#I have no reason to post this besides the fact that it’s been etched into my brain over the past hour

[stealingyourbones]

Hey hot tits can you go warp speed

[jxsterr]

back at it again but this time i’m worked up thinking about zelink and sleeping as a way to deal with all of the trauma of immediate post calamity.

because, realistically, they are both going to be beyond exhausted. that fight took everything they had within them and more—link had been preparing for it for months on end without so much as a proper night’s rest, and zelda had been slaving away for the better part of a century using every ounce of energy within her to keep this beast at bay. so it’s pretty reasonable that the first thing the pair of them are going to yearn for is a bed and some damn good sleep now that blood moons won’t be knocking on the window every few days.

but just hear me out. for the first couple of days going on weeks link’s only priority is making sure zelda is okay. he cooks for her, makes sure she’s drunk enough water, and keeps the bedsheets clean and comfortable for her to collapse into them whenever she wants. she’s essentially bedbound for the first week, only ever able to really sit up to eat for a bit before the waves of exhaustion call for her to come crashing back down against her pillow—whether or not she wants to. she’s in no fit state to do anything, bless her, and he recognises that. he’s exhausted beyond reason himself but someone has to be the one sat beside her bed, ready to soothe the night terrors that inevitably creep their way into her unsuspecting mind. he doesn’t really care either. the woman who has haunted everything he’s come across in this world, whose presence has touched almost every memory he can conjure up, whose spirit he just can’t seem to shake because he knows there’s something there, a reason as to why he can’t help but heed her call no matter what he does, has just returned to him. the only surviving remnant of his past, the only face he so desperately wanted to see smile again for reasons he couldn’t dig up—of course nursing her back to health is his first priority.

but she worries about him too, about her knight turned friend who just won’t stop doing things for her despite the fact that she can see the very consequences of his fatigue etched deep into his skin. she wants so desperately for him to stop for a moment and sit with her and let her do something in amongst it all. he’s so much lighter than he used to be before he died but by hylia herself has he not shed the skin of a warrior. he laughs more, talks with a little less restraint, and pulls out all sorts of ridiculous things he’s accrued across his travels for her to marvel at while sat up in bed—all for shadows to have set so deeply under his eyes and his face to have lost a little bit of that roundness she’d grown so fond of. she can see how much he needs to sleep too, to rejuvenate again even though he would simply argue that all he’s done is sleep. she sees it when she peers over the loft banister and finds him, face against arms, asleep at the kitchen table, or when she wakes up and realises he’s fallen asleep sat on the floor with his head against the mattress again and all she can do is feel guilt that she has his bed and not him.

so one day she has enough. she waits until she’s settled into bed with him on a stool at her side, book in hand, otherwise he’ll fall asleep himself, and she plucks it unceremoniously from his hands and discards it on the bedside table. she waits until he looks at her thoroughly bewildered for her to finally muster up the courage to say, “i need you to sleep, link. i see how exhausted you are, i see how much you push yourself. i feel awful for being the only one in this bed, so please, do me a favour, and sleep beside me,” and stares at him with enough conviction to move mountains that her own eventually concedes and climbs in next to her.

it’s nothing more than two bodies sleeping next to one another for the first few days, but it’s enough that it makes a visible impact on the pair of them. zelda sleeps better, more soundly, with a considerable dip in the number of night terrors, while link himself finally just sleeps for the first time in what feels like years. it does them wonders. so much so, in fact, they sleep away the first two days entirely. link wakes up, groggy, and turns over with the intention of getting out of bed because goddess knows what time it is and she probably needs something to eat—but a sleep-ridden hand moves quick enough to land on his shoulder with something mumbled about ‘don’t leave’ and it’s so sincere and desperate that he gives in and turns back over, only for said hand to only still once it nestles itself against the palm of his hand. he’s too drowsy to even think much of it so he just curls his hand around hers in return until that signature hum of hers rings out to signify that her wants have been quelled.

it continues like that, small increases in physical affection, until it’s the norm to absolutely entangle themselves in one another. until zelda is able to do more around the house but potters down the loft stairs in search of him to tug gently at his arm and tell him that she’s tired—a silent ask to come to bed with her even if it’s the middle of the day—and he obliges every time. it’s nice, being this useless to the world, enough where they can gather as much of themselves as they need to by merely sleeping the days away. until their mornings are signified by the raise of the moon and the slow bleed of pinks and oranges into the sky signalling their retreat to bed.

every nap goes the same, too. zelda scoots herself into the inner side of the bed and lays with arms outstretched, waiting for her knight to come clambering in between them so she may wrap them tightly around his warm body and pull him close until his face is nestled deeply into her chest, protecting him the way she’s always wanted to. she may not be able to wield a sword, but she can protect his open heart for as long as her hand weaves through his locks until she feels his body go slack against her. she likes her corner, he likes the safety of her arms, it works perfectly.

impa doesn’t appreciate just how long it’s taken them to realise they’ve been sleeping away the days for over a month now, and thus are visiting late, but it’s hard to object when her princess is sparkling and link looks more like himself than he ever has.

[tossball-stick]

something something cycles or whatever

willscuella, 1.3k words, not proofread much sorry, oneshot

hiii this was honestly basically written for @nokaru. your tags on my other willscuella post got me thinking about them, so between writing my transfem kieran fic, i decided to scribble this out. i am unwell 👍 i hope i saw the vision

click 4 fic 🐊

The first night wasn’t the worst. On the surface, you might think it would be. Being away from the gang for the first time in their lives after everything crumbled to ash, only having each other, being terrified for their lives, outrunning bounty hunters, Pinkertons, and their memories, all in one go. The first night stretched over into the first day  though, without any sleep. They hadn’t even had time to really think about things.

The first day stretched into the second night  which was more sleepless running. Paranoia and fear could push a man to survive on very little, and that was certainly what they were doing. Arthur and John, pointing guns at them, every person’s death, Dutch’s lost look, Guarma, it all was still fresh in their minds. They only had each other anymore. With nothing left but the lasting images and sounds etched into their brains, they continued to ride beside each other.

The second night dipped into the second day. No sleep, still, having barely stopped to eat either. Every break to take care of their bodies, not even themselves, was quick and with the hunger of a pack of wolves. Every last bit of dried meat, canned fruits and vegetables, every last tin of coffee and every last biscuit from Bill’s box of them. Every one was consumed without thought, every one was forced down for no reason other than it had to be. 

By the time they both had finally felt safe enough to rest, they were both beat. They had made good progress, running out west, but still had so much left to go. It was hard to commit to California, like they wanted. They didn’t dare argue about it now, though, survival was still pushing them. 

Bill puts up the tent, gets the area ready. Javier fishes. They had used the last of their provisions keeping themselves up on the run. Their bodies both ached, Javier was still nursing a limp from Guarma, yet they pushed on. Once Javier is back, Bill is cooking. It’s been silent the whole time. What is there to say?

Mealtime finishes. It’s not Pearson’s stew. They’ll never have it again. It isn’t long before that fact sets off a chain reaction in Bill, always quick to express emotion. Bit by bit, every wall in him had been breaking down, crumbling to dust before him. The thought of the meals that had been a comfort for so long of his life being permanently gone was enough to send him spiraling. 

Javier was never a comforter. He avoided people. He was around Bill because he had power over Bill. Power he didn’t have over most other people. He could control how Bill saw him, to an extent, and he didn’t have to make that version of himself pleasant or charismatic. He could be cruel, unusual, quiet, and scary, and somehow Bill would still be clinging to him, day in, day out. It was a surprise when his arms were wrapping around Bill’s shoulders on instinct, gently patting at his back.

The sobs went on for a long time. Too long, probably, they both were terrified of being found. Somehow, that was less of a priority than being there for each other. With screaming and wailing out of the way, they could get onto drinking. Not soon enough, either. Javier had been out of it ever since Bill had started crying, really, his comfort seeming to come from his brain’s autopilot. Tip back bottle after bottle, forget about it. 

Bill was trying to forget about it. He really was. About everything that had happened, about Javier’s current reaction. It wasn’t surprising, but a little disheartening. Bill had been there to comfort Javier through everything, and Javier was there for him, of course, but even in Guarma, Javier had not been vulnerable. He had stayed locked away in that shell. Bill had tried for years to chip away at it, yet he never seemed to make the progress John ever had.

“Are you okay, Javier?”

That was all it took, though, to shatter it, and to shatter it harder than John could have ever dreamed to. Within an instant, Javier was sinking his face into the chest in front of him, starting to really let it out. Screaming, crying, sobbing, hitting, all of it being channeled right against Bill’s skin. He held Javier, through it all, his arms keeping the other steady. 

Javier lasted longer than Bill did. So much had been packed away and repressed after all these years. By the time they were both done, they barely had time to sleep. Still, they crawled into the tent together, feeling closer than they ever had. They were inseparable now, never not clinging to each other. They were able to cry and talk to each other. Despite being unstable, they could continue on with love for each other. They didn’t need anything besides the two of them and their horses. Maybe they could actually be something, together, away in some paradise. Hope had started to turn up. They could trust each other, not like they trusted Dutch, but something new.

You might think that had been the worst night. The emotions from that night never really seemed to leave them, after all. It came close, neither of them would argue that. No, the worst came after weeks and weeks of nothing but travel. Travel, stop in a town, be too scared to make any money, struggle to buy something with what they had left, and then sigh and rely on Javier’s fishing once again. 

Occasionally, Bill might score them a deer. He never had learned how to trim it up, though, which never left them with food for long. Along with a shortage in more unnecessary supplies like food, they were quickly running dry. No more alcohol, nothing to soothe the still raw pains. By this point, even cigarettes had started to become numbered. 

Neither of them felt like people. They were animals, really, nothing more, doing everything they could just to survive. Eating fish, fish, fish. Nothing more, nothing less. Insanity would claw at better men, surely, but they were hardly such. Violent, unloveable degenerates. 

Unloveable. Unloveable to family, unloveable to each other. Every day was a test of patience. Every day they loved to learn something new they hated about the other. Every day the rubber band was pulled further and farther, stretched longer and longer. Then, a snap. It cracked through the air like gunfire, too similar to the previous gunshot that ripped from a chamber. 

It was Bill. Of course he was the first one to snap, over something stupid in the end. A missing packet of cigarettes was what the fight was about, Bill accusing Javier of having stolen them. Javier defended himself, of course, calling Bill an idiot. That was enough for Bill to start launching into rants and raves about every little thing, which only worsened their fighting. 

Javier was a weak willed man when it came to Bill, quickly indulging the urge to scream and yell and fight. They were launching at each other now, grappling and throwing each other about, hitting and screaming, crying, biting, threatening with knives. Guns were pressed to people's heads, unkind things were said. They concluded that sticking together was only prolonging the inevitable. They hoped they never saw each other again.

Of course, they would see each other again. Wide, open arms welcomed the both of them upon reuniting. It was like the fight had never even happened. It was hard to say why it had caused such a big rift between them in the first place. With a warm embrace after years of being alone, they soak in each other’s presence again, only hoping it won't end the same as last time.

[solarsong-writes]

Extended Author’s Notes for Lives Etched on Our Palms (Part 1)

It took me a while to figure out how to organize all these thoughts, but let’s start with my headcanons (that are actually just canon because I’m the author lol) for the fic:  

Warning: Major spoilers below!

Niigo Miku looks drastically different from typical Miku because she doesn’t want to trigger Kanade and Mafuyu’s memories

After the reset in Chapter 6, Miku let just a liiiiittle bit remain from their previous timeline (as demonstrated by them remembering events from Chapter 5, which chronologically takes place after canon timeline wise) 

Miku also suppressed the memory leakage more post reset to help with sanity issues 

Ever since the events in Chapter 1, Miku has been diligently making sure Kanade and Mafuyu meet one another – she doesn’t intervene besides that. Them sticking around each other (or at least trying to) is because they feel drawn to each other and because I’m a Kanamafu shipper and they’re cute in every universe and iteration together

Fun fact: Although episodic memory (remembering events), semantic memory (knowledge/facts), and procedural memory (skills/how to do things) are all types of long-term memory – procedural memory is the only one that is implicit, meaning that it’s unconscious and you don’t have to actively bring it up. Guess which one is transferred over more? :) 

The reason why Mafuyu is good at everything is because she retained her skills from her previous lives

Similarly, the reason why Kanade is insane at composing (she composed her first song at 4-5 years old canonically????) is because she retained her musical abilities

Yes, this is also why Kanade can’t let go of music – mostly because of her priest lifetime and some of her bard lifetime 

This is what I could think of off of the top of my head, so if you have any other instances or moments you want clarification on -- please let me know and I can add it to the list! :)

Part 2: Worldbuilding & General Planning

[exodusmc]

Darling

Genre: Vampire au, smut, 1800s au, moulin rouge inspired

Words: 5313

Paring: Taehyung x Y/n ( female prounouns) X Jungkook

Warning!: hinting at murder, hinting to prostitution, alcohol, oral ( f and m receving), pet names, light dirty talk, penetrating sex without condom, fingering, thigh riding, technically sex in public, biting and blood drinking, more of a dom Tae and sub jk.

a/n: So this idea came from no where and I have based some details on the history of moulin rouge. I was writing smut for Hoongjong from ateez but it didnt really go anywhere so you get this instead. in other news, I'm not really sure what is happening with Baekhyun and exo but i will support them no matter what! ps will post insider soon...

Gif is not mine 

The light around then was dim and a reddish tone. Velvet surrounded most walls and furniture, gold and tassels trying to up the class of the place. Taehyung watched with heavy eyes as Jungkook flirted with some daughter of a rich man. Sweet smoke filled the room and Taehyung popped the first couple of his buttons in his white shirt. He sure was scandalous with only a black vest and rolled up sleeves but it was the whole idea of the club. He could smell a faint touch of sex in the air and any more flirting by Jungkook would sure make it more prominent.  Taehyung's younger friend had lost his tie a long time ago as well and his collarbones sparkled with glitter. 

He stood from his seat and strolled over to the two of them, smirking down to the blushing girl. She was breathless, glossy eyes and under their fingertips. On her chest laid an expensive necklace and he knew they had hit the jackpot. 

“Why don't you come with us, pretty dove…” he grabbed her shoulders, whispering deep in her ear. 

The hunger in Jungkook’s eyes made him look almost insane but that was what Taehyung liked about him, the switch between pleasure and pain. Besides, he too felt the grip slip with the scent of her sweet sweet blood. 

- 

Paris sure was different from London, more cigarettes and pastries, definitely more sun. Jungkook squinted at the gleaming orb, coffee in hand and a frown etched between his dark eyebrows. 

“Sometimes I miss the rain….” he grumbled and Taehyung smiled lightly as he flipped the paper, eyes following the headline. The death of the rich Adaline, the vampires have come to Paris! Jungkook groaned as he too read the title. “ I knew we should have left her somewhere else…”

“You don't need to worry…they don't have a clue of who we are…” Taehyung glanced around at all the people around them.” Where we leave the bodies means nothing as long as we hunt carefully..”

“Sure..” Jungkook huffed out angrily.” But pawning their stuff sure as hell becomes harder when everyone is on the lookout.”

Jungkook dropped the necklace Adaline had worn on the table, leaning back on the chair, chest muscles pushing against his brown vest and white button shirt. 

“Don't be a brat…We don't need money now so we don't need to pawn it in this second…” Taehyung hissed, placing the paper on the table and putting the jewelry in his pocket.” But maybe don't show off it in the meantime…”

“Whatever…” Jungkook started to drink his coffee again, sip after sip which did nothing but make them look more normal. “Where are we going tonight? I still feel hungry.”

Taehyung tsked at the younger boy and his constant hunger. He couldn't remember it being so bad when two years had passed since he turned. 

“I don't know…go look yourself, you’re old enough.” a smile spread over Taehyung’s face at the scowl on Jungkook.

Taehyung wasn't an old vampire himself, only having been immortal for ten years, but he still was Jungkook’s maker and it made him feel better knowing the boy still looked for his guidance.

“I think you can hunt alone now, nothing has gone wrong in a while..” one reason they had moved from London was the growing worry of vampires from the humans and the fact that Jungkooks recklessness caught up to them. He had gone on a spree when he was a mere day and Taehyung was still on that high that had made him turn Jungkook in the first place so he couldn't stop his creation before it was too late. Jungkook had cried so much, still remembering how it was to be human, but it didn't seem to bother him anymore. 

“Well, I don't want to leave right when we got here…” Jungkook didn't trust himself, their feedings still almost always ended in Taehyung needing to pull him off whoever he had seduced that night. 

“No worries Jungkook…just do what you always do and it will be fine..” Taehyung shrugged his shoulders, black hair falling in locks over his forehead while his smile sent chills down Jungkook’s spine. 

-

You were putting the last touches on your costume, fingers playing with the red lipstick and feathers on your head, even patting on your hair. This wasn't your first performance but it was the first time your outfit was like it was. The skirt was red with black details and in the same length it had always been, just like the black thigh highs, but the top…It was a net of pearls and red threads which clung to your breasts and back. One wrong move and it would drop. 

“I don't know about this…” Juliette, a girl who had been here a little longer than you stopped darkening her eyelashes. 

“What?” she wore the same clothing as you but her breast was even bigger. “ It will be fine, besides Charles wants to make it different..”

She stood behind you and started to powder you with the sparkling substance, putting it on your shoulders and  collarbones. 

“Show time girls!” Lynette’s voice jumped between the mirrors in the dancers lounge and you took one last breath before standing up. 

Big lights hung over the middle of the floor and the sides were as full as they usually are, but you couldn't really make out anyone due to the dimer lighting on the sides. The music started and you followed the rhythm with your friends around you, sweat forming as you moved around. Legs lifted and you would never get used to the breeze trailing up your thighs. Turing and doing the splits, up again to lift your leg as high as you could, grateful for the stability of Juliette to your side. Your pulse hammered and you wore that ever lasting smile that was mandatory. The pearls felt like touches over your skin and you missed the more structured top from last week's performance. 

The crowd broke out in cheers, the clapping of their hands buzzing in your ears, as your group to the final pose. Your chest heaved up and down, all the smoke making it harder to breathe. Juliette shifted to your side as the lights dimmed over your head. You always felt this rush to get back to the lounge, take off the smeared makeup and needles holding your hair accessories in place. 

“Good work.” Good, not great…

Lynette watched everyone of her show girls, a frown on her bright lips. Something had gone wrong or she would have been happier now. Maybe a high class patron had shown displeasure or Charls were on her again about making the number…more. 

“Y/n, Chloè, Desiree and Elaine…”lines formed over Lynette’s forehead as she looked through her little black book. You were sure she had her life in that book. “You work the floor..”

Working the floor ment serving drinks to the highest payers and strutting around to make the patrons pay more for special services. Juliette gave you a petty look, her night coming to an end now. 

“I’ll see you later then?” she asked lowly as you started to better your makeup, instead of taking it off. 

“Yes, good night…”the two of you lived wall to wall where most of the dancers had their homes. Small rooms with small kitchens, small everything really. But it was all you could afford, having escaped the threat of working in the industries. 

“Do..do we wear these tops?” Elaine asked ever so carefully, watching Lynette with those wide wide black eyes. She was cute and had this innocence to her but you knew that wasn't the case.

“Yes, now go!” all the girls rushed out and you sighed at the long night this would be.

   You spent most time with a man who owned some sort of mine in another country, a man who was very willing to spend money on drinks and food. He tried to get you to eat and drink but that was against the rules, never take from the guests unless it’s in the form of cash. It didn't mean you had sneaked one or two cigarettes and a little wine in your days there. 

“Now now mister! Please drink up..”your smile was sickle sweet as you got him to drink more, hoping he would become too inebriated to ask for more. There were rooms all over the club, private rooms. You knew that some girls like that aspect of the job but you wondered if their explanations were the truth. 

Most of your customers were in his league of class but on the odd would someone with less money seek you out. Those were usually the fun nights, the nights you could feel like a girl again.

One more hour went by with you on his lap, feeding him and letting him feel the very flesh that built you, until his friends had to help him home. It made you relax, seeing him disappear and the fact that most patrons had their hands on someone already. You had not noticed the shadow in the corner watching you the whole night, not until he slipped behind you. 

Chills went down your spine as cold hands fell upon your bare shoulders, a smile so neat it looked fake. He had dark eyes and equally dark hair. A black suit jacket which followed his toned body until his waist, where it opened to rest by his hips, buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. 

“Are you finally free now, love?” he was english and gleaming under the lights.”Care to join me this time?”

He slipped down on the velvet chair, where the other man had kept you most of the night. But this man held you gently, circling your waist when had been dragged down over his lap. He didn't really smell like anything and was so cold even if you felt like you were burning. 

“Yes of course…”your hand rested on his chest and even the clothes couldn't hide the harness of his muscle. Your smile was back as well but a little more unsure. “ How can I serve you tonight?”

He groaned lowly, pulling you close until he could rest his forehead on your neck. Your pulse started to beat faster as his breath fanned over your skin. You wetted your lips, trying to remember what you were supposed to ask. 

“W-would you like a drink?” he tensed at your words. You had unknowingly asked the worst and best question.”Mr…?”

“Jungkook…my name is Jungkook” he sounded breathless and his hold had turned hard against your skin. You could feel the ghost of his lips on your collarbone and it made your blood sing, rushing to the very place he moved. 

“O-okay Mr Jungkook…” you leaned from him, watching his hazed eyes.”Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Hmm…”he looked at you through black locks, fingers not pressing into your flesh anymore.” Red wine…”

You were on your feet in seconds. He made you feel weird, all gooey and warm. Juliette was superstitious and she had warned you of vampires ever since London had a break out of blood draining deaths. You didn't believe her or the stories but maybe you were wrong. 

Jungkook stared you down when you came back, thighs spread over the seat while he sat comfortably back. You gave him the glass and stood still for a second. Should you run? No, Lynette would skin you alive. The man simply sipped on his drink and watched you with amused eyes. 

“Will you sit back down?” he placed the glass on a dark brown table, patting his right thigh.”Love, please don't leave me cool..”

So you sat down over his thigh, facing his front. Jungkook looked up at you with a soft smile, stroking his thumbs over your waist. People did most things just in the open in the club but full on sex was something people were only allowed to do in the private rooms. Still, this felt way more intimate than anything you had ever done before. 

“Do I scare you, love?” Jungkooks whole face was a trap of concern, everything but his eyes which shone with something brutal, bone breaking.”I don't want you to be…”

“N-no, you don't scare me Mr Jungkook…” you tried to smile but it was stiff. 

Jungkook brought the wine to his lips, drink one gulp before reaching the glass to your lips. You shouldn't drink and you tried to stop yourself from opening your mouth to the pleasant red liquid. 

“Such a good girl.” he smiled, making you drink the last sip before dropping the glass right on the floor. You tensed but no one batted an eye your way. 

His hands found your waist again and started to roll you over his thigh. Air caught in your throat at the action, fingers gripping his suit. Jungkook kept a steady pace, gaze locked on your reddening face. You wondered if he could feel your growing need against his pants or the shuddering of your body. 

“M-mr Jungkook…”you were breathless, shaking slightly when he made it so you landed against his chest. It gave the perfect angle from him to grind your clit on his thigh and have his nose at your neck.

“You smell divine, love..” he groaned close to your ear, moving you in a painfully slow pace.”What’s your name?”

“Y/n…It’s Y/n” you bit your lower lip, trying to stop moans from escaping. Jungkook wasn't in a rush, he took care of you like most men didn't when they were with you. 

“Beautiful…just like the rest of you..” he groaned once again near your ear, nipping slightly at the skin. 

Reality started to slip from your grasp the more he worked you, kisses trailing down to your neck and hands keeping you moving. You were close to crying over the stimulation. One rule was that the clients couldn't leave marks where they could be seen but you didn't have the heart to stop his bites and kisses, not when he made you feel so good. 

Fingers creeped under your skirt until they found your acing pussy. He was gentle as he slipped them inside you but the bite on your shoulder wasn't. You came, sitting back a little on his fingers. Jungkook captured your lips and kissed you until you came down from your high, feeling all empty when he left your insides. You were panting and his eyes were cold. Reality came back as you realised that you were still in the main room. 

Jungkook pulled you back for a harder kiss, so fast you crashed against his chest. It was hungry and teethy, breathtaking. 

“I’ll come back for you, love…”he groaned against your lips, let you sit down and feel how hard he was. “I’ll come and take you home…”

The haze you sat in made you not care for his words, more than that he would come back. 

Jungkook rose from his seat and placed you on it instead, kissing you once more. He held your gaze for a while, fighting with himself for leaving you here but he couldn't stay, not if he didn't want to ruin it all. 

“I’ll come back….”

-

Taehyung woke to the sun filtering through white curtains, the bed wide and empty. Jungkook didn't come home last night apparently but he couldn't hear screams so it most likely went well. However, the calmness was broken when the front door flew up and the aforementioned man came in with distraught hair and bloodshot eyes. 

Taehyung sat with the white bedding over his lap, hair hanging loosely over his forehead and with the sun worshiping his body. He didn't move a muscle when Jungkook threw the door to their apartment shut. 

“Good morning to you too…” he rose from the bed and put on a blue silk robe while his creation started rummaging through their emergency blood. Jungkook drank at least one liter in such a hurry some dropped down the corners of his mouth. Taehyung cleaned him with his thumb before putting the digit in his own mouth.” So tell me, what have you done?”

Jungkook looked at him with wide brown eyes, seemingly coming back to earth. 

“I-I…I found a girl…” Jungkook started and Taehyung couldn't understand why it was such a problem.” She danced at this really popular club and I spent some time with her…”

“Okay and?” Taehyung went to the fancy green chairs which stood by the tall window. Life bustled down on the street under them, the people not disturbed by vampires. 

“I didn't feed on her…” Taehyung raised an eyebrow, a little surprised and confused why Jungkook was in such a frenzy over that.”She..I don't know how to describe it but she smelled so nice and I felt like I would go insane from just tasting her skin. Can you imagine what her blood would be like?”

Taehyung watched him with dark eyes. Jungkook may be a little crazy for blood but not feeding because the idea of the blood felt too good was even crazier. 

“What are you talking about?” the sun lit Taehyung’s eyes to a burning shade, stroking over his tanned skin. 

“That’s the thing! I don't really know more than that she was the best scent I have ever encountered. She was even prettier than the other girls before I caught her scent.” Jungkook fell down on the chair before Taehyung, undoing his vest.” I couldn't stay after I made her cum because I didn't want to destroy the place or her…”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. 

“I left and went to the forest to cool down…”a disgusted look creeped over Jungkook’s face. “I even  drank from some animal…”

“So…If I understand correctly you found a girl that seemingly has the best blood you have ever smelled and you left her, after making her cum, to eat from an animal?” Jungkook looked sheepishly at Taehyung. “Hmmm, I guess you’ll just have to bring me to her.”

-

You couldn't stop thinking about Jungkook or the whole situation. He had left so fast, left you with aching thighs. You hadn't told Juliette or anyone anything but you felt insane. 

“Come on girls! Faster” Lynette urged everyone to hurry getting ready.

You fixed your rogue one last time and glanced down on your shoulder. Jungkook had bitten you but it didn't look too bad and he hadn't left any other marks which meant you were safe from Lynette. 

The music turned up and you performed the same fast dance again with the same wide smile. Turn and lift a leg, lift the leg higher. It was a sweaty routine but the adrenaline made everything feel great. 

The crowd roared their approval once again and you slipped away with the rest of the girls, catching your breath. Juliette smiled at you, grabbing your hand with a little laugh. 

“Much better this time!” Lynette had something aching to a smile on her face.”Y/n, Chloe, Gabrielle and Gicelle on the floor.”

Again? You would have killed to get home early but the smack of the little black book closing told you that it wouldn't happen. Juliette gave you the same look as last night and you got ready to go out again. However, anticipation followed with this time. Jungkook had told you he would be back, so you swallowed and held your head high. 

People laughed and buzzed around you but it didn't take long before your wrist was captured by a cold hand. Jungkook’s hair was wilder this time around as he dragged you to a dark corner where the red velvet  curtains fell over a booth, creating an almost private room. 

Another man already sat there, sipping on red wine when the two of you walked in. Jungkook didn't waste a second to close the curtains, leaving candles to light the round table. You swallowed hard when the man made eye contact, smirking widely. 

“Hello darling…my friend has told me a lot about you.” his voice was raspy and deep, dragging like a cat’s tongue up your spine. Jungkook stood ridgid to your right.”Come sit..”

The mystery man patted to his left and you slipped down, goosebumps raising on our skin as the soft material touched you. Jungkook sat down on your other side and you felt like a trapped animal. 

“My name is Taehyung and yours is?” the mystery man asked, taking another sip of his wine.

“Y/n…it’s nice to meet you Mr Taehyung..” you swallowed again, feeling your mouth dry. You should tell them that this service would cost but you couldn't get another word out. They were both really beautiful. 

“Only Taehyung…and Jungkook is fine..” he smiled down at you, fingers capturing your chin so he could move your head to the side. “What are you going to offer us?”

Your mind blanked, eyes finding Jungkook’s intense stare. It didn't feel like he was talking about food, drinks or even sex, but you didn't know what else at the same time. 

“A-anything you can afford Mr- I mean Taehyung…” he pulled your head so you could look him in the eyes, lowly laughing at your answer. 

“Well that is great…Jungkook make our darling ready…”Taehyung let you go with a dismissive voice but you didn't have time to think more about him when Jungkook disappeared down under the table. 

You could feel his hands make their way up your legs until they reached your clothed core. He ripped the fabric off you and started assaulting your pussy with his lips, sucking and licking at everything. You barely managed to keep the scream down, leaning into the cushions behind your back. Taehyung made you lean against him instead, watching you with an amused shine in his honey eyes.  He put an arm around you while he poured more wine in his glass. Jungkook worked you closer and closer under the table, forcing your quivering thighs to stay spread. 

“He´s good with his mouth isn't he?” Taehyung smirked at your hazy eyes, drank some wine before he put his lips on yours, parting them so the red liquid could slip down your throat. You clenched your skirt, swallowing every drop until Taehyung left your lips. You came panting, back arching into Taehyung's side.”Shh shh, let it go darling…”

He whispered in your hair, taking deep breaths of you and your rushing blood. Taehyung drank more wine, looking at you with hooded eyes. 

“You should give Jungkook a reward..he has made you cum, twice..” Taehyung nodded down to where the younger one still hid, kissing your groin and stroking your thigh.” Don't you think he deserves it?”

You nodded breathlessly, watching as Taehyung leaned into you with a sinister smile.

“Tell him then, darling. Tell him he can take a sip.” you didn't understand what he meant by that but you whispered that Jungkook could and the man didn't waste a second to bite down on the inside of your thigh. 

Jungkook drank greedily from your body and you should scream or run but a rush of adrenaline turned the sligh pain to pleasure. You threw your head back crying out into your hand. It felt like you were getting off again and Taehyung’s lips on your collarbones didn't make things easier. 

“Now now…We need to be careful with our darling…” Taehyung pushed Jungkook until he detached from your thigh. “Don't forget to kiss the wound…”

Jungkook came up from under your skirt again, mouth covered in your cum and a small string of blood. His irises shone bright red and his plush lips were pushed down by sharp canines. 

“Is our darling slut ready? Hmm?” Taehyung laughed at the sight of his creation but was a little jealous that he got to taste you first deep down.

“Yes and she tastes divine…”Jungkook could suck you dry right then and there but he was happy Taehyung didn't let him. 

“In which way?” the man to your side laughed lightly as he spoke, kissing the top of your head.”Are you ready for the main event darling?”

You gasped as he pushed the wine off the table, placing you right on it. Both men stood looming over you, Jungkook by your head and Taehyung between your thighs. He ripped your skirt in half, left your lower half cool to the air. Long, slender fingers slid down fabric as Taehyung undressed from his shirt, leaving you to stare at his skin. He dropped his slacks and underwear, cock hard and eager for your wetness. His hand found your hips and you could feel the tip of his cock as he moved it up and down. 

“Do you want me in you, slut?” you quivered, eyes squeezing shut as you nodded.”Say it!”

“Yes! Yes I want you inside me, please~~” Taehyung pushed inside your pussy, taking care to let you adjust but it was hard not moving directly in your heat. He groaned over you and rolled his hips carefully. 

Jungkook was painfully hard over your head, muscles on display since he had lost his shirts somewhere along the line. You could see his cock strain against the fabric of his pants.

“Uh Uh…focus on me, slut..” Taehyung left your pussy, just to push completely inside you again.”He has had his fun, it's my turn now.”

He angled his hips in a way which hit a spot which sent stars to your gaze. You moaned loudly, hands coming to grasp his soft hair. Taehyung leaned over you, moved so deep and fast you felt like it was hard to breathe. He kissed between the junction of your neck and shoulder, small small kisses until he bit and pierced your skin. Blood moved from your to him as he fucked you hard on the table. He drank and drank, groaning against your skin. 

Jungkook moaned over your head. He couldn't touch you yet but he couldn't stop himself from stroking his cock at the sight of Taehyung fucking you hard, of him drinking your delicate blood. 

“Fuck…” Taehyung left your neck and smiled at his creations' breathy whisper.”She looks so good”

Taehyung licked his red stained lips, his irises also red now. 

“You were right…” he straightened from your body, groaning as he pushed into you. “She is delicious…our little slut..”

Jungkook gave the older one a hopeful eye and Taehyung felt like being nice today, besides being so hard must hurt. He pushed you closer to the other edge of the table, keeping a steady hold and pace. You could feel him in the deepest parts of yourself. 

“Go ahead Jungkook, use her little mouth..” your eyes widened as Jungkook pushed slowly past your lips, shuddering as you desperately tried to swallow around him.

“So good…” Jungkook petted your cheek with affection in his red eyes. “Such a good girl.”

He pushed until you couldn't take more, gurgling around his cock. Taehyung had been still until he thought you were okay, then he moved with an eagerness that hadn't been there before. He lifted one of your legs so it could rest on his shoulder and it pushed you deeper on Jungkook’s cock. The boy threw his head back but all you saw was hard abs. Teras and spit ran all over your face, your body in their complete control. You felt a sharp pain shoot from just above your knee when Taehyung bit you again, sucking the warm blood from your veins. Jungkook leaned over the table, completely filling your throat and mouth, and kissed Taehyung to get a taste of your blood. His fingers threaded through Taehyung’s hair as he moved in and out of your pussy. 

“Greedy brat…” Taehyung laughed but ended the sound with a groan as you clamped down on him, struggling to breathe slightly.”You need to let our slut breathe Jungkook…”

He left your mouth with a wet pop, cock dripping in your spit as you caught slightly while air rushed down to your lungs. Taehyung kept moving in and out of you, hand pressing down on your lower stomach. You whined out, eyes managing to catch Jungkook’s before he moved back into your mouth. You were pushed between the two of them, listening to the wet sounds echo in your ears. 

Jungkook removed your thread shirt and flicked at your nipples, groaning when you swallowed around his cock. Taehyung loved the sight of your flushed flesh and stuffed pussy, your heat made him almost burst right then and there. Jungkook played some more with your breasts before he leaned down and bit the side of your stomach. They boy couldn't get enough of your blood and he cummed down your throat with one last hard suck from you. The mixture of cumming and tasting your blood made him lightheaded. He tasted saltier than other men but it wasn't unpleasant, not when Taehyung pushed at your spot. 

He grabbed your waist and sat down on the cushioned seat. A dazzling smile filled your vision as he met your falling body. 

“Such a good slut…You did great…” he stroked over your hair, stroked the inside of your pussy. 

You panted over him, head falling back as he sunk his teeth into the top of your left breast. One hand held you up right while the other trailed down to your clit. Taehyung knew he was close so he wanted you to cum for him. It didn't take long for him to get you there, back arching into his mouth while your pussy clenched on him, milking him for all his worth. You almost screamed as you came a second time that night, collapsing into his hard body. 

Taehyung laughed a little breathy over your shoulder, maneuvering the two of you until he could slip out of you. He kissed every place someone had bit you so the wounds would close up. He was very gentle, so gentle that you had a hard time keeping your eyes open or maybe it was the blood loss. 

“It’s okay darling, rest…” he whispered into your ear, getting Jungkook to drape his coat over your cooling body. 

Most of your clothes had been destroyed so the two of them would have to go shopping for you and you would need food, preferably something high on iron. Taehyung smiled down at your sleeping form, cleaning your face a little from smeared makeup and saliva.

“Come on Jungkook, we need to get her back…”

-

You sat up fast, eyes scanning a light blue walled big room. You were aching and only covered by a white silk cover. The sun shone into the room through thin curtains, moving slightly with a soft breeze from the opened window. Memories of last night, or at least you thought it was from last night, flickered in your mind. The crushing feeling of cumming and sharp teeth. You looked at your thigh and could see two faint marks on it but if you didn't know to look there, they would be almost undetectable. 

The door was suddenly pushed opened and in came the two men in your memories. Jungkook smiled wide and Taehyung came to kiss the top of your head. 

“Morning darling, slept well?” he let go of his bags, fabrics poking out of them. 

Jungkook dropped his outerwear and vest, crawling up the bed until he could pull you close to him, face resting in the crook of your neck. Taehyung did the same and took your other side, stroking his fingers over your covered stomach. Red eyes flashed in your mind and you realised Juliette had been right.

[phyrestartr]

Our Quiet Beginning | Miguel O'hara x Reader

# SFW, fluff, genderless reader, one-shot drabble, getting together, confessions, anti-climatic start to a relationship lol

Notes: Had this in my drafts and kinda wanted to just post it as-is! This is kind of a precursor/prologue to a different fic I'm poking at, so mayhaps there will be more in the future

--Our Quiet Beginning--

You remembered that first kiss. Every detail of that quiet moment etched into your very being, every touch left stained your heart with loving thoughts.

You were minding your business in your apartment, a shitty thing in the dark corner of the Bronx, puttering around and finally doing the housework you'd put off for too long. He'd come in through your window like he always did, and threw himself on the couch with a sigh.

"Tough day?" You asked with a yawn. You glanced at him over your built shoulder. He looked tired, maybe a bit pent up.

"Somethin' like that." He gazed over at you. "You didn't come to HQ today." Was that a pout on his face?

"Yeah." You walked towards him, arms folding over your chest. "Just one of those days, I guess." There was a reason you could try to give him, but you didn't want to destroy everything you had; Miguel O'hara was the last person standing from your history. He was the last tether you had to Nueva York, to this entire world.

"Yeah?" He asked anyway, voice hoarse and quiet.

"Yeah." You sat down beside him. He lolled his head against the back cushions of the couch to catch your gaze with his.

"I guess I've been lonely," you admitted.

He scoffed. "And hiding away in your apartment is a good way to remedy that?" Always so playful in his patronization. It brought familiar warmth to your chest, emboldening you.

"It's a good way to think, I guess." You stretched your legs across his lap. He hardly reacted.

"To think about what?"

"Everything."

"Oh, that's helpful."

"Yeah, I know." You graced him with the flicker of a smile before smothering the expression whole. You almost swore his body tensed for a fraction of a second.

"You...wanna enlighten me?" He prodded. His voice was lower, mingling with the jazzy bass of the music floating through your apartment. "I'm listening."

"Would you ever want to be with me?" You braved. It wasn't so scary to ask after all, save for the way your heart beat in your palms and in the back of your skull. "Or. Have you ever thought about trying?"

Miguel straightened up. His mouth hung open dumbly, his fangs peeking out from behind full lips. His claws, too, had burst from his fingers, getting him stuck in the fabric of the couch cushions. You almost felt bad, like you'd spooked a cat.

"I thought--you said--" he stammered and stumbled, trying to make words happen.

"It's yes or no, Miggs." You raised your brows, patiently impatient.

Miguel took a second to breathe. He hadn't been in the dating game for a long time. In fact, he'd stuck himself deep into the pining game, and refused to let himself go after you; everything he touched turned to ruin, and you had already glued yourself back together too many times. He couldn't stomach being your next cataclysm. He didn't want to think about losing you.

But how could he lie to you?

"Yeah," he mumbled, looking away. He busied himself with trying to relax and unhook his talons from your cushions.

You hummed softly. "Yeah."

Soft reds dusted his face and ears as he muttered under his breath, probably overwhelmed with being stuck and being needled. You figured you could make it worse.

Slowly, you leaned forward, resting your hand on his strong shoulder. You pressed into his space more, stopping when his surprised, wide gaze met yours. That dumb look came back, all of his charisma and poise gone with his words as your nose brushed his. You were so sure he could hear your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted him to.

"Yeah?" You murmured, seeking permission.

Miguel's expression relaxed, soothing into something sweet and soft when he glanced at your lips and back to your eyes.

"Yeah," he whispered back before closing the gap himself.

[sunnyskies0602]

Curse of the Sanctus Medicus

Brief Summary: Guiying, a member of the Alchemy Commission, goes missing, and the Luofu is thrown into chaos. A/N: This is copy/pasted from a google doc I use to write these sorts of stories, and this is just testing the waters. If it is well received, I'll open up req's, and start posting more. If not, it'll go back to being private. o/ thanks for reading!! If there are any questions, I'll do my best to answer them! Don't be afraid to send an ask my way, I'm happy to answer!

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

The day in the Luofu was rather uneventful thus far, as far as Jing Yuan was concerned. He was training Yanqing, and that took all his time and energy for the day. There was a reason he was called the “dozing general”, after all. He enjoyed his time to himself, to rest and relax. The only person even close to permissible to interrupt this was Guiying, one of the best the Alchemy Commission had. Hell, he’d pay her to interrupt every moment of his life. But alas, with their paths chosen, that wasn’t quite possible. 

Yanqing looked rather ragged, out of breath from the rigorous training Jing Yuan put him through. With a quiet chuckle, he speaks up and sets his spear down beside himself. “I think that’s a wrap for today. You did well, Yanqing, now go get some rest.” He says, dismissing his pupil. Yanqing opens his mouth to object, before nodding, realizing he’s far too tired to continue. With a rather curt and polite bow, he takes his leave, and Jing Yuan has time to contemplate by himself. With a rather relaxed position, he takes a seat, ready to doze off for the time being. 

However, before he can drift off, he hears the clamoring of nearby Cloud Knights, clearly looking for someone. Curiously, he gets up, thinking they must be looking for a fugitive. They’d had a lot of trouble recently, with the Astral Express’s rather… Unusual form of docking. With a hefty sigh, he approaches one of the Knights, who only looks at him with what he can describe as “terror”. He stops, concern etched on his face. What could they possibly be so scared of? Was someone impersonating him, instilling fear in his ranks? 

“G-General!” The Knight exclaims, laughing rather awkwardly. Jing Yuan does a bit of a double take at their forced laughter, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wh– H-How funny to see you here!”

Jing Yuan can only raise an eyebrow in response, clearly getting nothing more unless he speaks. “You know this is where I train with Yanqing.” He states bluntly, earning a rather panicked look from his subordinate. “There is something you’re not telling me. What are you doing around here, and what are you looking for?” He asks, growing impatient. The Knight, clearly lost for words and still terrified of the man before them, exhales shakily through their helmet. 

“I-It’s about Miss Guiying.” They muster out, quietly. “She’s been missing for a few hours now. The Alchemy Commission last saw her leaving to get herself lunch in Aurum Alley.” They explain, anxiously watching Jing Yuan’s expression. Of course, he’s as stoic as ever. Internally? That was the very last thing he could have ever anticipated, and was a worst case scenario. Guiying, gone missing? She wouldn’t run away, she was far too level headed for that. Everyone who knew her knew that fact. So, where did she go? 

“Last seen at Aurum Alley… So you’re checking here? About as far away as you can get from Aurum Alley?” He asks. “Surely you don’t think I’d be hiding her here.” He crosses his arms, staring at the Knight. They just nod in response, composing themself for a few moments.

“We checked all of Aurum Alley. The Shopkeep there said they hadn’t seen her, someone supposedly took over the shop she normally goes to while Shopkeep was out grabbing a book. Aside from that, nobody’s… Nobody’s seen a trace of her. We thought that maybe she’d run off to see you. B-but that’s clearly not the case.” What a peculiar statement. For her to sneak off and visit him? She’s far too responsible for that. Sure, all of her time off is spent with either him or Yukong, but for her to shirk her responsibilities for him? He wouldn’t believe it. 

“I’ll join you in the search. Any help is better than none, no?” He wouldn’t take no for an answer, this time. He walks past the Knight, who helplessly calls after him. Jing Yuan pulls out his phone on his way out, sending Yukong a brief message. He receives no reply, which he expected at this time. He considers asking the Nameless aboard his planet, but decides against it. This is a problem for his planet. Besides, he didn’t think any of them had even met the woman. How do you find a woman you know nothing about?

Upon arriving back at the Seat of Divine Foresight, he’s greeted by Yukong, who’s instructing some of their subordinates to locations for searching. Yukong seems very distressed, concerning Jing Yuan. This must be dire, considering the level of concern from everyone involved. “Good to see you, General.” Yukong greets once she’s finished with her instructions. “I’m sure you’ve been brought to speed on the situation at hand?” He nods in response, his brow furrowed. How could they lose her so quickly? Did nobody see a kidnapping in broad daylight? Yukong seemed to share his worries, as she spoke up. “I was thinking of sending some of the Astral Express crew to search for her. I feel a fresh pair of eyes could do this situation some good, but I wanted to ask your opinion first. I know you are loathe to entrust an important task like this to outsiders, but–”

“But what? Are you implying we cannot handle our own affairs, Madam Yukong?” Jing Yuan sighs. “I understand your logic, but to ask outsiders for their help with this goes against what we stand for.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. So, I went ahead and already sent their newest trailblazers. I believe you met Stelle and Caelus. They’re going to infiltrate the Sanctus Medicus, who we believe might be behind this. They’ve been looking to kidnap one of our medics for a long while, and this was their first open window in a very long time.” 

“You what?! Behind my back, of all places, you–” Jing Yuan sighs frustratedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Madam Yukong, you must surely realize there are repercussions to this?” “Of course I’m aware, General. That’s why I did it. If it truly is the Sanctus, the only people who can reliably get her back are the Nameless. I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

“For damn good reasons! Outsiders, we are taking their help in such a monumentous task! Surely you can see why it’s a terrible idea?!” He was growing more frustrated by the second. Aeons, this was the deepest mess they’ve found themselves getting into in what felt like centuries. 

“On the contrary, General. I believe in their capabilities. They’ve shown no reason for us to doubt their capabilities. To think with the mind of an outsider is to see strategies we could never think of. You may be angry with me after Guiying is returned to us safely.” Jing Yuan has no response for her. She walks past him, leaving the building and leaving him with a silent rage in his chest. He could do nothing but think of the woman’s smile, leaving him to realize just how much he cared for the missing Foxian. She was so precious to him, and there was the possibility that she was dead. 

No, he couldn’t think on that. He said he’d join the search, and so he was going to keep his word. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and exits the building, throwing himself into the search. Even Fu Xuan, normally not bothered with menial tasks, was using her divination powers to seek the missing woman. He didn’t realize just how powerful the bonds she’d made were, until she was gone. 

The day crawled forward, and night began its creep in the sky. With the moon hanging overhead, they could no longer afford to keep looking. Everyone needed rest, and that included their infallible General. He was loath to give up for the day, but realized she needed him at full strength, and decided to check in for the night. The cycle repeated; Day crawled, night fell. It had been days since she’d gone missing, but Jing Yuan wasn’t giving up. Neither were the Nameless twins hard at work. 

Jing Yuan was at a loss. It felt hopeless. He sank into his seat, about ready to throw in the towel, before the door to the Seat opened with tremendous force. There she stood, the woman who went ahead of Caelus in the Sanctus. Stelle, with her shirt coated in blood. He stands up, about to open his mouth before she beats him to the punch. “I found her.” Is all her shaking voice says, her lip quavering. She was on the verge of tears. No, nono, she couldn’t be– 

“She’s alive, but she’s not in good shape. B-before she passed out, she was calling your name.” He freezes. For her to be in her most vulnerable state, calling for him… He had to see her, no matter how she looked. But, was that good enough? He couldn’t find her himself. Aeons, he wasn’t even the one who found her! How could he show his face, knowing that he was too pathetic to find her himself? “General?” Stelle calls quietly, staring at him with concern. He walks forward, patting her head gently with a smile.

“Thank you.” He says quietly. “I assume she’s with Lady Bailu in the Alchemy Commission?” He asks her, receiving a nod. He nods back to her, giving her hair a gentle ruffle before heading out to go see her. It was so quiet on his way out, and it felt strange. Like everyone was mourning someone who wasn’t even dead. With a heavy heart, he opens the door to the Alchemy Commission, feeling sick as he lays eyes on Guiying. She was unconscious, and looked to be in tremendous pain despite it. The Dragon Lady was tending to the large wound on her chest, what looked like a giant hole exposing her heart. Bailu was pouring the water from her gourd onto Guiying’s chest, which was sealing at rates he wouldn’t normally believe possible. But, it was Guiying, who came back from everything. No matter what, she would always come back, and so would those closest to her. 

As he stepped closer, he felt his illness leave his body, alongside all of his exhaustion. All the plants in the room were flourishing, overflowing with life force. Even Lady Bailu was looking ever healthy, her gourd pouring with even more life force. He’s stopped before he can make it to her side, and he doesn’t push his luck. The hole in her chest was sealing itself, oozing with liquids he couldn’t identify, but assumed were not good for her. 

“They poisoned her.” Bailu states, pointing at some of the liquid seeping from her. “There’s a lot that I can’t identify, but they’re not good. They’re meant to slow her healing…” She sighs. “They were trying to kill her, it looks like. Stelle said they were taking her heart, but failed ‘cause she got there and beat ‘em up. She couldn’t take any of them back alive, but I think she just killed them out of rage. It was really traumatic for her.” Bailu sits back, huffing as she realizes she’s done all she can for Guiying. 

“She’ll come back, though.” He didn’t sound so sure of himself, not knowing if she’d wake up after all of that. Bailu just nods in response, being more confident in her treatment of the ill and wounded. She finally lets Jing Yuan get closer, and he just takes her hand in both of his. They were so small compared to his, and so… Cold. He was distressed, of course, but just held onto it, knowing she’d be back to him sometime soon. It took everything in him to not hunt down whoever hurt her like this, to set the fear of Lan the Hunt in their very being… But she needed him more. Her final words were calling for him, a plea for him to be there. So, he’d wait there, as long as it took until she woke up. 

Bailu gets up and leaves her to tend to other sick and wounded patients, leaving Jing Yuan alone with Guiying. He tears up a bit, bowing his head in shame as he realizes he can do nothing for the one he cares so much for. She’s beautiful in sleep, so peaceful, but he was selfish, damn it. He wanted to see her smile at him, he wanted to hear her laugh again. His jokes were so stupid, and he hated them, but they made her so happy. That alone made everything so worth it. Everything about her made his job worth it. Aeons above, he loved her. He loved her so much. “Please come back to us, Guiying.” He whispers to her, holding her hand tenderly in both of his. It was warming up thanks to his body warmth, but the rest of her body was like ice. 

After what felt like eons, night fell. Bailu came back in to tell the General to leave, so that they can both rest, but instead found him with his head in her patient’s lap, tears staining his face as he slept. She didn’t have the heart to separate them, and instead gave them some privacy, pouring some fresh water onto her wound and leaving them to it. 

When morning came, Jing Yuan heard soft humming and felt a hand brushing his hair. He slowly came to, and heard that soft chuckle that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He sits up, meeting the eyes of the woman he’d been so worried for hours before this. Her hand falls to her lap, and she holds them together. “Fancy catching you here.” She teases him, looking much better than she had the previous night. The hole in her chest was practically patched up, completely scarred over. 

“Guiying…” He starts, feeling his words catch in his throat and practically choke him. He had so many things to say, the most pressing being a stuck ‘I love you’. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her so suddenly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He finally says, going to pull her into an embrace. She wraps her arms around him tightly, taking a deep breath. 

“Me, too.” She doesn’t delve into what she went through, instead opting to comfort him as she could tell he was distressed. “It’s all thanks to the Trailblazer. She was very courageous, and fought on my behalf.” She says, running her fingers through his hair. “I’m here, General.” She says softly, closing her eyes as he buries his face into her shoulder. 

“Don’t call me General… Jing Yuan is fine.” He says quietly, keeping his arms tightly around her. She smiles a bit, brushing her fingers through his hair and nodding. She debates flirting with him, but figures there’s a better time and place than here and now. He takes a deep breath to compose himself, before pulling away. 

“It feels wrong to call you Jing Yuan after calling you General for so long.” She retorts, chuckling and shaking her head. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call you whatever you’d like.” 

Before he can speak, Bailu enters the room, and ushers Jing Yuan out. “Okay, General, I let you sleep here, now you have to go. She has to finish her recovery, and you’re distracting us.” She begins pushing him, and he relents. “Go get some real sleep in your own bed, and stop using my patients!!” She pouts, and he just leaves. 

“I’ll be back, Guiying.” He promises.

“I know you will, Jing Yuan.” His heart flutters at the softness of her voice, and the gentleness of her tone. She waves to him as he leaves, and he feels his exhaustion hit him like a truck. His back hurts from the position he slept in, and he was still so tired.

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

what in your to write box/diffrently sane oc box ?

Let's take a look...

So, I did have an idea for another Transformers fic, a more traditional isakei taking place in the Golden Age of Cybertron. Essentially, the MC is forged as a High Caste seeker, but since they originate as a human, their spark has trouble fully sticking to their new frame due to integration issues. Because of this, they are deemed defective and thrown out to die via natural causes/neglect, since directly killing a newspark goes against protocol regardless of their issues. Where do they end up? Kaon. Proceed to grow into a scrappy little street rat, runs a small child mafia, and is pseudo-adopted by the local adults. Grows up, the war happens, fake their death, turns up on Earth as a neutral pointing out issues to both side's politics, all while possessing some very important information about a potential colony and discovering, *le gasp* they were actually originally part of a trine! Just picture a very fancy-looking individual having the roughest accent and a sailor's tongue, I love it. The spark issues are chronic, but the attitude is iconic.

“Ey ya, Shrieker, whats got your pipes in a twist?  “You're a seeker!” "Ya got a point?" "Oh, I get it, you're a Helix forged ruffian." "Kaon scrap actually, spark plug, and don’t you ever forget it. Now, is there a reason besides, them wings you think I’d ever agree with whatever the frag is coming from your intake?" "You insolent little-" "Hehehe, you're cute when you're mad." "Cute?!?!?" "Cute as an insecticon’s slag."

I have an "Earth is a Planet of Sparklings" angsty and fluff version... I think I would do fluff? I actually have that mostly written already... mmmm should probably post that soon

Maybe write my own version of Megatron actually has no control over the Terracons, at best the DE contamination just marked him as "one of us" but he succeeded in bringing Cybertron's dead to Earth, and now must deal with the consequences. But that's mostly an abstract concept in my head at the moment.

A Papa!Unicron long fic, is also just an abstract concept at the moment. But June Darby is The Chosen One.

I had an idea that Optimus wasn't the 13th Prime, but that actually went to a forgotten precursor that Shockwave accidentally ended up cloning/summoning. In the primes we have the precursors of minicons, beast-formers, etc.. why not have a sparkeater thrown in the mix?

The primes had been created for one purpose, to war against the Unmaker, the desecrator, the destructor. Their later role as guides, creators, and embodiments of Primus’ will, came later. A substitutionary purpose in peacetime, one that failed to curb their battle-born sparks. Of course, the truth doesn’t sound as noble as the stories, not even to the Primes themselves. So when the tales were spun, when the sculptures were made and tombs engraved, bits of fact were replaced with fiction. The Thirtieth was made for war, it was etched in every circuit of her being. Neomenia Prime was the youngest simply because an end first required a beginning.

Falling back into Of Timelines & Trolleys for a moment, I had an idea of doing a short prequel focusing on the voices. Featuring Marc, a Gaul from the Roman Empire, and one Elijah Moore.

The Voices speak. They speak again and again, they weep, and scream, and sing, and they speak again and again. They do not know if they are heard. They can not stop to ask, they cannot think to question. They only know, and what they know they speak. But a voice was first a breath. A breath that plucked its way through a throat, that had turned through lungs, that had seeped through teeth. A voice was once a breath, and breaths come from the living. From people. And the Voices were no different. Their breath-holders are gone, and their words are the last, but they once belonged to living tongues and awake minds. The Voices are an echo. A gift. A warning. Would you care to see the bodies that first held that breath? Would you like to meet those faces that cannot speak? It has been so long since someone has bothered to listen. No one bothers to hear. But perhaps you can see.

And then there was an idea with an OC that could probably fit into my I See You fic. Observer is basically an entity that represents the viewers, and the characters are slowly gaining an awareness of them;

"Oh, didn’t you realize? I watch this world, I roam, I seek, but I do not join. Because my dear ones, I am above you. You are my entertainment, so please, fight, scream, cry, because I’ll never be satisfied"

I still want to finish that platonic yandere dragon DFO mha fic... it's a bucket list at this point.

[1moreff-creator]

Firstly, good luck on the LGI video !! I think anyone who even tries to analyze tha embodiment of a stroke (/pos) that is that video deserves a medal, a hug, and a therapy session Secondly, considering you are a Veronika stan I was wondering if you had any theories in regards to her backstory, as I really feel like besides Hu and maybe David, she is the character who we know the least about in terms of her past. And I've been thinking about that a lot, especially since I think she will play a massive role in the conflicts of Chapter 3 (similar to the role Ace has played in Chapter 2) And considering what her secret is theorized to be by basically the entire community, her comment about how she used to be an outdoors person (implying something happened that made it so she wasn't one anymore), her lolita fashion sense implying that her family is at least somewhat wealthy because god those dresses are expensive, and whoever the fuck Alyssa Belyaeva is. I feel like she has some juicy stuff that's just waiting to be speculated by more people

Thanks for the well wishes! I probably will need therapy after that video, geez.

Anyways, no more David here, let’s talk Veronika! You are right in calling me a stan, even thinking about her is enough to get me to smile like a dummy. And you’re right, there is so much to speculate on with this freak! I agree she’ll probably have a bigger role soon, and there is clearly something that went deeply wrong in her childhood. Otherwise, how would she get this awesome? I love her.

I can't get anything conclusive for obvious reasons, but I have come up with what I think is an interesting theory about her backstory.

CW: Self-harm, speculation on child neglect and psychiatric wards

First, let me compile everything you brought up and a few more things.

+Veronika used to be an outdoors person, but isn’t anymore. She even likes skateboarding! Presumably because her talent requires her to be indoors a lot, but there’s a good chance there’s something more traumatic at play.

+She despises boredom over all else, and at times, not even horror is enough to satiate her thirst for thrills. “That's why I liked horror for such a long time. […] But in the end, fiction is only fiction”. Tsumugi kinnie spotted!

+Whenever she finds something exciting, she can’t help but get addicted. That’s an odd way for her to phrase that, but sure.

+She has a deep interest in psychology and horror, as we all know.

+Like you said, it’s possible her parents are quite wealthy, as she enjoys expensive lolita fashion, as well as “weird” and “exotic” foods, apparently.

+Her favorite color is white in the presence of other colors, as it makes them stand out, and her least favorite is white without other colors, since she considers it soulless. What a weirdo /affectionate.

+The hidden quote on her page is “Once something is broken, it can never be pieced together in quite the same way again. The same goes for people.” Spooky!

(I’m not bringing up Mai on this post, no shot I’m getting into that mess again)

+Her secret is most often speculated to be “You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun”. Now, watch that be Levi’s and she’s actually the murderer without remorse, I think that’d be funny. But yeah, the self-harm secret is most likely hers.

+Alyssa Belyaeva is/was her dearest friend, the person who gifted her the green triangle earring she wears.

This “dearest friend” is so odd. Like, on one hand, the fact the dev originally neglected to name her because they didn’t want to put too much emphasis on mostly unimportant characters (I wish I could find the actual wording they used, but I can’t see all the answers of the Q&A for some reason) would suggest she’s not too relevant. But on the other hand, her impact is literally etched into Veronika’s design via the earring, and…

Well, listen. She was Veronika’s friend. Not only did Veronika like her, which already implies something’s wrong with her, Alyssa actually liked Veronika back. Oh, there is something wrong wrong with this girl.

So, yeah, don’t know if she’s going to be relevant. I tried looking up the green triangle, see if it meant anything, but I didn’t see anything that looked related. I also looked up Alyssa’s name to see if it meant anything. “Alyssa” means “noble” or “truth”, which I don’t get anything from, and “Belyaeva” is just derived from “white (blond) hair”. Wikipedia, make up your mind, is it white or blond?

Although that does give me a headcanon idea, that Alyssa has white hair but dresses very colorfully, and that’s why Veronika’s favorite color is white in the presence of others.

Yo, watch me get attached to a character we have even less information on than goddamn Elliot Cuevas and Felicity Giles.

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

Anyways, the problem with Veronika is clear. There’s a lot there, but we’re also missing a fuckton, which makes it really hard to theorize about her. It feels like we’re missing some kind of through-line which actually connects all the loose concepts surrounding this girl. The most sensible answer here is that it’s impossible to gather anything conclusive about her backstory within the bounds of sanity.

…

But you didn’t ask me to speculate so I would remain within the bounds of sanity, did you? You wanna see the craziness come in, yeah? Well, let’s go crazy.

The Inevitable Descent Into Insanity

Veronika likes skateboarding.

It’s something I mentioned off-handedly before, but let’s think about it for a second. While there is such a thing as an indoor skatepark, when most of us think of skateboarding, I imagine most of us jump to the idea of skateboarding outside. I feel, if Veronika truly only liked indoor skateboarding, that would be made more explicit, you know? Like how Levi’s profile states he likes “suckers (candy)”.

And if that’s the case, we can gather three things.

>Veronika isn’t bored of the outside.

>Veronika isn’t scared of the outside.

>More people need to draw Veronika skateboarding /lh

This is a bit of stretch, and I don’t have any more evidence she doesn’t have trauma from being outdoors, but that’s not all for boredom. She clearly enjoyed playing in the playground, which was indoors, but was still ultimately a playground. That makes her being bored of the outside even more unlikely.

But if she didn’t get bored of the outside, why did she pick up a talent that is explicitly only possible indoors? Well, I want to take a closer look at how that secret is worded.

“You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun”

What’s interesting here is that she only took on her talent to stop herself from harming herself. This could imply that, while she obviously enjoys horror a lot, she doesn’t enjoy it as much as what she was doing before. After all, if she did, she would have also picked it up simply because it was more fun, and the secret’s wording would be odd.

And there’s more. What I imagine most of us think when we read this is “Veronika got so bored of everything else, she started hurting herself to stave off her boredom”. But, at the risk of sounding morbid, how was she hurting herself? Because I feel most of us jump to the idea of cutting (that’s why everyone mentions her wrists being covered when talking about her secret), but that’s not the only way people self harm. And, sorry if this sounds insensitive, but cutting doesn’t really seem “fun” to me. Like, obviously all self-harm is bad for you, but that in particular doesn’t seem too entertaining.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I want to bring attention to something she tells Teruko in CH 2 EP 7:

Veronika: “The idea that I could screw up my life at any time, that I could make a fatal mistake that I can’t undo… That’s real fear. So it excites me.”

Veronika was seemingly talking about the killing game here, but what if she’s not? She seems to be talking as if she has more experience with this sort of thing than just the killing game. And in particular, the use of the word “excites me” is interesting when paired with the line I called out earlier: “Whenever I find something that’s exciting, I can’t help but get addicted”.

So, if she found a way to constantly put herself in dangerous situations where one mistake would cost her her life, she would get addicted to it. Is this fair to say?

And this is where I bring you back, and draw a link between her love for the outdoors, her secret, her talent, and this idea. I’ve connected the dots-

(I didn’t connect shit)

I’ve connected them. Here goes:

Whenever Veronika played outside, she would feel the need to injure herself and put herself in unnecessarily dangerous situations, so she could feel the fear of making a fatal mistake she can’t undo. She only took on being a Horror Fanatic to distract from this need, as indoors, there aren’t as many exciting ways for her to injure herself.

That insane enough? I feel it sorta makes sense. If you think about it, this would mean at some point, Veronika would have to decide between throwing herself at horror or continuing her path to becoming the Ultimate Skateboarder, and the only reason she chose horror was… well, she would need to really go out of her way to injure herself while watching a horror movie.

Meanwhile, whenever she was outside, it would be easier to harm herself. Stand on a swing (like we see her do in the series), fall from a height, ram into something on a skateboard. Most of the injuries wouldn’t be too severe, but they would add up, and depending on what she was doing, I imagine some of them could be a bit worse. And whenever that happened, she would feel more excited than before, get more addicted, and constantly look for ways to injure herself more, and worse, and worse. Perhaps even injuring herself before going out, so she could be in the maximum amount of pain possible.

But there may have been other reasons she was doing this. This is where the “wealthy parents” may come in. Stereotypically speaking, wealthy parents are often depicted as neglectful, more preoccupied with work than with their children. Think- Oh, well, think Mariabella, actually. That’s obviously not always the case, but it does happen.

And if this is the case, it’s possible she was also, subconsciously, harming herself as a call for help. As a way to get the attention she needed. There would have been better ways to go about it, but self-harming is sort of inherently irrational.

In fact, maybe I am really going completely insane, but I think there’s an exchange where something like this can be inferred? In CH 2 EP 2, when Veronika falls off the swing.

Veronika: “Ehehe! I’m fine! Don’t worry!”

Teruko: “I’m not worried about you. If your body was fragile enough to break from a light fall like that, then you wouldn’t have done something so stupid”

Veronika: “It’s fun to stand on swings, okay? It makes me feel tall. I didn’t know that these ones would be quite so slippery”

Veronika: “But really, I’m not hurt at all. The ground is very soft”

Now, let’s be clear. I am probably reading way too much into this, and this was probably just a quick way to transition to the point of the ground being soft. But it always struck me as odd that Veronika feels the need to tell Teruko she wasn’t hurt twice, even after Teruko had taken her at her word before.

So, hear me out, maybe that was force of habit. Like, she always (intentionally) injured herself while playing around, then Alyssa or someone else would be concerned about her, and fuss over her. Then, Veronika would have to repeatedly state she was fine, because the whole point was that she wanted to keep playing after hurting herself. And Alyssa would be concerned, but eventually brush it off with a laugh. Or, knowing the type of friends Veronika gets, maybe Alyssa would also have the habit of hurting herself alongside Veronika-

I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for. I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for. I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for-

Anyways, again, I’m probably reading too much into that line, it’s very likely Veronika just said she was okay again to get to the point about the floor being soft.

Anyways, that’s sort of the main idea of my speculation! That she harmed herself by playing outside to make it more exciting. All we’re missing is what made her decide to stop hurting herself, and an explanation for the quote on her page, the one about people breaking. I assume they’re likely related, but I can’t give a solid answer. So here’s a few possibilities:

>When her parents found out, they said she was “broken” and sent her to a (likely under 18) psychiatric ward. This could explain why she considers the color white on its own “soulless”. I mean, I doubt under 18 psychiatric wards look that depressing, and I couldn’t find conclusive images in Google, but I did see some white, so maybe! The reason I’m not too sure is that I really don’t know much about under 18 psychiatric wards, and while I did try to do some research, I don’t exactly feel like being in more lists than I’m already probably on, you feel?

>A bit more worrying, perhaps her parents were the ones who tried to “””fix””” her, and they did something bad to her. I can’t comment much more on this idea, as any further ideas tend more towards fanfic than actual speculation.

>Maybe the one who “””broke””” was actually Alyssa, and either she was sent to a psych ward or something happened to her that made her “soulless”. I don’t like tying Alyssa too closely to Veronika’s backstory, because of the whole “she might not be important” thing, but it’s there. However, it’s important to note, if something did happen to Alyssa, Veronika likely wouldn’t be at fault, otherwise it would likely be mentioned in her secret.

>There's also a possibility Veronika stopped self harming on her own or, more likely, with proper therapy (so proud of her if that's the case!), and the "broken" thing refers to something she'll do in the killing game. I don't know if what I'm about to say really makes sense, but while I've always imagined Veronika saying her line with her "shadow over eyes" sprite, I guess it's possible she would actually say it with one of her "Junko-ish" or "deranged smile" sprites. I'm imagining something like: she drives Arturo absolutely insane, laughs about how horrible he's gotten, and with a malicious, wide smirk, she tells everyone: "Arturo is broken, and nothing will put him back together again. How entertaining!" Something like that. I really just want her to do something extremely fucked up, I think she deserves to have some fun :D

And there's my whole theory about Veronika's backstory! Even though it's probably completely wrong, I hope it satisfied your craving for speculation on the resident freak. And thanks for reading! If you made it this far, you deserve a good friend that loves you just like you are, like Alyssa! Take care!

[scara-meow-che]

then they were roommates ┃ sweet deception with thoma

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader with no set of pronouns, roommate! thoma, use of sedatives, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it!), pervert! thoma, noncon, he takes pics of you, male masturbation, pervert and a bit ooc thoma ♥︎

AN. another reposted work. i promise that i'd be posting new ones soon <3 just a little more from my part on actually editing the drafts that i have here but anyway, enjoy our ooc pervert, roomie thoma!

thoma is the sweetest roommate you’d ever ask for!

besides the fact that he constantly reminds you of the tasks you have absentmindedly forgotten or prepares breakfast in the morning, he also helps you with your projects whenever he has some time to spare.

you also want to take note of the tea he always makes!

“hey thoma! you haven’t told me what brand this tea is.”

the weekend had just arrived and you were left sprawled in the comforts of your blankets while watching another rom-com with thoma. he was laid adjacent to your side, the two loveseats occupied by your tired bodies.

“silly, how many times do i need to tell you that i handmade this! you can help me pick up the ingredients tomorrow morning if you want,” thoma offers with a smile. he can see how you immediately perked up in interest, nodding your head in agreement. “well, just make sure that you sleep early now since i often leave around 5.”

and he hears you grunt afterward.

“come on now, you wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, yeah?” he encourages you, standing up from his seat. he eyes you, taking a huge sip of your tea before dropping down the cup on the nearby table. he shudders, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips before he reaches out both his hands to help you stand up.

as you do, you can feel your body slipping into a relaxed state, almost stumbling and falling back into the seat. but thoma was fast and had an arm wrapped around your body, gently cradling you in his warmth.

“easy now,” he mumbles. it felt quite nice to be wrapped in his embrace as the nature of his being caring seeps through while he guides you to your room. “getting sleepy now, aren’t you?”

you hummed, feeling the softness of your blanket caressing your skin as thoma gently lays you down on your bed. as each second passes by, you find your eyes can barely keep themselves open. and before you were consumed by sleep, you can hear the faint whisper from your roommate, a sweet smile etched on his face.

“sweet dreams f/n.”

it was truly sweet, thoma had always been like this every day and you barely notice the patterns. he is someone so kind, dependable, selfless, and caring so you trust him. there’s never a reason to doubt him, not when he had you gullible just as he wanted to.

don’t get him wrong but thoma genuinely cares for you. he likes you, a lot. but the intensity of his emotions quickly becomes too much for him to handle. you were so pretty, so perfect in his eyes that he can’t help but give you what he thinks you’d want, what you’d like, what you’d find worthy of your affection.

but he thinks that fucking you when you’re asleep is something you wouldn’t approve of.

when he sees the steady motion of your chest, lungs pumping air in and out of your relaxed and vulnerable state, he’s quick to adjust your body, letting you lie flat on your back and your legs pressed on each side. you’ve always looked beautiful to him, no matter what you wear, no matter how unkempt your hair was.

and he finds you most beautiful spread out like this for him to take. an angel you are in his eyes.

he groans when he feels his cock ache inside his tight pants. you’re just that perfect, fuck, he’s so damn lucky that he’s the one who gets to share this apartment space with you and not just a random bastard who wouldn’t treat you like he does.

he just hope you wouldn’t find out the debauched person he can be.

thoma wants to put all the blame on you. you should be held accountable for how adorable you are, and how your beaming eyes always had him hooked whenever you tell him what happened in uni. you should know that he’s utterly smitten from how much you cling to him, trusting him to the point where you don’t even notice that the tea he makes was the very reason why he had you pressed down like this.

of course, he wouldn’t dare hurt you. he’s not an asshole who just takes advantage of you like this and ends up hurting you in any way or form. thoma would spend the time preparing you, holding you, and pleasing you before he could even please himself.

as he had your legs spread open, he would gently remove your pants, revealing you in your underwear. he finds it cute how you wear this particular pair every weekend, the soft pastel red cotton undies he always love!

then he would notice how you’d shiver, feeling the cold gust of wind welcoming your flushed skin. thoma would cover you up with the blanket he made for you, smiling as he remembers how you were elated to receive this from him.

as he provides you a source of warmth, he would continue and leave kisses on your thighs, his large hands pressing down to spread your legs wider. he dares not leave any hickeys, as much as his mind tells him to mark you already. he can do that later when you’re finally sober enough to know what the hell he’s doing.

after leaving feather-like kisses on both your thighs, thoma would press two of his fingers between your clothed cunt, sliding up and down your slit. he can hear the gentle hums of satisfaction escaping your lips.

“even when you’re in deep sleep, you’ve always loved being pleasured like this, huh?” he whispers, putting in some pressure that the tip of his finger glides down your clit. “we wouldn’t want to mess this though,” he adds before he hooks two of his fingers to the band of your underwear and slowly pulls it off your body.

with your lower half exposed for his eyes to feast on, thoma almost came at the sight of your cunt slightly shimmering from your slick. he curses under his breath, impatient because he just wants to shove his cock but had put an immense focus so to mentally stops himself.

before he even loses control, he moves his head down and has his lips close in your cunt. he hums, satisfied, tasting you as his tongue laps up and down your clit. he can finally taste you, so sweet against the sensitive flesh of his mouth. you were addicting, thoma can’t help but give your pussy lips a kiss before he had his whole mouth sucking on your poor cunt.

he felt your thighs occassionally close back from the sensation, your eyebrows furrowing that your sleep-induced state tries to focus on the pleasurable feeling you’re receiving between your legs.

“you’re so damn cute,” thoma mutters before he goes back on assaulting your sensitive clit. he wants to hear you moan, to hear you whimper about how good he’s treating you, how good he was on eating you out, on pleasing you but that can wait.

after flicking his tongue on your sensitive nub, he had two fingers slowly pumping in and out of your hole. you were so wet, so ready for him to take but he wants to make you cum first. thoma goes back on sucking on your clit as his fingers smoothly go in and out of your hole, adjusting it to reach the most sensitive spot inside that he knew by heart. you were so warm, so tight around two of his digits.

the pleasure he gets from fucking you like this had him rutting his hips down the bed, cock itching to shove itself inside your warmth and have your tight walls snuggle it closer. his pants' already ruined from his pre. he groans as he does so, eyes peering up to witness how your back softly arched from the vibrations he had let go on your clit. thoma can feel how close you are, your warm walls sucking him in with fervor.

“that’s it f/n. go on, cum for me,” he says even if you won’t even hear him or know that it was him pleasuring you like this. your walls clamped on his fingers, your hole gushing out so much slick as thoma didn’t stop sliding his digits in and out to ride your high.

your body was still shaking a bit from the aftermath of your orgasm when thoma swiftly moved up and pulled his hard and aching cock out of his already-ruined pants. he hissed as the warmth of his hands made contact with his skin, quickly rubbing the bulbous head on your cunt to relieve himself from the pain.

“‘want you so badly, f/n, just let me—” slowly, he pushes himself inside your walls, grunting at the sudden tightness engulfing him. he eyes your body, those emerald hues watching every twitch of your eyebrow and how your chest lets go of a shaky breath as he finally pushes all the way in. “fuck, you feel so good around me.”

thoma’s head was spinning at the view he’s getting of you even more when he looks down to where you’re both connected. his long girth feels just perfect to be inside you, smoothly sliding in and out. hell, he wanted to roughly bend you in half and shove himself as deep as he could but you might wake up. he doesn’t want that but fuck, you’re making it so hard for him.

in seconds, he rocks his hips against your body, his thighs softly smacking against your butt as he slowly ruts himself in your core. thoma bites down on his lips, focusing on being gentle while getting the most out of your cunt. he closes his eyes, savoring how your walls sucks him in, tightening every time he bottoms out. he was so big yet he had managed to have you adjust to his size perfectly, molding you to have his cock alone.

he was close, the pleasure so intense on bis lower half he had somehow let go of his focus and started a rather quick pace in fucking you. he hears you whimpering, his mind thinking that you’re awake and was ushering him to go faster, that you’re close too, that you want him to make a mess out of you.

“anything for you, f/n. fuck, i’d do anything for you,” he utters with a moan, sweat glistening on his forehead, his balls slapping oh so loudly against your thighs covered with your slick. and he pulls out, groaning as his cold hands started to jerk on his sensitive cock before he lets out his thick cum just right outside your hole.

thoma could barely keep in his moans, shivering at how he coats your pussy lips with his load that you looked so damn messy but fuck, you’re just so beautiful in his eyes.

“i love you,” he whispers but gained back his focus in seconds when he hears you humming. his eyes darted back to your face only to see that you’re still fast asleep.

thoma sighs, shaking his head, and went back down to look at your cum-stained cunt. he could just jerk again at the sight but doesn’t want to wake you sooner than he’d think he might. but, before he puts your legs back down and it let relax, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly took pictures of your body, more on how he ruined you below, angling it where he can see how he had claimed you to be his.

with this sweet smile on his face, he bends down and slowly left a kiss on your forehead.

“sweet dreams, angel. i hope that we can spend more time soon.”

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[chaostudee]

all i want - r.c

pairing : rafe cameron x female reader summary : rafe messes up leaving your relationship in pieces, now all he wants is forgiveness and to call you his once again. warnings : angst , swearing. words : 3.5k extras : not proofread, lowercase intended. a/n : i love him so much he's just so....ugh, also tysm for all the love on my last post..... anyways enjoy x

rafe cameron had always been your destiny. from the moment that you were introduced you knew that you wouldn't stop until you made that boy yours. it seemed it wouldn't be too difficult since he craved the same intentions. he desired you.

at first sarah tried to persuade you in diverting your longing for the eldest cameron yet her words just increased your pining. even though she outlined his excessive drug usage and his fuck-boy reputation, you wanted more to relieve him of these problems. you could give him the love that he truly deserved though that he never received.

displeased with the lack of response to the extensive repelling of her brother sarah tried to prevent the the two of you from encountering yet failed once again in that regard.

it was new years eve that changed everything for the better and gave sarah a new perspective into the undesired need for her meddling. truthfully speaking she was not wholly against the two of you, rather just the risk of losing you to a boy.

new years eve at the camerons was a tradition that involved the residents of figure 8 gathering to drink and to talk about business and whatnot, awaiting for the ball to drop.

you dreaded the day every year but were glad to have sarah accompany you though it seemed that this year would outshine the rest.

the table held about approximately twenty persons with the allowance of mere inches between each spacing. you had chosen your usual seating, beside sarah.

"don't be mad" sarah whispers adjusting the napkin on her lap as you are all awaiting the meal "i'm leaving after this". looking up from her lap she tucks a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear sending an apologetic look. she hated this yearly meeting just as much as you so it seemed that allowing herself leave would be a reward.

"where are you going?" you ask using the same level of volume in your speech, your hand secure under the brim of the glass. it not so much that it angered you that sarah was leaving to your lonesome but the fact that she hadn't given a reasoning.

as of late she had been distant, disappearing and apparently too occupied with her own self pleasure than to be in vicinty of yours truly.

"um...." she hesitates as her cheeks turn scarlet. she was definitely hiding something. "she's going to see john b" wheezie says, from the other seat beside you not even looking up from the screen of her phone.

you gasp and turn to look at sarah, clearly not denying wheezie's words, instead taking a sip from her glass and trailing her eyes elsewhere as though she hadn't just been called out. "seriously?" you pause as you try to process it, "john b, really?". john b was known to most on kildare island and he was not seen in a positive view even so you were glad that your friend had found someone.

sarah rolls her eyes but a smile is now etched upon her rosy lips. you shake your head in disbelief, that she could keep something like this from something this life altering.

"wait are you guys like together?" you ask her suddenly becoming quite interested in the position of her relationship with john b.

"sarah has a boyfriend?". the voice you hear sounds strangely familiar and you look to your left only to find rafe standing behind wheezie's chair. he has his hands placed on the back of the chair, his rings sparkling in the chandelier glow, he never did seem to go anywhere without them in his possession, you had noticed this from observation.

"topper is going to be so pissed" rafe chuckles to himself as she runs the palm of the hand over his face. although the two had ended their relationship topper couldn't come to the realization that it was over.

rafe is wearing a suit, something that you rarely see him wear, he's not a fan of fancy attire nor are you, at least you have that in common with one another.

tonight you and sarah had decided to coordinate your outfits, both of you had decided to wear navy. she wearing a flowy frock beaded with pearls, you wore something similar though your dress was very tight fitting a dislikeable feature. sarah had insisted that you wear the dress saying that "sometimes you have to suffer for your beauty". her motto.

now noticing your presence rafe sends you a small smile before releasing his grip from the chair and heading off to where topper and kelce were calling him over. they too were wearing some fancy ass clothing. there was something funny about that.

as rafe walked away it was hard for you to keep your eyes off him, though you rarely talked and sarah strongely forbade it you held a strange attraction towards the eldest cameron.

"girl-". sarah gives you a kick from under the table due to her extensive staring. "stay focused" she warns with a stern glare but you can tell that she is just messing with you and she then just chuckles to herself as your eyes drift back to him.

...

it wasn't long before the meal had been served and then devoured by the guests in the matter of a half an hour. sarah had decided to stick around for the meal but it now seemed that she would be making her disappearance after. great.

"i hate you" you tell her, rolling your eyes and folding your arms across your chest. you didn't really mean it but she knew that.

the two of you are stood in the echoey hallway, sarah with her heels in hand. it was her desire to leave unnoticed and hopefully unheard.

"love you too babes" she says as she once again checks her phone. john b had apparently informed her that he would contact her when he arrived.

her head lifts upwards once she sees flashing lights from outside, torch lights. it seemed that john b wanted to be secretive in his arrival.

sarah turns back to you, reaching out for the handle. "be safe" you blurt out causing her to hesitate. "i always-". once she realizes that you were referencing a whole other topic she scoffed to herself, giving you a soldiers salute before slipping out the door. unnoticed and unheard.

"where is she going?". you shut your eyes shut thinking that it would provide you invisibility. super powers would be very convenient at that moment in time.

slowly turning on your heel, rafe stands in front of you, alone. "um she had a um thing" you tell him hoping that he wouldn't notice your inability to lie successfully. it wasn't just the fact that the truth was weighed on your shoulders but also that here you were with rafe cameron. alone, unsupervised meaning that you were the one who was going to be responsible for any wrongdoing.

he raises his eyebrows clearly not buying this lie, you couldn't blame him. "um where is kelce and topper?" you ask him wanting to not just discuss the matter of sarah's whereabouts though the topic didn't stray far from such.

rafe looks at you for a moment, not just meeting your eye line but in the way he would look at a girl that well....you know. to avoid him noticing the heating of your cheeks you turn to look downwards, pretending to examine the contents of your handbag.

"i don't know i guess they're around here somewhere hooking up". rafe shrugs as if its no big deal. this must be his tradition. having said that it seemed that he had decided to not partake this year since he was here conversing with you.

you nod. awkward silence. "um i think i'm going to go...". you point to the other exit down the opposite hallway. he nods alike you had earlier, not objective to this at it was clear there was not much else to discuss.

whilst walking past him, your shoulder skims off his due to his departure at the same time, this allows your purse to slip from your grip, tumbling to the floor.

"shit sorry" you mumble, bending downwards to pick it up. he too had decided to do the same, the gentlemanly decision. in saying this being that close to him, his hand practically a centimetre away from your own your heart clenched.

you meet his eye line, his hand placed on your purse, your hand stuck there also, unable to move. his eyes meet yours before skimming down to your lips then back up to your eyes.

your heart began to pound in your chest, louder than earlier. a heat hung in the air and you wondered if he felt it too as you both crouched in the hallway of the cameron household. you both seemed content with your presence with one another.

it all happened so quickly before he pressed his lips against yours. "fuck it" he whispered as he smashed his lips against your own nearly knocking you over in the process. the kiss displayed everything you felt for him, passion and most importantly, longing. one thing led to another and you ended spending the night with him.

as you lay beside the sleeping boy with the sheet tugged tightly around your body you pick up your phone from the nightstand. tapping into sarah's contact name you smile to yourself as you compose your text to her. "so some shit happened ;)". at that was it that was how you came to fall in love with rafe cameron. though in the beginning it seemed like a fever dream it wasn't long until sarah's assumptions proved his toxicity.

...

you sigh to yourself as you look up at the clock framed on the wall. half past eight. you had said seven and he had agreed. he had promised. promised to buy your flowers, promised to make it up to you but here you are sitting alone at a table whilst the waiter sends you apologetic looks.

once again he had broken his promise. once again he had stood you up. once again he had taken advantage of your second chances.

it is clear that you have been stood up by the glances and the whispering directed towards you. lately things with rafe have been precisely what sarah had predicted but there was no way that you could discuss this would her. you would not let her have the satisfaction in knowing that she was right.

another sigh escapes your lips, an exasperated one as you turn to the entrance because maybe there is a partial hope into his arrival. not only had he been disloyal as of late but also distant. it was rare that you even spoke.

picking up your purse from the table and dropping a twenty on the table for allowing you to stay you try to eliminate the stares as you make your way out the door.

for the outer banks it was a chilly night and without the usual comfort of rafe's coat around your shoulders you felt bare. maybe it was the fact that you felt that your relationship was over or maybe it was that the car was parked miles away or maybe it was because of the cold but a tear trailed down your cheek as you paced down the pavement.

almost immediately you wipe it from your cheek, finding it pathetic to even be crying on the street anyways. the street is quiet as is the road so once again when you feel the tears coming you just let them fall. even though this may be over a stupid boy you feel a reasoning to cry over him because he's your stupid boy.

a sound of a car approaching can be heard in the far off distance which deters you from walking this great distance any further. you wipe a few stray tears from your secret which you can guarantee has smudged your mascara also.

the car can no longer be heard so you rotate your view only to find a familiar face running towards you, jacket undone, tie loose. you catch his eye for a moment before disregarding him and carrying on.

"y/n" he calls out yet you just ignore him although there are a million things that you want to say to him but not here, not like this. "y/n" he says now coming to rest beside you giving you no other choice but to stop. he is out of breath now and raises his finger in the air to give him one minute. you scoff to yourself when you had in fact already given him plenty of time previously.

"i'm sorry" he says once he has regathered himself. noticing the mascara that had been ruined by your tears he looks crest fallen when he realizes that it is all his doing. "im sorry" he repeats, softer now.

"we're over rafe". you say it, you say exactly what had been nagging at you for weeks something that you had hoped would give you peace but after the words leave your mouth you regret them.

his face falls and then darkens. "what?" he pauses and when there is no response he laughs "you're leaving me? really? just when things are getting tough you decide to leave. you know what i kind of expected this i don't know why i'm even surprised. who would want a boyfriend who ditches her just to drown himself in alochol and get high and shit, i mean i don't blame you".

your throat closes up, your mouth dry. this is the first time that he had been real with you in months but now at an untimely moment. "you're drinking again?" you ask, your voice stern as you lock eyes with his. his eyes are filled with fury and rage as he looks at you. "as if you care" he mutters before taking a step back from you and turning on his heel.

"oh so now you're leaving me?!" you say as you feel tears brimming in your eyes. he stops for a second to turn to face you, his hands are in his pockets, his tie flying in the wind. "i guess i am". he allows himself a moment to take you all in before walking off before leaving you all alone on the street.

you force yourself to shove down all your emotions, until you reach the car at least and once you spot its red hue you feel a wave of relief. slipping into the drivers seat and resting your head on the head rest allows you to take a breather. your phone sticks visibly out of your bag and you bite down on your lip wondering if you should just give in. its not long before you dial the number. "hey....i need you".

...

"babes he doesn't deserve you" sarah says whilst stroking your hair soothingly. once you had explained what happened she told you that she would meet you back at your house and you could talk. so you talked.

"please don't say i told you so" you begged her not to say those words, she just nodded and continued to allow you to cry in her arms which brings us up to this point in time.

"but he needs me" you tell her, remembering what he had said earlier sent a punch through your heart so you cowered in the crook of sarah's arms. she hated seeing you and even though she would never defend her brother in any scenario she madly wanted the two of you to receive a happy ending.

"girl you need to stop thinking about it, about him, lemme get you some ice-cream. okay?". sarah slowly releases you from her grip and hands you a pillow to rest your head. you smile at her gratefully for both offers. heading out to the kitchen sarah smirks to herself as she pulls the tub of ice-cream out from the freezer.

she knew right well that you disliked her meddling but to her it deemed necessary in this scenario. this scenario only. sarah picks up the phone and dials but she needn't have done so since the person she wanted to contact was the one stood on the other side of the door.

the doorbell rings. unusual at this time of the night and usually you never had much callers, besides rafe. although you were pleased with your position on the couch you discarded that to ease your curiosity on whom may be awaiting outside.

when rafe was found stood on the doorstep, a bouquet of roses in hand you were completely lost for words but you were glad that he spoke first, this time he didn't begin with an apology. "can i come in?"he asks softly looking up at you with pleading eyes. those fucking eyes.

you linger for a moment trying to decide on what to do but you know right well that either way you will give in. you nod pulling the door open fully, he knows where to go so you allow him to make himself comfortable as you shut the door. honestly you were shocked at his arrival but not truly pleased.

"oh hey...what are you doing here?". sarah comes into the kitchen holding the ice-cream she promised and two spoons. sarah looks between you and rafe and then back to rafe.

"i was just getting to that" rafe says whilst rubbing the back of his kneck, "could you you um...leave us?". sarah gives you a look to inquire on your feelings on this. you nod at her and she takes this as acceptance enough, retreating back to the kitchen.

"lets sit" you instruct him, pointing the couch that had been sodden with your tears only minutes earlier. you were trying to control your anger and trying to prevent further destruction between the two of you.

placing the flowers upon the coffee table rafe stays silent for a moment before beginning to rub his hands into his jeans. he did this often when he was nervous or stressed.

"okay, i've got a lot to say, a lot to account for and a lot to apologize so can you please just let me get true this before you say anything?"

"sure"

he nods and sucks in the corner of his cheek. "what i did was wrong, no unacceptable. no one should ever be treated the way i've been treating you...and i know there is no way that i can make it up to you and i know that you are no longer mine. i know that, i know all of it. i was tempted not to come here tonight but i knew i couldn't end it like that. even though there is little chance of you taking me back part of me hoped that you would take me back. part me knows that it is wrong of me to expect anything from you because you've given me everything. in the past few months i never thought somebody could ever mean this much to me and even accept me for the person i am. you have stood by me and the truth is during all the time that we've been apart i turn to alcohol and drugs but with you i needn't do that. you're enough, you're enough for me. even if you can never forgive me i utterly understand but please at least understand where i'm coming from."

you shake your head whilst biting down on your lip. this boy knows what he's doing. "i forgive you" you chuckle as you rub your nose in the back of your sleeve.

"what?" rafe says his eyes widened in disbelief. "well with a speech like that how could i not?" you say with a shrug. rafe laughs although you can clearly see the tears in his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair.

"so um...do you think..." he hesitates as he looks pleading but you know exactly what he is implying. your answer is not so simple. forgiving was easy but the process would be long, he would have to repent to his wrongdoings and by the looks of it he seemed willing.

"come here". you pull him closer to allow yourself to set his lips on yours. this kiss brought you back to first time that you allowed yourself to accept the fact that you were in love with him. now, still true. "yes" you pull away "i take you back".

he smiles as your foreheads touch one another his arms held around your waist and you wanted nothing more than for him to never let him go.

"so when's the wedding?". sarah stands against the frame of the doorway spooning a mouthful of ice-cream into her mouth.

"where you here the whole time...?" rafe asks pulling his head away from yours though still holding you securely in his posession.

"well, i mean most of it. damn rafe i didn't know you were such a softie. and y/n such a pushover". you laugh and so does he. nothing could make you happier than this moment for you now knew you would marry this man.

sarah saw the look of your face as you admired rafe and knew exactly what you were thinking. her best-friend and brother, what more could she ask for?

[ikigaitsuki]

room with a view

Summary: It’s common knowledge - late night rendezvous never end sweet or cutely. The sexual tension in the air is often mistaken for humidity - but at least in this penthouse tonight, you’ve both got it right.

Genre: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x female reader (implied relationship)

TW: None applied

CW: Unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, some (a little) dirty talk, some choking igggg - aftercare :)

Word count: 4,174

a/n: this originally was posted on my ao3 as a gojou fic but i felt i could change the vibes to chan, and so, here it is, with a few tweaks here and there.

The sky was illuminated with spots of white light and slight colour. The adverts plastered on large skyscrapers appeared a blur, the bright colours morphing into one another. The roads nearby lacked people, of course, as it was early morning - around 2am. The perfect time for an outing, it was decided. The moon lay watch over the world, an omniscient being. It cast a soft descending glow.

Your hair was windswept, the light breeze cascading around you and the man beside you in the vehicle. A classic convertible, roof down, old songs on blast, reminiscent of days that had long passed.

With each song came a time capsule. A distinct memory that every time it was heard it evoked a strong emotion. A bittersweet nostalgic feeling that verged on sour ever so slightly. But not in a bad way, the memories themselves were as delicate as though they were etched onto thin glass - even if some were the most thrilling of thoughts. The only sadness came when it was realised that these memories could not physically be relived. Not in the same way, at least.

Bangchan, the man beside you, drove with one hand on the wheel. His free hand lazily rested on the gear stick. A small smirk rested on his face and he stole glances every now and then. He wore his classic entourage of a whatever black garment he could find, and jeans. His cologne, you would have thought, would have been blown way past him due to his speed. However, it danced iridescently around you both. Not too strong, not too weak.

Your forearm rested on the side of the convertible, looking away from Chan momentarily to look out at the scenery. The lights of the city around you reflected in the body of water near the highway road you drove over. Even though Seoul was bustling, right now, if even for a minute, it felt as though you and Chan were the only two people in the city, hell, Korea even. The road was bare other than a few other drivers who perhaps even had the same intentions as you both, which reminded you that you were not, in fact, the only two people in Korea at all.

You broke your stare as you felt his hand reach lightly onto your thigh. He shot you an approving smile, “Lost in thought?,” he asked, and you hummed in response. He continued to drive, looking forward.

You didn’t know where you were going, what to do, who to see potentially. Neither did he. All you both knew was that it was becoming a regular thing to spontaneously grab the car keys and head out on a drive. However long was up to him. He didn’t know the direction; he didn’t want to, just wanted to hit the road and stumble into any old place. Anywhere, as long as you were by his side. It was thrilling, to just break the normal routine and reach for something slightly different.

He continued to drive for some time, the road continuing straight onward, breeze still flowing with the same humidity it held each and every time you did this.

He took the next slip road to exit, bringing you back to more suburban, street areas. The night was in full swing, people clubbing, bright lights flashing an inviting welcome to anyone who was curious. So vibrant, so alive.

Chan shifted gears, travelling much slower as even his own eyes took in his surroundings.

“You didn’t tell me where we were going today?,”

“I know, reasons.” He tapped his nose with the hand he usually lets roam free, shooting the same smile he often did. Mysterious.

He didn’t drive in the combusted area for a long time, and turned into the parking lot of a grand hotel. Sophisticated, chic, modern.

The hotel stood tall, an exterior of blue and tinted glass. Some lights were still on in some rooms, and the random arrangement of said lights created a mosaic.

Chan made sure to lift the roof of the convertible, before locking up and taking your hand to help you out of the passenger side.

“Did you plan this?,”

“Maybe.” He led you forward.

From there, you entered a hotel decorated with minimalistic taste. Square sofas, that looked, honestly, uncomfortable but were surprisingly comfy to sit on, potted succulents in grey and neutral pots, curving into geometric shapes, and glass coffee tables showcased the entrance.

The woman at the reception offered a warm smile, “Bangchan, is it?,” she politely asked as she click-clacked on her computer. Latest technology? Perhaps so. You couldn’t put it past this place, considering it’s grand appearance and size.

“Sure is,” he smiled, taking the key card swiftly from her hand as a hand on your hip guided you in front of him.

He whispered towards your ear, “Penthouse view, baby.” He crooned, his voice sweet and runny and somewhat like honey. It was enough to make your insides melt. The man talks with such ease; he has such a way with it.

You leant your head back onto his pectoral, fingers lazily pressing the silver button at the entrance of the elevator to grab its attention. When the door finally opened, you were greeted with a mirror.

Chan looked so effortlessly good. But so did you. You went hand in hand, really. Ever since you’d first met him, you found him to be ethereal. His looks gave the impression that he had nothing to offer other than his beauty - and maybe some hot sex. Plenty of people swooned after the man, swayed their hips in his presence in some sort of attempt at a mating call.

But it was you.

Always you.

He didn’t care about the kaleidoscope of feathers that tried to put him in a trance, if they didn’t sway in the ways yours did, if they simply weren’t you, it would not do. And of course - he did deliver some pretty hot sex. But when that sex started to turn into a way to become close, to bond, when not only his face was beautiful, but his soul was too, was when you really couldn’t have loved your life more.

When someone finally admired him for his strength, his determination, he knew that person would become special to him.

He tickled soft kisses on your neck as the elevator continued it’s escalation.

“Incredibly touchy tonight, aren’t we?,” you hum.

“I can’t help myself, look at you,” he almost whispered against your lobe, those words for you and you only.

You hadn’t dressed up much, you hadn’t needed to. It was a simple drive. And yet, he found such effortless beauty in it.

The elevator didn’t take much longer, arriving with a ding, causing Chan to guide you out backwards so as to stare at your reflection for as long as possible.

He stay clung to you, key card between his forefinger and his middle, guiding you effortlessly to the door number just for you both. Just for tonight.

He swiped the key card with ease, not placing it into the small plastic machine on the wall that was responsible for the electricity. He let the door close softly behind you both. Who needs lights?

“I didn’t realise we were so high,” you break from Chan’s grasp, walking sheepishly towards the large glass window of the penthouse. From there, you could see the view around you. The same bright advertisements greeted you, and the nightlight was as hectic as always was.

You turned to take in the room. It was spacious and open, a small yet modern kitchen that could fulfil the needs of those that would use it, open plan to the lounge area. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, probably idiotically large in your opinion, and the sofa was the same as downstairs. Square, minimalistic, comfortable despite this. The floors were a shade of grey wooden, chic and simple. The sofa, of course, as with the rest of the penthouse room, followed the same colour scheme as downstairs, whites, greys, neutrals. Basic colours that were so simple and yet were so effective in delivering their speech.

The moon created the perfect amount of natural light, and cast your shadow in the rest of the room. Chan beamed in awe.

“I thought you deserved a night away,” he spoke, finally.

“But we drive often. That’s enough,” you look over your shoulder, to find him leaning his elbows on the island in the kitchen, palms resting flat on his face to keep him upright.

Late night drives and rendezvous were usually the go-to with you and Chan. Sometimes there was just too much paparazzi to risk going out in the daylight. Sometimes it was just better to let those people and their cameras recharge until the early hours whilst you made memories of your own - unbeknownst to them, worth the thousands they’d pay to publish.

He placed the car keys and key card beside him on the counter. He took his phone out of his pocket, placing it to join the rest of the items and began to move towards you.

“Chan,” you spoke softly, arms coming to cage around his head in an embrace.

“Mmm?,” he stared intently.

“Thankyou.” You didn’t need to say what for. The smallest things, you appreciated. You made that known. That he’d kept in mind that you needed a small break, that he’d delivered just that. The stresses of working life, the stresses of dating an idol and each time Chan made note of it. He’d always make sure you’d have time for yourself. For you both.

His lips pressed softly against yours, but expressed such violent needs. Such desires that could not be spoken, only shown. He pressed himself into you firmly, but not aggressively. He showed what he wanted, needed, but was never pushy.

His kisses were, most of the time, soft. Tongue trailing along yours with the utmost delicacy. Slight nibble of the lip, followed by a slight tug on it, nothing too harsh. His consideration into how you felt always sent you into overdrive. One moment you could only feel the sensation of his lips on yours, then it would disperse, quickly reaching a crescendo where you felt everything at once, every vibration of the atoms in his body pursing through your bones, your entity.

Even now, as he brought his thumb to rub softly over your lower lip, he was soft. Frail, almost. It was as if he could not conjure enough strength to touch you with more ferocity. Perhaps he was waiting.

“Enough of this,” your hands reached to grasp his hair with light desperation.

His eyes were your favourite, such a deep pool of brown that were the gateway to how pure he was, his heart was unmatched. He was ethereal. He is ethereal.

“I like being able to look at you,” you started.

“And find me staring back?,” he asked. Sappy. Classic Chan. He knew you’d cringe.

Your hands rested at his jawline, pulling his face towards yours to connect again. He hummed lightly against you, informing you of his pleasure.

Oh, God, Christopher Bang was a kisser. Loved it. It’s the perfect appetiser to tease. It’s communication of the mouths without words. The way the nibbles and slight tugs create an incrementum of need and desire. He couldn’t get enough.

He breaks the kiss with a slight groan, verging on a moan, and looks at you intently. His eyes didn’t once leave you, pupils bore wide. He lingered his view on your eyes, then your lips, and reconnected with more fever.

His hands lay lazily around the small of your back, fingers moving down to trace the hem of your shirt, before you could feel the cold of his flesh trialing up your spine. Your hands gripped him tightly.

You couldn’t be entirely sure, but you happily estimated that Chan’s hands had probably explored every part of you at this point. He’s so soft with the touch, but also harsh enough to feel every slight dip and mark in your skin that makes you you, makes you his.

“You’re amazing,” he kissed against your neck, hands lazily stroking up to your shoulder blades.

The way he could touch you with so much ease and yet set your whole core on fire was something completely unheard of. Nobody had ever made you feel this way. And his reverie consisted of the same content - you, how you could make him feel so incredibly good just as you grind yourself on him.

He needed you. Now.

“I’m trying to be patient with you,” he breathed cool air onto the shell of your ear, voice a low grumble that it was perhaps almost inaudible, “But you’re making this so difficult, y/n. Do you know what you do to me?”

It was your turn to tease. Your crotch loosened from his, hand palming with lackadaisical fever, “How bad do you want this...,” you gripped him with more strength through the fabric of his trousers, “Inside me? You don’t need to be patient. Don’t wait,” you planted a chaste kiss to his jaw, the sound of him mewling softly and rubbing for any friction almost being enough to make you want to push him away, slam the bedroom door and delve your hands far deep into yourself thinking nothing but the thoughts of him. Chan.

“Don’t start,” he smirked, white glow of his teeth on show.

His hands instinctively grabbed at the hem of your shirt, this time lifting it up from your body. He didn’t give you any moment to breath before his lips were on yours again, soft nibbles and sucks as though he was desperate to taste you.

His hands held harshly onto your waist, lowering down to your thighs and he tapped - an indication to jump. And he caught you, your feet crossing over to give you some sort of firmness.

Hands gripping your exterior, he carried you, back pressing to the bedroom door to open it.

Your hand stay wrapped in his hair as he placed your back against the crisp, white sheets. Your bodies stay connected, Chan grinding on you with pure wanton intention, eyes hanging low and hooded and it was so clear that all that was on his mind was you. You. You.

He lifted himself from you for a moment, leaving your legs loosely propping themselves up like a V sign. Chan slowly popped each button of his shirt, and was even slower in taking it off.

“Tease,”

The comment made a huff of breath - a light laugh, escape him, and he removed the rest quickly in order to please.

Discarding the shirt beside you, Chan grabbed your now empty hands, lightly stroking your fingers down his abdomen. Each interstice between his abs felt harsh, defined, hard. Chan’s body was something that so many people desired - longed for, even. And here it was, for you, in front of you, only you and nobody else. Only you see the way it contracts and releases and the way that it tenses when his senses are released tenfold.

“Take these off,” he tapped your thighs, still akimbo between him, and he unbuckled the belt that stay to his waist.

He removed his belt, and his jeans. From where you lay, you could already see that he was hard.

You grabbed at your pants, pulling them with your lingerie in one quick motion that left you bare and allowed the heat of the room to reach you.

“Chan,” you half-whispered his name as his face lowered between your legs, handing coming to grab his hair before your brain could register the movement.

He hesitated.

“Can I?”

Of course, you wanted to scream, a million times over. Make me feel good.

“Please,” you sounded too desperate for your own liking, but the feeling ceased once he hummed and his hot breath could be felt inches away.

He hung over, so close, yet so far, eyes closed and breaths deep as though he needed to tell himself to not get too caught up, to not make you feel too much at once.

“Oh,” your grip tightened in his brown locks once his tongue finally touched you.

Warm, soft, and with a fast pace, Chan ravished you as though he was starving. His hands came to your hips, and he aided himself by grinding your crotch against his mouth. He made no effort to be clean, the sounds of his lips against your hot flesh being the only audible sound in the room. That, and your moans of course. It was so salacious.

He sucked on your clit feverishly, and your breathing became staggered, a mix of pants and, “Mmm fuck, there, wow,” when he hit the spot that made your head fall back between your shoulder blades as you held yourself on your elbows, that egged Chan on as much as he needed.

His tongue slowed to lap around lazily, one hand releasing from your hips to push his fingers inside. He was growing impatient, evident by his use of two immediately. In his defence, you were wet enough - very.

The feeling of finally being full with something made your breath choke in your throat.

“That good, huh?,” he curled upwards, a come-hither motion that hit the spot he aimed for with ease.

Your body shook involuntarily as the aggression in his movements increased. His pupils were abnormally large, his iris’ taking in the erotic sight before him as your legs shook and breasts bounced.

The veins in his wrists became especially prominent, and you could hear him moan in response to his view.

“I want you to cum. Play with your tits,”

He knew your weaknesses, inside and out, and could play to his advantage. One of your most sensitive zones, he knew always to give your breasts attention. And as a bonus, he knew you couldn’t disobey the deep rumble of his voice when arousal clouded over him.

Shyly, your hands stroked over the erect buds. Tingles cascaded around the area, a small shiver shooting down your spine that made your back arch. The combination of playing with your nipples alongside Chan’s - now three - fingers jolting inside you was explosive. You couldn’t hold the moans and pants.

“Fuck- Chan, I-,”

He leaned over slightly, not decreasing in pace, with his body hanging over yours, “Say it,”

“It feels good, so good,”

“Cum for me, then,” he smirked, his wrist obviously growing tired but his need to please you masked this. The muscles in his arms continued to flex.

With his order, you came. Your body lurched, jolting and contracting in small increments. Mouth held agape, breathless moan escaping as his long fingers fucked you until you had to grab him harshly and pull him out of you before the overstimulation became too much.

Brain hazy from your orgasm, you could only just make out that he had removed his underwear, cock on show.

“You alright? You rea-,”

“Put it in,” you interrupted him, mind so foggy with the thought of him fucking you senseless that the quivering in your cunt felt like nothing at this point.

He sucked his fingers, wet from your orgasm, and remained an eye contact that veered on intimidating. Those innocent brown eyes fixated on you as he sucked his fingers clean of your cum.

He wrapped his soaked fingers around his base, stroking himself candidly, eyes never once leaving you, soaking you in, taking in the parts of you he knew all too well and simply couldn’t ever get tired of.

One hand came to press in the bed sheets beside your head, other being used to line himself up. His hair was already a rough mess from your harsh gripping.

He pushed the head in slowly, mouth opening silently and his eyes closed in pleasure.

“You’re fucking wet,” he stated, an exasperated breath released from his throat, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Chan pushed himself all the way in, slowly, slowly, like he thought he’d hurt you if he was any faster. All he a wanted to do was thrust and thrust and be as rough as he fucking wanted with you - he’s impatient, can’t you tell?

Your breath hitched, hands coming to claw at his rib cage, his arms now either side of your head as his face hung between them.

He broke eye contact to look at where you were connected, his hips thrusting forward and backward with a simple rhythm. He’s warming up.

“Chan...,” you whined at him, your own impatience growing, probably even faster than Chan’s at this rate. Even if you’d just cum, you couldn’t ever get enough of him. Christopher Bang is a hell of a drug.

At the sound of his name, his hips plunged frenetically, earning strangled moans from you as you tried to familiarise yourself with the sudden feeling.

Chan could feel the growing pain of your nails clawing at his back, scratching, dragging gown, and the pulsating feeling of your pussy around his cock, hot and begging.

“Ohhh,” his hand came around your throat, lifting your chin back, “You take me so well, everytime,”

“Mmm,” you responded, lips tightly shut between one another because you’re being so loud, and he knows it too, but he loves the fucking sound of you undone beneath him.

He lifted his hands to rest on your knees as he continued to fuck you in missionary, his tense abdomen flexing. He was so fucking hot - he is so fucking hot.

Your hands instinctively came to your breasts once more, your erect nipples stimulated without even having to touch them. You winced as the pleasure veered on painful, face screwed.

“Chan, Chan,” you moaned out.

“Turn over,”

You obliged. Face down, ass up. Hands in the sheets, cheek pressed against the soft bedding on one side. And then you felt him. Hands on your waist, cock slipping inside with ease as he filled you yet again.

He moved with vigour, his own moans growing louder with your name rolling off the tip of his tongue.

“Mmm, oh fuck,” the saliva in your mouth leaked onto the sheets as your body ricocheted against his groin, the noises of lewd, wet skin echoing in the walls, his growls and grunts animalistic, Chan’s primitive nature finally being revealed as he ravished you like some sort of animal.

“Go-, nghh, fuck, Cha-,” your words were halted as he gripped your hair, head being pulled to rest back on his pectoral.

“I fucking love it when you’re loud,” he growled into your ear, “But you need to be quiet.”

Your eyes, stinging with tears, widened once your mouth was filled with something. Fabric.

His shirt.

You moaned against it, the sound coming out like an agonising groan.

His hand held under your chin as it had done earlier, and your hands came to grab his wrist to keep yourself upright.

At this point, you were incoherent and so close again that the hot bubbling in your core was the only thing that made you aware that you were conscious.

Chan’s hips were frantic, his body glistened with a light coating of sweat, his hot breath repeatedly landing on the same spot on your body.

He was close.

You were close.

“Aghh,” your eyes rolled back, breathing heavy and audible.

“Close?,”

You nodded with as much effort as you could possibly put in at your current state.

He didn’t respond, just slowed his pace until he rocked languidly, his hand from under your chin releasing allowing you to return to your position with your face in the sheets.

The fabric in your mouth was further dampened as you released wanton moans, core blazing and spreading the flames around your body as you shook with another orgasm.

Chan wasn’t much further behind you, hips snapping one last time before he held himself right up to the base, whispers of your name releasing into the four walls of the penthouse bedroom.

He collapsed onto his side, pulling out, leaving dribbles of his cum on the sheets and leaking out of you.

“Hey,” he moved the sweat-drenched hair from your eyes and pulled the soaked shirt from your mouth. You swallowed harshly.

“Odds on the people next door hearing?,” he sighed, staring at you.

He laughed, humming softly when you didn’t respond.

“Chan,” your voice was quiet, and he knew you were tired.

“I’m kidding, let me run you a bath. You stay here, okay?” he kissed your forehead. Once, twice, three times, and giddily ran to the bathroom.

You smiled to yourself.

Stay here? Even though you’re tired from sex, even though Chan didn’t mean it that deeply, of course, you wanted to scream, a million times over. When would I ever leave you?

When would I ever leave you, Chan?

© ikigaitsuki. no unauthorised copying or reposting is allowed.

[jam1ru]

“ THE PICTURE ”

“Is this… home?” Kara asked the old woman beside her.

“Yes, my dear. This is our home.”, said the old woman.

Kara just got home from the hospital. She was in a coma for two years, and is now suffering from post-traumatic amnesia after a major car accident. After a few stimulation-therapy sessions, Kara is finally well to go home. Kara stood by the entrance of her home, and instinctively touched her ring. For some reason, that ring gave her comfort, but sadly she didn’t know, or rather, couldn’t remember why.

The two women entered the house. It was just a simple home, nothing too fancy. Walls are covered with beautiful exterior and interior shots of various places that look like they were shot by a professional. Kara’s childhood photos were also hanging beside those too.

“Do you want to take a rest, my dear?”, the old woman asked.

Kara looked at the old woman. “Would that be alright?”, Kara replied.

“Of course, my dear. Your room is upstairs, by the right side of the hall”.

Kara went to her room and there, she came across a wooden door. Her name is etched on it. Feeling nervous, Kara touched her ring again. She feels guilty for suddenly forgetting all the good memories that have happened to her in this home. But, it couldn’t be helped. Kara took a deep breath and with courage, opened the door. There, she saw how organized her room was despite her two-year absence. She had an old painting hanging up by her wall, and a vase of fresh yellow dahlias sitting by her bedside table. But what stood out the most to her is her big shelf filled with books. Without hesitation, Kara instantly went to her shelf.

“I must’ve liked reading huh…”, Kara thought to herself.

She scanned the shelf from top to bottom, all spaces filled with books. She traced her fingers by the books when she stopped after noticing something that looked out of place. It was a small photo book. Curiosity hit her. Thus, she opened the little photo book when suddenly, a picture fell off. She picked up the photo, and there she saw a beautiful interior shot. She couldn’t tell whom and where it was taken from, but it somehow left a nostalgic warm feeling in her chest. But at the same time, she couldn’t ignore the fact that this memory from that certain place got unintentionally erased. Fate can be really cruel.

She set the picture aside, then proceeded to look at the small photo book. There, she saw a picture of a young girl and a young boy. Strange, she thought. She knew that the young girl was her, but she couldn’t recall who the latter was. Curious, she went through the next pages. There, she witnessed the growth of the two youngsters into very fine adults. As she flipped through the pages, she noticed how the two got closer.

I struck her. The nostalgic, warm feeling she got after seeing that picture. The mysterious boy in her album. She concluded that this person is her special someone. She got excited, thinking that she had to meet him again. It has been 2 years, after all.

She quickly got out of her room and hurriedly went downstairs. She happily called for her mother who was cooking in the kitchen. The old woman was startled with her sudden appearance.

“My goodness, dear! What is it?”

“Mom! I-I.. I remembered something! Someone, actually!”

“Oh dear, that’s great! Tell me, who is it that you remember?”

“The guy from my photo album! He must be someone special to me right? I want to meet him! Where is he? There must be a way to contact him right?” Kara showed the small photo book to her mother.

The old woman turned pale. She stared at her daughter, with eyes filled with pity. She went to her daughter and hugged her.

“...Mother?”, Kara asked.

“My dear, that boy’s name is Joseph. You two have been very close since childhood. And yes, you are right. He is your special someone. If you want to be more specific, he was your fiance.”

Kara blushed. She felt delighted after knowing that there is someone who cares for her other than her own mother. It made her feel even more excited to meet this man. But, something that her mom said bugged her.

“ ‘Was’? Mother, what exactly…?”

The old woman took a deep breath.

“Two years ago, you and Joseph went to a museum. The both of you were really into history at the time. You two went there to celebrate your six-year anniversary as a couple. By chance did you see the photo of a museum’s interior?”

Kara nodded. She then looked at her ring again.

“That picture was taken by you, my dear. You loved to take pictures. I remember you talking about this through the phone that day. You said, after you took that picture you never expected your life to take a turn.”

Kara gave her mother a confused face. After a few seconds, Kara then realized what her mother was trying to point out.

“After taking that photo, he proposed to you. That ring you’re wearing right now is proof of that.”

Kara finally understood why her ring gave her comfort. It was given by her beloved. That’s why she still feels the urge to cherish it despite losing most of her memories.

“However on the way home, you two got into an accident. Joseph, that boy. He is the most selfless person I have ever met. He made sure to put you first before anything else.”

Kara looked at her mother straight to the eye.

“Mother… is he…”, Kara asked with tears forming her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, my dear.”, the old woman said.

The room filled with silence.

“I see. Then, I’ll go back to my room.”

Kara went back straight to her room. She lost all the energy she had just a few minutes ago. After hearing their tragic story, she finally broke down. Multiple tears started dripping down from her eyes. To think that he died on the day of their engagement. To think that he died because of her.

Kara felt even more guilty. She felt guilty for not being able to protect her love. She felt guilty for not being able to remember him. She felt guilty for not grieving for him on the day of his death.

Kara’s bright room turned dull. She then took another look at her photo with Joseph.

“I’m so sorry, Joseph. I’m so sorry... Please, forgive me”, are the words that she stated while holding the face of her beloved. She couldn’t stop the tears dripping off of her eyes. She couldn’t do anything. She wept and wept, up until those tears made her physically tired. She then layed down on her bed, and stared at her ceiling,

"Fate… really is cruel", she thought.

THE END.

[timelesslords]

have my back, yeah, every day

Annabeth realizes that Percy started sleeping on his back, and she’s determined to know why.

or, a one shot based on this post 

Read on AO3

Annabeth had spent a surprising amount of her life watching Percy Jackson sleep. 

Not in a weird way. It wasn’t like she’d been sneaking into his cabin at night— at least, she hadn’t been before they started dating a month ago. It was just that the life of a demigod was inherently transient, and they’d spent a lot of time questing with each other, and questing meant sleeping in shifts. 

And sure, one could argue that the purpose of shift-sleeping was to watch out for threats, not watch your questing companions sleep. But in the absence of imposing threats it wasn’t like there was a lot else to do besides watch your friends sleep. And maybe Annabeth had focused on watching one friend in particular, so much so that she had picked up on a lot of his sleeping habits.

In the past month since they'd started dating, she'd only honed those observations to their minutiae: she could tell from the twitch of his fingers whether the dream he was having was good or bad. She could tell from his breathing whether he was in a deep sleep or a shallow one. She knew he ran hot and only slept with a sheet, if anything at all. 

So that was why Annabeth found it odd that Percy had suddenly shifted from being an adamant side-and-stomach sleeper to always, always, sleeping on his back.

Admittedly, she’d probably spent more time in the past two weeks watching Percy sleep than she had every other time combined, so her sample size had grown, which could somewhat account for the shift from stomach to back. Except that it wasn’t an occasional switch, something she could have caught onto earlier. It was every single time.

Every random nap (which he took a lot of, these days). Every time she snuck into his cabin at night and he fell asleep before her. Everytime she fell asleep first and woke up before him. Even right now, both of them on his bunk together, his head in her lap-- despite the fact that there was a perfectly good pillow not two feet away. On his back. Always.

Annabeth really wasn’t supposed to be here at all, but Percy spent a lot of time asleep lately, and she didn’t mind bending the rules to spend more time with him. Summer was starting to wind down, and that meant her time with him was starting to dwindle as well. She wanted to spend every possible minute they could together, even if it meant all she was doing was watching him sleep. And okay, maybe they’d spent some time making out before Percy’s nap, but still. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he was getting close. 

He looked so peaceful and relaxed Annabeth almost just kept her mouth shut altogether. But they’d both be going home in a few days, and she knew this was going to drive her crazy until she sucked it up and asked him about it.

"You never used to sleep on your back," Annabeth said, finally unable to take it anymore. 

Percy’s eyes fluttered open sleepily. Annabeth immediately felt a little guilty for depriving him of his nap, but he didn’t seem upset, just confused. 

“Huh?” he yawned. 

“You always used to sleep on your side. Or your stomach. And now you never do,” Annabeth said. She watched as recognition flitted across his features, but he still hesitated before answering. 

"Oh, yeah,” he said, unhelpfully. But Annabeth could tell that her instincts were right, and this was something going on, not just her being a crazy person who spent way too much time memorizing her boyfriend’s sleeping habits. 

Maybe she should leave it alone. He clearly didn’t seem all that excited to talk about it. But she’d already brought it up, and it was clearly bothering him, and well-- Annabeth was curious. 

“Why?” she asked. 

This time he glanced away, his eyes finding the ceiling instead of meeting her gaze. 

I guess after… everything, it just sort of felt exposed," he said, slowly. 

It took Annabeth a second to realize what he meant by "everything." There was the obvious answer, the one that went along with “exposed,” the one that frankly, she was already kicking herself for not guessing from the start. His Achilles spot was on his back, so no fucking wonder he didn’t want to sleep back to the world anymore. 

Annabeth could tell by the tone of his voice that it was more than that, just slightly. But she couldn’t even begin to parse out what that meant without acknowledging the obvious.

“Oh. Gods, I’m dumb,” she groaned, covering her face with one hand. 

He laughed, his shoulders shaking against her legs just slightly.

“You’re not dumb,” he said. His voice was affectionate, but she could tell his nerves about the whole thing hadn’t completely melted away. His finger had started tapping against the bedspread beside him, a nervous, unconscious gesture.  

“Yeah, but I should have…” 

Annabeth trailed off. She should have known. It was obvious. She was the only one who could have possibly known, because she was the only one who knew where his spot was, the only one he’d ever trusted with that information. And she hadn’t realized.

“What? Known?” Percy finished for her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, shouldn’t I have?” Annabeth asked, peering down at him through her fingers. 

Percy reached up, tugging on the hand that was still covering her face, pulling it away, down above his head, wrapped in his own. 

“Annabeth, I didn’t even know that you’d noticed I’d switched. It’s not a big deal.”

It had been so easy to forget about it all, the past month. Things had been normal, happy, better than normal, because now they were dating and the war was over and nobody was on the verge of predetermined death. And Annabeth had spent a month wondering why he’d stopped sleeping on his stomach and it hadn’t, not once, occurred to her why, even with the answer staring at her right in the face. She just hadn’t wanted to look. 

If she was honest, the curse scared her. Sure, it provided protection in a more general sense. He was never going to get a cut or a scrape or a burn from the lava wall. But it made everything so tenuous-- all of him was tethered to life through one tiny spot on his back. It could all fall away so easily, and Annabeth had been pushing that thought out of her mind for the entire past month. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Annabeth glanced back down at Percy, jolted back to reality by his voice. He was frowning, little worried lines etched between his brows. 

“The curse isn’t the only reason,” Annabeth said, ignoring his question, “I mean it is, but-- there’s more.”  

He grimaced a little, but didn’t drop his eyes this time. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, trying to cover up his frown with a smile, squeezing her hand. 

But then his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to her shoulder—where, under the fabric of her t-shirt, there was still a thick white scar from a poisoned knife that wasn't meant for her at all— and Annabeth suddenly understood everything. 

Percy could say what he wanted about the strategic placement of his Achilles heel; that it was small and hard to hit with armor on and all those other things. But Annabeth knew why he’d put it on his back maybe even better than he did. It was the same reason he’d always slept on his stomach, at least until now. Because even after everything he’d been through, all the fights he’d survived and all the betrayals he’d suffered, he was still a little too damn trusting. 

He’d put his weak spot on his back because there was some part of him, however small, that still believed people were good and decent and would face you head on, the same way he would. That they wouldn’t attack you when your back was turned, because even if it would give him the advantage, Percy would never win a fight that way. He’d banked on his own instinct, because that goodness was so built into his worldview he probably hadn’t even realized he’d done it.  

Obviously that hadn’t quite worked out, and Annabeth had almost died taking the knife that was literally and figuratively meant to stab him in the back. And Annabeth knew that that was what he meant by “everything,” not just the curse itself. 

Percy was still looking up at her, patiently waiting for her to be finished thinking, completely oblivious to her realizations. Annabeth bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him all that. For one, it was the opposite of “not worrying,” and for another she didn’t want him to worry about her. 

And she didn’t want him to be scared anymore. She wanted him to bear his back to the world as freely as he had before, because the thought of losing that part of him was painful in a way she didn’t even know how to describe. 

“Get up,” she said, nudging his head with her knee. 

“Why? Ow—” Another nudge and Percy was sitting up next to her, rubbing his temple. As soon as he was up, Annabeth laid down, pressing her back to the wall of the cabin. 

“What are you doing?” Percy asked, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Fixing it,” Annabeth said, patting the bed next to her, “Lie down.” 

Percy gave her a weird look, but followed her instructions, tentatively lowering himself onto the mattress next to her, back down. 

“On your side, dummy,” Annabeth said, poking him in the ribs for emphasis. 

Percy frowned, suddenly realizing what she was trying to do.

“But your—”

Annabeth didn’t even need him to finish his sentence to know that he was protesting the fact that her back would be uncovered this way, nevermind the fact(s) that a) the chances of them being attacked at camp in his cabin were slim to none and b) Annabeth was not the one with her lifeline attached to one very specific exposed spot on her body. 

“Wall,” Annabeth reminded him, kicking the cabin wall behind her with one foot, just to remind him that it was there. 

Percy sighed, but was either out of protests or too tired to use them. He rolled over tentatively, his back pressed against her front. Annabeth curled into him, wrapping her arm around his chest, tucking her chin into the crook of his neck.

She could feel him relax under her, something tense in his limbs melting away, his breath slowing and evening out. 

“Better?” she asked, quietly, suddenly a little self-conscious. 

“Better,” he agreed, finding her hand and squeezing it again, “Thank you.” 

Annabeth smiled into his neck, lacing her fingers more securely through his. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, snuggling a little closer to him. 

They spent a quiet few minutes like that before either of them spoke again. Annabeth would almost think Percy had fallen asleep, except that he was rubbing little circles into her palm with his thumb. 

“I could get used to this,” he admitted. 

Annabeth’s chest felt warm, and she didn’t think it was from Percy’s body heat. He was trying to sound casual, but Annabeth could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah?” she asked, softly. 

She could hear the smile in his reply, even if she couldn’t see it. 

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.” 

It was Annabeth’s turn to smile, then. 

“I’m always gonna have your back, Seaweed Brain. You’re going to have to get used to it.” 

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                  ��    ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

-ˏˋ⋆ ̥ 𝗳𝗼𝘅'𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 – part one: the beginning (cyj)

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader x kang taehyun

genre(s): fantasy, period!fic, nine-tailed fox!yeonjun, crown prince!taehyun, angst, fluff here and there

word count: 4,1k

the spirit who had been guarding the south side of the mountain, a nine-tailed fox, is requested by the crown prince of Joseon to make an appearance before his betrothed. though reluctant at first, he agrees on condition that their meeting is fleeting and under the guise of a mask.

an: this was inspired by the kdrama ‘tale of the nine-tailed’, hence the similar elements. events may or may not be historically accurate. ++ i’m really anxious about how this fic will be taken, but i’ve put too much effort in to let it sit in my drafts ksks. might post the part 2 if you want! let me know what you think!

(finally posting this as a gift for the immense support i’ve been receiving! thank you! ❤️ and low-key bc sumi has been thinkin about kitsune yeonjun)

Sealed by the promise of two youths many moons ago, your betrothal to the crown prince of Joseon was something which was not unbeknownst to anyone in the country. Many young ladies, noble and common alike, coveted your fortune and would make desperate pleas to the gods to have half the luck you did. And perhaps anyone else would have boasted about how fate had favoured them, but you didn’t.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?” his highness asked, raising an eyebrow as you continued to flip through the pages of a book you had picked up from his desk. You placed the book back where you found it and turned to look from the pavilion, out across the pond and above the canopy tops to the mountains in the distance.

What had intrigued you about the palace was not the status, nor the riches, nor the people who dwelt within it. After all, you preferred to be neck-deep in books of history and literature, poetry, and volumes which questioned which was myth and which was reality. Your father, though, was as open-minded as anyone else was about the education of women at the time – not at all. So you had resorted to killing two birds with one stone; appeasing your father by agreeing to meet with the prince meant getting your hands on books you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

But today, you had an entirely different motive.

“Do you believe in mythical beings, your Highness?” you asked, turning to face the prince who stared back at you, wide-eyed.

The seemingly sudden question had him taken aback.

From the very first meeting, you had puzzled Taehyun. Like you, although he knew he had to do it some day, the topic of his marriage hadn’t interested him. Or rather, it was more important to him that the person he would one day wed had the same interests as he did – the good of the people and the flourishing of the country.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect you to be as crazed about love and titles as the other noblewomen of Joseon were, at first. So he was pleasantly surprised when you had arrived at Gyeongbokgung, not batting an eyelash in his direction. But when he had attempted to open discussions about politics and solving the exorbitant taxes expected from the people, he’d find your nose buried in one of the books from the pile you sifted through by his desk.

Taehyun was already struggling to figure you out, and now you asked him this.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he cocked his head to the side, folding his hands behind his back. “have you come across something thought-provoking?”

“It’s quite straightforward; a yes or no question.” you shrugged, smirking as your eyes caught the not-so-discreet glances his personal guard and the eunuch had given one another.

Ultimately, to have relations with the throne was not all sunshine and roses. For your own protection, and to ensure you were not used as leverage against the king, your father had sent you very far from home – to Southern Jeolla. And it was upon your arrival back in Hanyang, after many years away, that you had come to hear the rumours which had surrounded the royal family.

A gumiho. A nine-tailed fox. The spirit which protected the forest. A being which could not be trusted. The one to whom the country owed it’s prosperity. The one at whose hands the country could fall into havoc.

You knew better than to believe the words of storytellers and self-proclaimed chroniclers. It was the fact that they had all said the same thing which had perturbed you. It left this unsettling feeling, which just wouldn’t fade away. So you read book after book, folklores and retellings, each and every documented account of those who had insisted they had seen the man with ‘eyes which glowed like hot embers even in the light of day’. It nearly drove you insane.

That was, until just this morning, when you had overheard the court ladies chattering away in hushed tones about how so-and-so had come to see the prince again, how much so-and-so frightened them, and how they wondered for how much longer the king would leave the future of the kingdom in the hands of such a wild-card.

You turned to look out beyond the trees again, a sudden gush of wind rattling their branches and sending their leaves sailing through the air. “Let me meet him. This... friend of yours, your Highness.”

“No.”

Taehyun nodded, taking a leaf from the shrub in front of him between his fingers, “I thought you’d say that.”

Yeonjun huffed, taking a bite out of one of the freshly picked apples the prince had brought along with him on his visit (as some sort of incentive, he supposed). The scowl he had adorned etched deeper into his face as Taehyun’s proposition crossed his mind a second time. He should have left the boy to the wandering spirits all those years ago, is what he thought. The fact that Yeonjun had allowed him to follow him around and meet with him must have made him cocky.

In the beginning, he trusted them. Yeonjun had spent thousands of years cultivating the forest and protecting those which lived beneath it’s canopy. He had taken an oath to never allow any harm to come to it, and as a sort of by-product, had taken up an arrangement with the king to hand over to him any miscreants who chanced into his territory. And for hundreds of years, this agreement was honored. King after king had revered the spirit who protected the people, throwing grand festivals in his honor.

Until humans did what they always do. They became consumed by greed and corrupted by power. They feared that the existence of a powerful being, and the esteem in which the people held it, threatened the very authority of the throne.

On a night which felt like yesterday to Yeonjun, the then king had convinced him to appear before the people, reasoning that he deserved to be celebrated and loved; not lurking in the depths of a forest where he wondered alone. His yearning for family provoked, he had left, only to return to enormous crackling fires which devoured everything in their path.

Now he was being asked to entertain the likes of one of them again? An insolent, entitled woman who was probably the daughter of some power-hungry government official nonetheless? He wouldn’t allow himself to be made a fool out of again.

“I’m aware you cannot leave the forest unguarded for long periods of time, especially at night,” Taehyun said, brushing the bits of earth from his hand onto his silk garment. “which is why I want to bring her here.”

The half-eaten apple hit the forest floor with a thud.

“What did you just say?” the same incredulity written on Yeonjun’s face, embedded into his voice.

Taehyun grinned sheepishly, “Hyung, can’t you do me this one favour?”

Quickly taking a seat beside him, the crown prince of the Joseon dynasty grabbed onto the sleeve of Yeonjun’s black robe and tugged at it. Yeonjun sucked a sharp breath of air through his teeth and slapped his hands away. The memory of a scared little boy in disheveled clothes, sobbing as snot ran down onto his lips crossed Yeonjun’s mind. He bit back the grin which fought to pull at his lips.

“I thought you weren’t interested in love? Why all the effort then?”

Taehyun dropped his hands from where they had been grappling at Yeonjun’s robe and stood up, clearing his throat before folding his hands behind his back again. Yeonjun smirked. “It’s not by choice, the woman in question is frightening. Only the gods would know the lengths she would have gone to had I refused her.”

Many minutes of back and forth bickering had passed before Taehyun managed to convince Yeonjun to appear before you. This reluctant agreement came with conditions, however. Leaving the mountain for even a moment during nightfall was out of the question, but that didn’t mean that he was okay with some suspicious woman wandering into his home. So, they had settled on the foot of the mountain closest to the north side. Yeonjun had also made sure to point out that although he had agreed to let you see him, he never agreed to introductions.

“You never struck me as the type to attend parties in the evening, your Highness,” you hollered from your palanquin which lagged behind his. When no reply came, you seethed, biting back the urge to punch a hole through the expensive wooden barrier in front of you. He had suddenly appeared at your father’s estate just as the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, not bothering to give an explanation before your father had the guards stuff you into the tiny varnished vehicle. “You haven’t yet answered me, your Majesty. The question from earlier.”

You cried out in pain when the palanquin was suddenly set down, tossing you up in the air like a shuttlecock. Hand still pressing down on your head from where it had hit the roof of the palanquin, you glared at Taehyun’s outstretched hand when the door folded open. You violently slapped the hand away and pulled back your skirt, nearly kicking his shins as you climbed out. Accidentally, of course.

Your behaviour amused Taehyun, a smirk finding its way to his lips. He whispered something to Soobin, his personal guard, who had given him a distressed look in return. He sighed as Taehyun placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a quick nod before returning to the entourage. You raised an eyebrow when Taehyun offered you a smile, gesturing his hand to the left of where the road forked into two.

The evening air was brisk; the various flora emitting a plethora of unique smells which blended together as they crawled into your nose. Leaves rustled as the forest creatures scurried across the floor; the occasional flapping of wings and hoots of the wide-eyed, mice-eating predators filling the otherwise eerie silence. The pale moon, which shone like a great halo in the sky, casted it’s light through the trees, creating beautiful natural skylights and mysterious shadows. The breeze was ever-so gentle, seemingly caressing your cheeks as you followed Taehyun down the path filled with earthy soil.

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” He chuckled at the question you had posed. He took a firm hold of your hand as he helped you cross the stream you had encountered, squeezing it a little tighter as your shoe glided off some algae, smiling when he heard the under-the-breath cuss.

When you had both safely crossed over into the field of long grass on the other side of the bank, he caught his breath for a moment. “My men say there came a troupe from Jeonju in Northern Jeolla a few days back,” Taehyun started, motioning for you to follow behind him as he stalked through the vegetation.

You groaned. Just how much torture was he planning to put you through? Did he find out you had ‘borrowed’ some of the books from his shelf?

After another few dreadful minutes of walking, an enormous tree came into your sights. It’s trunk looked as if it could house a small population, and it’s branches spread far across the open space; a meadow. Taehyun smiled in satisfaction and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, before placing his hands on his hips. Was this what he wanted to show you? You were far too tired, and your feet hurt way too much to enjoy the sentiment.

“Right, as I was saying,” The prince continued. You took a seat on the soft blades of grass and began pulling the shoes off your aching feet. “Despite journeying across the country to perform in gisaeng houses, I’m told the productions of this troupe were rather enthralling – ”

The sound of your snorting earned a glare from the prince. You shook your hand, “I find myself in constant surprise this evening, your Highness,” you laughed. “Hearing the term‘gisaeng’ from your mouth would send chills down anyone’s spine.”

The distant strumming of a zither whispered in your ears and your body froze. Slowly, the field, which had been lit only by the silvery hues offered by the moon, glowed in shades of green and yellow as fireflies hovered in the air. Then the zither stopped. Your neck snapped in the direction of scuffling feet by the tree trunk. Figures dressed in black placed paper lanterns varying in size at the base of the trunk, before scaling up to the branches.

A gasp slipped from your lips when the zither had suddenly started playing again; much louder this time. Ribbons dropped from different branches around the tree, carrying men and women who spun as they unravelled. Sporting white masks in the form of a fox, they danced around the tree, twirling and swinging back, dipping low before soaring through the air with such delicacy it gave you goosebumps.

“This performance is called the Fox’s Hiraeth,” Taehyun whispered, eyes fixated on the scene before of him, “you asked the other day did you not? About gumihos in Hanyang.”

His Highness’ attempt to throw you off was painfully obvious in that moment, and it did not go unnoticed. But just before you could make the remark that you had been carefully curating for exactly this situation, the zither had come to a stop once again. Leaves rustled above you and you lifted your head into a pair of the prettiest eyes you had ever seen.

They were a shade of light brown; little flecks of green and amber peeking from in-between when light passed through them. Bewilderment swam in those sparkling orbs behind the mask, it’s wearer holding his breath, not looking away for even a moment. The feeling in your chest drew a smile onto your lips, so big, it pushed up the corners of your eyes.

“Hello.”

He pulled back suddenly, and a strong gust of wind blew right through you, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The wind seemed to blow harder and harder – Taehyun had to press his hands onto your shoulders to prevent you from being gone with it. When it had died down and you opened your eyes again, you shot up, shoving his hands away.

The lights had gone out and the fireflies were nowhere to be seen. The lanterns and the troupe too had vanished into thin air; leaving not a trace. But that was not what was distressing you.

Hands clenching fists into your satin skirt, your eyes searched desperately, “where did he go?”

“Who?” Taehyun questioned, tightening the black cloth strings of his gat. He blinked, feigning innocence so professionally, it antagonised you. “The performance is over; we should leave.”

Pulling your lips between your teeth, the agonizing feeling of having lost something important tearing at your chest, you made a decision. You were positive that Taehyun knew exactly what was going on, but you weren’t about to waste any more time trying to force an answer out of the tight-lipped prince.

Where the meadow under the peculiar tree ended, the forest started again, and spread all across the mountain. You could have been mistaken, and that man may have just been another one of the performers. But it was the forest. It felt as if it was calling out to you; screaming. Every one of your limbs ached to dash into its depths.

Taehyun cleared his throat and turned away instantaneously when he noticed you hurriedly tearing off your blouse. You tossed the garment carrying the golden emblem to the ground, and slipped your shoes back on, ignoring Taehyun’s voice which bombarded you with questions.

He grabbed onto your hand before you left and you stopped, peering down at where your bodies were joined. “It’s dangerous.” he said; his voice as firm as his grip, yet eyes pleading with you like those of a child.

Despite your fathers’ lasting friendship, you had never met Taehyun until a few days ago. And if you did, you couldn’t recall. The confounded stares he had thrown at you upon your arrival had amused you; they were not contrary to that of the other noblemen and their sons whom your father had introduced you to. You didn’t act like the prince’s woman – they had probably expected someone who they could easily manipulate and bribe to their liking – but you were very much the opposite.

It was his behaviour in the days that followed which had taken you by surprise. He’d have books stacked up all around his desk which varied in genre, and were organised by author and publication date, whenever you visited. He seldom spoke and never forced conversation with you, but he’d call for tea and sweets then leave them at a certain place on the tabletop untouched. You’d catch his eyes glancing up at you every once in a while in your peripheral vision, and a smile would find itself to your lips.

He cared for you and you had grown to care for him as well. But you knew that if you left with him right now, your insatiable curiosity would only grow and you’d just end up returning here anyway.

Placing your hands over his, eyes asking him to forgive you, you slipped out of his grasp.

“I’ll be okay.”

Yeonjun paced up and down the cliff once more. He glanced over his shoulder at the mask resting against a boulder behind him, then slapped his hands onto his face and lamented. He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. Everything was happening exactly as he had planned – the dokkaebi had put on their show, relishing in the fact that they were pranking humans; the trees, the breeze and the critters had agreed to set the mood for what he had intended to be your heart being won over by the Taehyun.

He peeked through the spaces in his fingers at the wooden guise, and proceeded toward it. He knelt down and picked it up, eyes fixating on the slots where they were housed previously. He was certain he had prepared for everything, but that all changed when his eyes met with yours.

They stared back at him in surprise, but that surprise slowly transitioned into a warmth which enveloped him; the light of the lanterns which reflected from them, inviting him closer. They scared him, too. Under the mask he had given himself the appearance of one of the lumberers who frequented the forest, but your eyes seemed to stare right through him. They reached into his depths, baring him before you.

Yeonjun glared, irritated with how foolish he had been. He should have trusted his instinct and refused Taehyun no matter how much he insisted. It was absurd that after all these centuries he still let himself fall prey to the ludicrous fantasy he would ever be able to live and feel as they do – he knew that was the real reason he had gone along with this preposterous idea.

His grip on the mask tightened before he hurled it into the bushes. Your voice exclaimed an ‘Ow!’, making him topple over in surprise. The golden rays of sun spilled over the summit just as you stepped out from the flora, bathing you in it’s warmth and highlighting your features as it chased away the night. You rubbed your head profusely where the mask had hit you, pausing when you noticed Yeonjun’s figure on the floor.

Hands on your hips, smiling in triumph, you blew the stray strands of hair from your face. “Found you.”

He had never in his life met such a vivacious woman. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tiny twigs and leaves buried within the now tousled black locks. There were tears in your hanbok. Stains of dirt, grass and mud soiled the skirt. Alas, you still had a stupid smile plastered across your mucky face. He caught himself before he started grinning like an idiot too, shuffling amongst the earth before rising with his back turned towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. Was he looking down on your intellect?

“You’re not very clever for an ancient spirit,” you remarked, tossing the mask at his feet. His frame froze, making you scoff.

The hair cascading down his back was a pale shade pink which shimmered under the light. It contrasted the pitch black robes he adorned, which were embroidered with silver. When he turned around to give you a look of wry amusement, you noticed the bangs which framed his face were more washed out in colour compared to the rest of his head. His slanted eyes were mono-lidded, and they glistened as beautifully as the night before. His lips were plump; it’s colour reminded you of the strawberry tanghulu you had seen in the market.

He stepped closer to you, smirking at the way you were entranced by his beauty, until his face stood only inches away from yours. You cast your eyes away from him, gulping as you took a step back. His eyebrows furrowed when you cringed, staggering before you fell to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he fretted, the role of the charismatic flirt quickly abandoning him as he helped you to your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you into his arms, and carried you to a place where you could sit comfortably. You gripped only his garments tightly, eyes still refusing to meet with his; the scent of flowers lingering on your clothes as he set you down. “His Majesty did not accompany you?”

He knelt down beside you and pulled off your shoes. Blood had soaked into your socks from all the hiking you had done the night before – the back of your shoes had cut deep into your heels; climbing over boulders and through thick vegetation had made the soles of your feet sensitive and prone to cuts and scratches. He pulled his lip between his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into yours.

He poured some of the alcohol he had been storing over your wounds, and massaged in the compound he made of medicinal herbs he had momentarily disappeared to go and find. He tore pieces of his robe to bind them when he was finished, then folded his arms over his chest. “I’m taking you back to the palace.”

You jolted up from where you were seated; Yeonjun pushed your shoulders back down. “None of my questions have been answered, I’m not leaving until they are.”

“Don’t you have a prince to marry?” he contended, tapping a finger on his chin, “they’re not going to be impressed when you return looking like this.”

“What’s your name? Are you really a nine-tailed fox? How old are you? Do you eat human livers? If so, why? Is it true that you are only able to receive titles like the ‘Spirit of the Mountain’ when you don’t feed human on livers? Are you actually a woman? Do you really want the best for this country? Do you wish to bring it to ruin for your own pleasure? Is it true that – ”

He took a step closer to you, and lifted your chin with his finger, closing your mouth. You held your breath as his eyes flickered to your lips, and he smirked noticing the blush spread across your face. He reached behind you and pulled the jade pin from your hair, the tresses falling gently down your back. Bringing the hairpin before you, and his lips to your ear, he whispered, “I dare not rob the future king of his woman, my lady. You should return home for your own safety.”

His hand travelled down the length of your arm, trailing goosebumps and setting fire to your skin. He placed the pin into your hand and lifted it, brushing his lips across your knuckles. His eyes locked with yours and you gasped as they glowed like a setting sun.

A horse whinnied as it strode into the area, making you tear your eyes away from Yeonjun’s. Taehyun slid off it’s back, rushing to your side. He grabbed onto your shoulders brows furrowing as he examined you from top to bottom. “Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You nodded absent-mindedly, searching for where he had gone. Taehyun led you to his horse, and lifted you onto the saddle, sighing as he found you still trying to see past the trees and their leaves. You squeezed onto your chest as you rode away, an inexplicable feeling overtaking you. You had to see him again. Not out of curiosity. No, you – you just had too.

Yeonjun held onto the trunk of the pine tree and swung his body around from the backside. Watching you ride off into the distance, eyes still set on finding him, he sighed, twirling the ring he had slipped off your finger around his.

“(Y/n), huh?” he muttered under his breath, exhilarated by the way it rolled off his tongue.