may be the purest version of himself, with no fears, and no burdens; a selfish, unblemished state, where he only wants to be loved.

The voice that comes from that place is raw, all the veneer stripped away to reveal the need beneath, “Please-- I want-- please.”

Song Lan does not ask what he wants; XingChen is hardly capable of speech. His hands are clenched in the silk sheets so tightly that his fingers are cramping. Each one of his muscles is taut to the point of pain. He is there, at the very edge, but the edge is hairsbreadth one moment, and miles wide the next. This can last for hours too sometimes, an endless lingering at the verge of an abyss, the pleasure drawn out past the point of endurance, until XingChen is sobbing and writhing, begging for release.

This time, Song Lan takes him all at once, mouth slick and hot. He is no longer teasing, but firm and determined. XingChen jerks his hips twice, feeling the narrow space of Song Lan’s throat trying to accommodate him, the tight pressure of his lips at the base, and shakes apart without warning.

It always feels like falling. A few moments of perfect weightlessness, perfect emptiness, pleasure and joy so tightly entwined that they seem one bright whole, blinding and blissful. Long before he can think, long before his shudders subside, Song Lan pulls him close into the safety of his arms. There is a place XingChen intimately knows, a soft dip of muscle between Song Lan’s shoulder and collar bone, where his head nestles perfectly each time.

Once, long ago, home had been a mountain, a city, a palace. Now, home is a single stretch of warm skin under his cheek, a hand on his shoulder blade, soft brush of lips against his forehead.

“Good?” Song Lan asks, and XingChen smiles, his hand sliding underneath Song Lan’s robes.

“Not quite yet,” he says archly, and Song Lan huffs a laugh into his hair.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #songxiao #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #i can't believe i have to use the tag #lemon #in the year of our lord 2020 #but there we are #nish writes smut badly #as an apology for not having done any other writing #imma toss this at you guys and run away #ily chickens

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anninhiliation · 4 years

Text

By The Pine Tree

Masterlist

*Disclaimer: This is my original writing, and you have no permission or right to copy. Don’t be a dick and ruin it for everyone else. Just share the god damn link. DO NOT repost and credit my account and call it a day. I do not consent to it. I DO NOT consent to you copying my work, changing the boy, and claiming it as yours. Some of you Wattpad users are out of line. Take it down.

A/N: Idk but don’t tell my therapist lol

Wordcount: like 3k oops

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alc. Unprotected sex. wrap it before you tap it.

It was a warm summer night, surrounded by your mutual friends with your boyfriend, Christopher. Beer in one hand, and the other holding onto Chris as you both floated around on an orange popsicle pool float. His chest pressed against the plastic, tattooed back facing the night sky as your body submerged in the water. Your legs intertwined with his as he gently fluttered his legs, making the float lazily move around the pool. You could feel the water move around every cell of your body as time slowed down. You both smoked some medical marijuana, a friend of yours copped off their dealer earlier. It was better than anything you’ve ever smoked, and you even took big hits that immediately sent you on a happy cloud. You were in your own little world, watching a droplet of water travel from Chris’s shoulder down his bicep and rest on his triangle tattoo. Your mind wandered off, slowly scanning every tattoo shine with the droplets of water. Eyes were looking over to his bracelet, then finally resting on his hands. You studied his porcelain skin glistening with the light of the pool and the glow sticks. The cement floor lit up in green, yellow, orange, blue, and red glow sticks that were scattered around.

Chris was on his own little planet, studying your face zone out. You looked so sexy to him in your tiny bikini, not leaving much to the imagination, yet your face portrayed an innocent look, the contrast riling him up. Blood rushed to his cock as his eyes trailed down, watching the clear water create little waves, making your breasts glisten. You watched his arm move out of your sight, just to feel it against your skin. Your breathing hitched as you felt both his hands wrap around you and lift you slightly up. Your breasts were pushed against the orange plastic, as your legs parted unclinging from Chris. You dropped your beer can, only for it to float away with his.

“Chris,” you pouted as you watched the beer float further away from you.

“Nena mírame." He demanded, his demeanor going straight between your legs.

You looked up at him innocently, meeting his black lustful eyes. He needed you, he wanted you right there and then. You recognized the look plastered on his face. That same look, he’s given you countless times when he has you in the clouds.

"Princesa no me podes mirar así y expectar que hago nada." He growled as he toyed with your bikini top.

His actions made you blush as your breathing caught in your throat. You wanted and needed him just as much as he did. His fingers lit your skin on fire, making your walls clench around nothing. You closed your legs, squeezing your thighs together hoping to relieve the ache he was causing.

"Chris," you whined as you felt his fingers slowly trail down your side making you squirm.

His other arm wrapped around your back, keeping you close as his lips pampered your neck in kisses. He took his time with every inch of your warm, delicate flesh exposed to him. Chris made his way to your weakest spot, making you gasp out, as your fingers dug into his flesh.

“Chris- what if someone sees?” you whined out as you tilted your head, giving him more access.

His fingers toyed with your bottoms as his lips slowly moved down to your breasts. He pushed the fabric covering one of your breasts to the side and encircled your hardened nipple. Your back arched as you moaned out into the crook of his neck.

"You're really worried?” he smirked as he pulled away, making you pout and whine out.

Even in the moments when he wanted to devour you, he couldn't help but tease you.

His dark brown eyes bore into your soul as he said, “no one is watching us hermosa. Look around."

You scanned around the area, and he had a point. Two of your friends were deep on their acid trip project, the others not even glancing at the two of you. Everyone was scattered drunkenly around the backyard, playing beer pong, or just falling over themselves. Some were in the pool, but too engrossed in their own conversations to even care about what the two of you were doing.

"Dale princesa," he growled lowly as he licked the shell of your ear "you really think anyone would notice what we're doing?"

He pushed the fabric covering your slit to the side and teased your folds.

“Fuck nena; you’re soaked. I think you would like getting caught.” Chris groaned to you in a voice low enough only you could hear.

The tips of his fingers toyed with your clit as you whined out in the crook of his neck. You marked him in a little purple-red cloud at the base of his neck as your dominant hand reached up and tugged on his chocolate locks.

“So filthy preciosa,” Chris taunted “and I thought you were worried someone would see how naughty you really are”.

“Chris,” you squirmed your hips, grinding down on his fingers, “don’t tease.”

He playfully chuckled as he exposed your other breast and swirled his tongue around your hardened bud. Two of his digits slid inside you and pumped curling his fingers at your weakest spot. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as you bit down on his shoulder, muffling your moans.

“Fuck hermosa” he groaned as this thumb rubbed figure eights on your clit

Your eyes rolled back as he switched nipples, tugging harshly.

“Christopher,” you mewled.

Your walls fluttered around him as breathing grew harder and harder. It was exciting to you, being so exposed in such a public area. The risk being the highest it's ever been, only giving you more adrenaline. Chris pampered your neck in hungry kisses, focusing on your weaker points. Chris’s main goal was get you to cum quickly so he could get you somewhere private right after. He added more force on your g-spot with every thrust of his fingers. Your knot only grew tighter and tighter with every movement.

“Such a naughty girl preciosa” he grinned.

Chris continued pumping his fingers, feeling your walls clench him harder and harder.

“Chris” you whined into his neck.

He knew you didn't have a lot left, and eventually made you fall over the edge. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as your body squirmed under Chris’s grip. He rode you out, maintaining an even pace as your walls squeezed him tightly. He kept you in the clouds for as long as he could. As you came down from your climax, you rested your head on his shoulder, panting as Chris covered you back up.

“You tired already?” he grinned as he moved his head to peck your lips “We’re not done yet, amor.”

You looked up at him with lust-filled eyes as you matched his grin.

“We’re not papi?” you asked innocently, knowing precisely what it did to him.

“No princesa” He smirked as he fluttered his feet, moving the float out of the deep end.

Your feet touched the pool’s floor as the popsicle float made it to the shallow end.

“Where we going?” you grinned, recognizing the look in his eye.

“No te preocupes amor I know a place," he said.

Chris slid off the popsicle and quickly pressed his chest against your back. His hands wrapped around your hips, with his fingers slightly digging into your flesh. He ushered you out of the pool as swiftly as possible, desperate to get you alone. You could feel his hard member press against your ass, causing you to clench around nothing.

“Chris,” you quietly whined out.

He brought you to the corner of the yard behind a large pine tree. Your legs were weak with anticipation, as a new wave of arousal drenched your folds. As more trees and bushes covered the two of you from any potential eyes, Chris began marking your neck. You leaned into his chest and tugged on his hair, enjoying the pleasure. His hand grabbed your breast, kneading the soft flesh as the other slid down under your bottoms. Fingers were parting your folds as he drew delicate circles on your swollen clit.

"Fuck nena" he groaned hearing you moan out for him

His cock throbbed as he felt how wet you were. Teasing your clit a little more, and hearing you beg had him losing his patience. Chris abruptly pulled out of you and spun you around. You grabbed his fingers, inserting them in your mouth, tasting yourself.

“I taste good papi,” you purred as your tongue swirled around the pads of his fingers.

His black orbs observed your movements as he clenched his jaw. Before you could even process what happened, the grass wrapped around your body, like a soft cushion as Chris kissed your sweet lips.

“You do princesa,” he growled in lustful hunger.

As your lips connected, your hands went straight for his dark locks. You tugged harshly, pulling a delightful moan out of him as your lips moved in sync. The kiss was filled with pure lust and a primal hunger for one another as he dominated it. Your hips bucked up, as your swollen clit beat violently begging for friction.

“Chris,” you whined out as you grinded into his clothed bulge.

He let out boyish moans at your actions, dying just to rip off your bottoms and be inside you.

“Fuck” he created a trail of soft kisses as he grabbed your neck, tilting your head to give himself more room.

You held his wrist, keeping him in place as your other arm flailed around. Chris grabbed your bottoms as he marked the weakest point on your neck and exposed your slit. The wet fabric quickly skimmed your skin before being thrown to the side. Chris pulled down his shorts, letting his cock hit his lower abdomen. He pumped his shaft, making you whine out and pout as your walls tightened around nothing.

“What?” Chris taunted as he watched your eyes glued to his hand movements.

“Chris,” you mewled “fuck me- hace algo. Papi, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he smirked, as the head of his penis slid into you.

You moaned out contently as your walls wrapped around him inch by inch. He slowly moved his hips, waiting for you to adjust, which didn’t take long as his fingers already prepped you.

"Chris," you whined again, "coge me, dale."

”So needy hermosa,” he teased as he roughly grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder.

He put more force in every thrust sending you straight into the stars. Your fingers dug into his arms, leaving little red trails as you cried out his name. It was music to his ears hearing you sing his name in such delight. His torso pushed your leg closer to your body as he pulled on your top, exposing your breasts. His lips latched on to your soft flesh marking where he pleased. Your hands grabbed onto his hair, tugging uncontrollably as your back arched off the ground. As the pleasure increased and you floated higher into the clouds, your moans grew louder. It was a little too loud for his liking in such a public area. His hand wrapped around your lips, muffling out your noises.

“Princesa, not too loud,” Chris grunted.

You nodded your head yes as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. The pleasure was too much for you to hold back your moans, and he knew it.

"Fuck" he groaned as he pulled out of you, flipping you over.

He grabbed your hips and rammed back inside you at full force.

"Chris!" You moaned, muffling it out on your arm.

You bit down on your arm as his tip hit your g-spot at a steady pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull as the pleasure increased. His fingers skimmed your swollen clit, making you clench around him. Chris drew your favorite pattern, sending you deeper into the stars. Boyish moans and grunts left Chris’s lips as your velvet walls hugged him tightly. The way you wrapped around him, Chris knew you were getting closer and closer.

“Fuck nena, how do you stay so tight” he groaned.

Your toes curled as one arm reached out and clenched the grass. The waves of pleasure being sent straight to your core with every thrust made it impossible for you to produce anything coherent. Your torso laid flat on the grass, as your muscles gave in to the feeling. The force of Chris’s hips slamming into your ass made your body move back and forth on the ground. The familiar knot twisted and turned inside you. Chris’s hands dug deeper into your hips as your thighs violently shook. Your walls closed in around Chris’s shaft, as the knot tightened until it snapped. Juices flew out of you, coating Chris's cock and base, some drops falling to the ground. You were on a cloud as the pleasure pulsated through you. Chris was right behind you, as he tried to keep you floating. His shaft twitching inside you with every sloppy thrust. He throbbed until his balls were too swollen up in cum. With one last harsh and messy thrust, Chris buried himself as deep inside you as he could. White strands of his seed shot inside you, filling you up. Your name leaving his lips, mixed in with a string of Spanish curses. You both panted as he slowly pulled out of you. A whine left you, as you missed the feeling of him inside you. The cum he left inside you, gently dripping out of your warm velvet walls. Chris flipped you over once again and toyed with your cum-soaked slit. Taking the excess cum, and collecting it with his two digits, Chris fed you. The sweet and salty juices had you moaning for more and whining for more of his attention.

“That tastes good hermosa?” he smirked, watching you hollow your cheeks as you buried his fingers.

You nodded your head yes as you began to squirm around. With every collection of the mixed juices, his fingers teased your clit. More of your arousal pushed out his seed, causing the mixture to lose more of its flavor.

"Chris," you whined as you sucked on his fingers for the fifth time.

Your hole throbbed as Chris's fingers stayed on your clit, drawing figure eights. He pulled out his fingers and wrapped his hand around your inner thigh. His thumb gently running back and forth on your sensitive skin.

"¿Nesistas algo preciosa?" He grinned as he watched your face contour in pleasure.

"Don't tease," you pouted as you bucked your hips.

He pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean, and moaned, “you do taste good, nena.”

His head lowered as his other hand rested on your inner thigh. His warm breath fanned your slit as your hands intertwined with his locks.

"Que dulce hermosa," Chris groaned after giving your soaked slit a kitten lick.

His tongue ran up your slit again, then teased your folds. Your back arched as your thighs wiggled in his grip. Chris slurped your juices and tugged on your clit, sending you back into the clouds. You could feel him pull out the rest of the load you had yet to push out. He let go of your thighs to squeeze your breasts. His fingers rolled your hardened nipples and tugged. Your legs closed in around Chris’s head, squeezing him with your thighs.

“Chris!” you cried out as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

His fingers slid down your body, as you thrashed around. Your toes were curling with all your might as your breathing hitched, sticking to your throat. Two of his fingers slipped inside you, curling at your weakest spot. You weren’t going to last long and you both knew it. Your walls clenching around his fingers as another knot tied up inside you. Chris groaned as you tugged harder on his hair. The vibrations sending strong waves of pleasure to your core, making your moan out. The knot inside you pulsated and shook as Chris tugged on your swollen pearl one last time. You squirted out again, as you were sent skyrocketing back into space. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you slipped into your sweet state of ecstasy. He tried his best collecting all of your juices, groaning at the drops that slipped away. His fingers slowed down after you reached your climax, gently bringing you back down to earth.

“You were so good princesa” Chris grinned as he pulled out of you, hovering his fingers over your bottom lip.

You cleaned him up, moaning contently as you tasted your sweet juices. He pecked your soft lips after, giving you one last taste before he fixed his shorts and searched for your bottoms.

“Why don’t we get out of here so I can taste you properly papi?” you purred as you fixed your top.

“Dale” he smirked as he found your other piece of the bikini and gave it back to you.

You guys fixed yourselves up, trying to look as normal as possible and collected the rest of your things. Grabbing a towel you wrapped yourself around it, covering up most of the marks. You hugged your friends goodbye and rushed into Chris’s car, and sped straight home.

#chris velez #cnco #cnco smut #christopher velez #chris #christopher #fic #imagine #christopher velez fic #christopher velez imagine

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