#and i’ll also admit that i don’t really remember if i kept the ask + submission channels open because i thought ‘hey maybe i’ll get one

[blulowy]

Secret Keeper trying to make Scar happy even though his happiness is bitter to them is so interesting especially cause a similar thing happened when Secret Keeper pretended to be Lizzie to help Scar. Are we gonna see Secret Keeper start to understand players (or at least Scar) and maybe make up with Grian? (Also Scar calling Secret Keeper Rai?! Is he allowed to know Secret Keeper's real name, and why did Secret Keeper tell him?)

I see you noticed parallel.

Honestly speaking, I can’t say for certain, because again: Dried Flowers AU takes place a few weeks after Secret life ender and technically ends a week before wild life. (No it doesn’t. The comic does, but if you all would enjoy it, there will be spin off with wild life)

Past life is in character for Secret Keeper, but I don’t know how it will go lol. Maybe I’ll see something in the episode and will go “yeah, that would be it” regarding how badly or good Secret Keeper treats Scar.

However, as I stated before, Scar has a weird effect on watchers. Watchers are used to be feared or hated, obviously. You wouldn’t like a guy who torments you, right? And whenever they disguised and people treat them nicely… Well it’s fake, isn’t it? Players don’t know that they are talking to a watcher so no one takes it seriously.

Scar treats them as equal, as people, as a normal person even when he knows it’s a watcher. That’s what broke Grian and what confuses Secret Keeper. It exactly confuses Secret Keeper. It makes them curious. However they won’t admit to it. Not because they are stubborn but because they themselves don’t understand what is that feeling.

Scar is their possession. They are sure that all they do is just to keep their toy not broken. Just for the sake of benefit for them. That’s what they believe in.

But let’s be real, killing Tango was not needed to keep Scar functioning. Even more: for some weird and unknown to Secret Keeper reason they didn’t feel satisfied from feeling a creamy sweetness of Scar’s despair.

Now let’s talk about Grian and Xenrai. I can’t tell you. This feels like a big spoiler for whatever I will say.

Now, about the name. It’s a really stupid thing on my part to include it. Not because it’s wrong but because I forgot how smart you all are and would notice it.

Was Scar allowed to know? Nope. It wasn’t even Secret Keeper who told Scar their name, but they do allow it. They allow it because Scar can’t really pronounce their name properly. That’s why he uses “Rai” instead of “Xenrai”. It’s like with Xisuma and “Zoom Zoom”.

I think I talked about potential dialogue between Scar, Secret Keeper and a person who spoiled Secret Keeper’s name to one of my friends but never wrote it down. So here’s a quick “what do I remember”.

S - Scar, SK - Secret Keeper, ? - person who spoiled.

S: “Was that… your actual name?”

SK: “It was.”

S: “From what I know it is important for you to be called by names, right? Would you prefer if I called you by your name? I’m guessing being called Secret Keeper by me makes you feel insignificant?”

SK: “Secret Keeper, when said from you, is a title. A token of respect and is there to show that I’m above you, Earth.”

S: “Okay. So you don’t want me to call you Kzenrai?”

?: “Xenrai.”

S: “Right. That one.”

SK: “You can’t even pronounce it and you’re asking if you should refer to me by my name.”

S: “You still didn’t respond if you would prefer if I kept calling you Secret Keeper or Zanrai.”

?: “What, are you embarrassed to say the truth?”

SK: “I don’t want you to struggle with my name, Earth.”

S: “Then how about Rai? Close enough, right? And you’d feel valued by me. Like a friend, right?”

SK: “If you want so.”

[wholesomepostarchive]

the most wholesome thing is seeing that the wholesome post blog runner is probably one of the nicest people ever :3 i’m generally Terrified of sending asks especially to a blog that Does Things like this but seeing you talk in the tags instead of just reblogging and moving on makes you seem very friendly and approachable !!!! and i hope u know i appreciate that :] i hope you have a wonderful day and both sides of your pillow are always cool and that if you see a random cat on the sidewalk it won’t run away from U ♡

woah, META-WHOLESOME!! thank ya for the compliment, i try my best to carry out those kinds of traits i value!!!!! i’m SUPER super glad that ya did!!! THANK YOU THANK U!! always appreciating how much of an impact this lil blog has on top of appreciating u for sharing as much with me :-)

it’s always a TRIP getting to hear that something i do that i wasn’t even really mindfully doing makes all the difference?? i’m just really, REALLY grateful for all the different kinds of posts that get sent my way and seeing cool + uplifting + sentimental + OVERALL WHOLESOME posts that i express my thanks + ramble a bit in the tags haha !!

i ALSO hope you have as terrific of a day as you’re able to! and i hope you’ll enjoy seeing more posts pop up!

AND YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE but i got new pillow cases like a week ago THAT DO JUST THAT! AND THERE’S A NEW CAT ON THE STREET WHO HANGS OUT WITH ME SOMETIMES (i’ve been planning to see if he has a microchip, but i know for a fact that the neighbors who feed all the stray cats on our street already have a cage + are well-versed in TNR, so i’ve been thinking about asking them first because the thought that someone could be out there looking for their pal is enough for me to “do it scared”) !! SO THANK U NOT ONLY FOR THE SWEET SENTIMENTS BUT ALSO FOR THE UNEXPECTED HILARITY OVER THE FACT THAT THEY’VE COME TRUE???

[adoresia]

Nagi hates his glasses. they’re annoying; always sliding down his nose or fogging up when he breathes too hard. he only really needs them for screens anyways because as far as he’s concerned, if it’s blurry, it’s probably not worth paying attention to. no one’s ever successfully been able to get him to wear them either. Coaches try sometimes. teachers too. he just blinks at them, shrugs, and says “I’m fine.” and that’s usually the end of it.

He doesn’t realise anything off about you at first, as per usual.

The silence just slips in, it’s quiet at first, but then it feels weird… and then the heaviness of it all finally weighs down on him, unmissable. you weren’t talking to him anymore — not in in any of your shared classes or even when your paths crossed in the hallways. he only noticed when he mumbles something under his breath during class and you don’t look back at him in response like you always do. not even a warm smile as you continued to look down at your work. nothing. just your pen dragging across the worksheet like he doesn’t exist.

at first he shrugs it off. you’re probably tired. he can’t be bothered to think deeper than that. but then it happens again, and it doesn’t stop…

by the fourth day he finds himself waiting for your voice without meaning to. the seat beside him doesn’t feel as full or as vibrant as it used to — as you used to. the lesson felt even painfully slower than usual. and his brain felt quieter. like someone muted the usual background noise. and then one afternoon he’s scrolling on his phone, barely paying attention, and suddenly… he remembers? he had pictured someone waving at him, but it was too foggy to piece together. It was like, from halfway across the playground? Arms swinging dramatically in the air as if they were trying to land a plane.

but he hadn’t waved back. just blinked, squinted, and kept walking. not a single thought behind his eyes. but that jacket, in all its blurred out glory… that colour. it was just so familiar, like the one you always wore… Oh.

the next day, he blurts it out before he can second guess it. “…was that you waving the other day?” you blink, a little confused at what he was referring too. “Huh? Are you talking about, like… 4 days ago?”

“I didn’t have my glasses on.” he shrugs like it’s the most obvious excuse in the world. “so I didn’t really know it was you waving at me.“

you snort, half embarrassed but also relieved. you always tend to overthink his behaviour but…. In his defence, it’s Nagi? he’s always immersed in a screen whenever he can be, of course his eyesight is slowly deteriorating… aswell as never being asked to wear his glasses. “Why were you waving from so far away anyway? Should’ve just come over.” his harsh voice drew you out of your thoughts.

he pouts a little. “It’s not my fault I couldn’t see.” he pauses, and then says in a quieter and more genuine tone. “Did you think I was ignoring you?” you don’t really answer. you just look away, like you don’t want to admit how much it actually got to you, and maybe how it shouldn’t have. now that you think about it.

he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, relieved that this was all just some big misunderstanding. and then he admits “That’s dumb… I like talking to you.”

you chest stutters.

he glances at you again, eyes softer now. “…I’ll wear them from now on if it means you’ll look at me again.”

Nagi hates his glasses, but now ? now he’s wondering if maybe he missed something worth seeing. even if it’s just a wave.

a/n : hi this is based off of true events but like not to me to a friend and the real story as actually kinda sad because I think said person actually thought my friend hated her and never spoke to her again….. so decided I was gonna write about it yay!,,😊😊 (I did ask her beforehand) anyways I couldn’t pick whether to do nagi or rin so I did both

Rin version here <-

click here to get notified whenever I post a fic !!

[greg-montgomery]

Y/N and Hotch meet at a bar durin one of the team’s outings and hook up but never get each other’s numbers and they both regret not exchangin contact info

Some time later and guess who shows up to his door with their arm around his son’s?? LMAOOO

The tension would go CRAZY ik it 😩😵‍💫

hiii, i'm posting a fic after a million yearsss <333 i hope you're all still here lmfao ilysm!!

nsfw-minors dni

wc: 1.3k

tags: aaron hotchner x fem!reader, boyfriend's dad!hotch, one night stand, lowkey angsty idk?? oh and his son is not jack in this bc it’d be weird 😭

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Mr. Hotchner.

That name was travelling around your brain all day.

Not only was he your boyfriend’s father, he was also an FBI agent. Meeting parents was already stressful enough – but no – your man's dad had to have the most intimidating job on the planet on top of it.

Your phone buzzed, and you blinked as a message flashed across your screen.

Nick: “I’ll pick you up at 7. Love you.”

You let out a sigh, staring at your closet. “Let’s see what we’re gonna wear to impress you tonight, Mr. Hotchner.”

--

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I don’t know!”

You truly didn’t. Something about all the descriptions of his father made you feel like there was a knot in your stomach.

“Just be yourself,” Nick said, and smoothed out your dress for you. Maybe he was just as worried about the impression you’d make to his dad.

“How original. Thanks.” You rolled your eyes.

“Okay now, stop being mean and knock.”

If only you had a time machine to warn yourself for what was about to happen. Because nothing could have prepared you for what was behind that door: tall, handsome, intimidating, and the best sex you’d ever had.

It was only four months ago that this man, your own boyfriend’s father, was inside you.

He licked his bottom lip while staring at yours. “I never do this.”

Did he think that you would judge him? On second thought though, looking into his eyes you realized he didn’t say it to explain himself, but to help you realize you were a special case.

And he succeeded.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

The next second you were pushed against the wall; his hard cock pressing against your bodies and his mouth on yours.

“Well…this is she,” Nick announced, his hand against your back urging you to move closer to his dad.

He reached out his hand for a handshake. “Hotchner. Aaron Hotchner.”

Aaron. It suit him.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice weak.

“Nice to meet you, too. Come inside.”

How could he be so calm? Did he not recognize you?

That night had changed your life, and he didn’t fucking remember you?

Well, it seemed like he really didn’t.

You were practically shaking under his gaze, but he moved around like nothing strange was going on. He asked you questions, like what you did for a living and if you had any pets. He served the food he had prepared; god he was perfect - weak memory aside, of course. And made conversation like any father would with his future daughter in law.

Maybe you were going crazy. Maybe it wasn’t him.

But then he made that movement. That same movement he kept making when he was talking with his friends that night at the bar; when he had caught you staring…when you had caught him staring too.

Running his thumb over his knuckles.

It was him.

“Fuck,” he whispered between your kisses. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“I can feel it,” you said and moved your hand to cup his erection. His hot breath against your neck urged you to keep moving, slipping your hand on the inside of his boxers. “Can’t wait to feel it in me too.”

“Turn around.”

Without a need to be told twice, you did as he said. He pushed your skirt up, and pulled down your panties harshly.

His free hand grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled it, pressing your face against the wall to steady you. You had never felt dirtier.

“I don’t even know your name,” you said.

He moved closer, kissing the spot behind your ear. “You like that?” he asked, his hand grabbing your ass, and then slowly moving it across your thigh.

His fingers finally found their way between your legs, and you were thankful for the loud music ‘cause there was no way to keep quiet when he started rubbing your aching clit.

“Oh, you like it,” he answered his own question. “Like being touched by a stranger.”

“Fuck…”

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he moaned, two fingers of his entering your pussy.

“Please fuck me,” you whined. Your mind was clouded. There was no way you were that desperate, that you were begging a man you didn’t know for his dick.

He moved his fingers slowly, hitting all the right spots. “And what if I left you here, baby, hm?” he whispered in your ear. You moved your ass against him to match his movements, as he grinded himself on you. “What if I stopped touching you and walked away?”

“No…Please...”

You could hear him unbuckling his belt, and you grinned. And the next second you knew what heaven felt like.

“Baby?”

Your boyfriend’s voice snapped you out of our thoughts. Thank God.

“Sorry. I was thinking about work and zoned out.”

You dared to lift your eyes, only to find Aaron smirking.

He knew.

“My dad was asking you about the wine you brought.”

“Oh. Yeah…I got it from a store near my house, they have really quality-” As you tried to lift your glass and take a sip from the wine you were talking about, a clumsy move of yours had it spilling on your dress. “Shit!”

Nick rushed to clean you up with a napkin but you stopped him, gently placing your hand on his. “Honey, you’re gonna ruin the fabric, it’s okay.”

“Let me get you something old of mine to change at least.”  

“I don’t wanna be trouble.”

“Stop it,” he said softly and kissed your forehead.

You caught Aaron’s intense stare with the corner of your eye.

Once your boyfriend ran upstairs to search through his old bedroom for clothes, it was finally just you and him.

“I’ve heard dish soap helps.”

You smiled. “Does it?”

He hit his hand on the table while standing up, urging you to follow him. “Let’s test it out.”

You followed him to the kitchen and observed him as he grabbed a towel and poured the soap on it. His shoulders were as broad as you remembered. The marks your nails had left on them had definitely faded by now, but they were there once.

“Let’s see…” he said, as he approached you.

He started rubbing the dirty spot of your dress, right below your belly with the towel. The closeness, his cologne, the feeling of his breath on you, teleported you back to that night…to that bar.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Aaron was taken aback from your honest answer, freezing.

His eyes softened when he looked into yours. A sigh escaped from his lips and he spoke again. “What a coincidence, huh?”

���Yeah…”

“Hey,” he said, and caught your chin between his fingers to maintain eye contact. “It’s alright. This won’t be a problem, I can forget about it.”

“I can’t.”

His thumb moved from your chin, and started tracing your lips; his eyes following along with it. He took a deep breath again, closing his eyes. “He’s my son.”

“I know.”

“Found an old sweater and sweatpants.” Nick’s voice coming from the living room broke the tension.

“Thank you, baby!” you said as cheerfully as you could, pulling away from Aaron’s touch and running to your boyfriend.

“I see my son’s been treating you like a princess,” Aaron said, walking behind you.

“I have no complaints.”

“Good.” He turned to his son and pointed a finger at him. “Or someone else might steal her away.”

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mr. Hotchner,’ you thought, and judging from the smile Aaron gave you, he had read your mind.

[obs3ssedd]

katsuki bakugo¡

— he can’t stop visiting his favorite support tool.

— KATSUKI // being a support tool for a pro hero was interesting to say the least. every time and you mean EVERY time he would come into your workshop your co workers would always tease you, whenever he came in with a broken gauntlet, or his belt, or anything for that matter, as soon as he would drop off his gear for you to work on they would tease you, says stuff like “I bet he likes youuuu.” said one “isn’t this his 2nd time coming today? he must really like seeing you~.” said another just smirking shaking your head working on his gauntlet.

you do have to admit, it’s nice being a support tool for a pro hero at that being dynamite. it was cool working on his stuff or even explaining your ideas for his gauntlets or even little gadgets you had in mind, like for his gloves for the winter, when you were explaining it to him you’ve never realized how much he actually listened to you keeping eye contact with you till one of your co workers said something. he doesn’t like admitting stuff but he loves when you talk about ideas that’s just for him. would nod his head in agreement everytime getting lost with your voice..”so for whenever winter comes you’ll have these!. there automatic hand warmer gloves to help you produce more sweat for your explosions. It’s still a project in mind but— dynamite?.” you paused furrowing your eyebrows seeing him stare at you, almost like he’s glaring at you??.

did you say something wrong?!. shit! you probably pissed him off..great work y/n!. while you were mentally cussing yourself out as he was deep in thought…he never liked when people talked his ear off but you? he can make an exception..he loved hearing every single idea you had for his suits or to help him. honestly he could listen to you ramble on and on if he had the chance, he didn’t even notice your panic up until you called his name getting him out his thoughts. “what?.” — “I said did I do anything..? you’re glaring at me.” you nervously chuckled, almost in an instant he cursed to himself. he’s always had this mean resting bitch face, so whenever he’s calm he still looks mad. dynamite shook his head oddly quickly, “no!— I mean no..uh you didn’t.” he cleared his throat. fuck! you furrowed your eyebrows but shook your head looking back down at the glove, “I’ll let you know when the full designed is completed.” you gave a small smile turning back around to place the glove back on your work bench.

some days your co workers would catch on how many times he’s came in, saying one day he came in three times! one was when his belt broke, two is when his gauntlet was malfunctioning and the third..? you don’t think you remember him saying anything about any of his stuff being broken. when you had asked he had this small blush on his cheeks as he tried to explain himself, grinning at him trying to find his words. at first you thought it was cute by how many times he’s came to see you but then you started to get curious, the night where it was just you in your workshop working on your project you heard heavy footsteps approach you from behind. you paused your work lifting your head up, the more the steps came closer the more your grip tightened on the screw driver. your quirk wasn’t as cool as the pro’s but it was very helpful..if a person is atleast 15 feet from you, you can feel there presence and hear their breathing.

as if someone was about to touch you, you whipped around fast pointing the screw driver at the persons neck but once you realized who it was your defenses dropped. “dynamight?.” you questioned, furrowing your eyebrows. he looked different? instead of his costume he was wearing casual attire, a white t-shirt, black jeans and sneakers. you think this is your first time seeing him wear something outside his costume, he was also holding flowers in his hand?. you felt your heart drop but you kept a smile on your face tilting your head, “what are you doing here? It’s late you know.” you chuckled as he sighed nodding his head. “yeah..I just thought I could stop by..” he was nervous. you could tell. you hummed looking back down at the flowers then him, “you’re all dressed up. you got a hot date tonight?.” you teased, though you didn’t want it to be true.

In an instant he shook his head furrowing his eyebrows, “no!. I..no. uh there actually for you..” he said quietly, you raised a brow. “there for me?.” he didn’t say anything but nod his head lifting them for you to grab. they were your favorite too..how did he..? “and there my favorite..” you smiled admiring them, “how did you know?.” dynamight shrugged looking away trying to cover the small blush, “I asked shitty hair.” of course, you shook your head chuckling softly. “dynamight—“ — “katsuki.” you paused. “call me katsuki.” he looked back at you and you swore he had a smile on his face, “katsuki..” It rolled off your tongue in a good way, “well then katsuki, why you get me flowers?.” this was the hard part. admitting he took a liking of you and wanted to ask you out on a date, he went to kirishima for advice since you’re basically his sister and he knows everything about you. though kirishima can be an idiot sometimes he’s actually really good at advice..

he cleared his throat trying to get the right words out. from the silence you gave a soft smile placing the flowers gently down on your desk, grabbing ahold of his hand squeezing it. “you know, you don’t have to tell me anything right now. I won’t force you.” the gentle in your voice could make anyone calm their nerves. it was calming his. he sighed squeezing your back, “well..I want to take you out or something.” — “like a date?.” he nodded his head, you smiled. when he didn’t get an answer he thought you were gonna decline but when he felt you kiss his cheek his eyes went wide, “I would love that.”

“I really would.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Holding It Together

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST 

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,065ish

Summary: It all becomes too much and Logan can tell.

Warning(s): some angst, mental breakdown

Notes: I wrote this because I'm really struggling right now and I wish I had someone to break down to. You can really imagine any type of Logan you want.

Everything had slowly piled on. From every direction. Work. Family life. Your insecurities. The political climate. Your health problems.

On the outside, you forced yourself to seem put together, positive, and okay. But on the inside, you were breaking faster than you could put yourself together. You didn’t want anyone to know how bad it was getting, but someone was slowly seeing the cracks you didn’t know were coming through your facade. 

Logan first noticed when you laughed at one of Scott’s lame jokes one breakfast. It wasn’t as loud as it usually was, more hollow. The next time, he found you zoned out in the library. He watched you curiously for a moment. And before he could go to you, Ororo pulled you out of your daze and dragged you a long to come help her.

Logan noticed that you were being pulled in too many directions. Everyone wanted your help all the time. To collaborate on lessons. To ask questions. To hang out. Or to run trainings and missions. Then there were the family events you were constantly going to when you had time. He couldn’t remember the last time you took a day off or insisted on staying in your room for the night. Logan was growing concerned that you weren’t going to be able to handle all of this much longer.

One night, on his way to bed, Logan saw you in the hall. You clearly didn’t notice him as a few tears slipped down your cheeks and you seemed to head to your room on autopilot.

“Y/N?” He called your name.

You froze and quickly wiped away your tears. “Hey, Logan,” you forced out a smile. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, his tone full of concern as he stepped closer to you. “Are you okay?”

You bit your lip and nodded. “I’m fine.”

His brow quirked. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He didn’t believe you one bit. “I’ve noticed that you been non-stop lately.”

“It’s just life,” you shrugged.

Logan shook his head. “No, it’s not, sweetheart. This is much more than that.”

You sighed. “I’m okay, Logan.”

“Y/N—“

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” Then you disappeared into your room.

~~~

Logan kept his distance the next day but also made sure that you were in his line of sight most of the day. You were holding yourself like the weight of the world was on your shoulders and Logan hated to see you that way. He just wanted you to be happy and relax.

As they day went on, Logan watched you continually put others before yourself in unhealthy ways. You really had no boundaries. When Kitty asked for your help with prepping dinner, Logan stepped in. He had had enough.

“No, Y/N’s going to go rest,” Logan said, placing himself between you and Kitty.

“What?” You questioned. “Logan, I’m fine.”

He turned around to face you. “No, you’re not. Let’s go.” He gently turned you around and began guiding you to your room. 

“Logan—“

“Not hearing it, sweetheart.”

“Logan, please.” Tears collected in your eyes.

“I’m done watching you run on fumes. You’re going to rest and I’ll bring you whatever you need.”

“No.” You pulled yourself from Logan’s grip and spun around to face him. “I can’t, Logan. I need to keep going.”

“You’re going to get sick if you continue on like this.”

“I have to keep going. If I don’t… Just, please, Logan. I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not dropping this. You’re running yourself to the ground and I can’t stand by and watch it anymore.”

“There’s just so much,” you admitted quietly, allowing the tears to fall. “If I help everyone else, I don’t have to think about it.”

“Sweetheart…” He stepped closer and carefully cupped your face in his large, rough hands. “Ignoring the problems are just going to make it worse. Trust me, I’m the king of doing that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just all too much, Logan… It’s all too much.” You broke down into sobs and Logan quickly pulled you into him, holding you close.

“I got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

Gently, Logan picked you up and carried you the rest of the way to your room. He tried to set you down on your bed but you gripped him tightly. He toed his boots off as he held you before moving to lay on the bed. 

“You can’t keep going like this, sweetheart,” he told you as you cried against him. “You’re wearing yourself down and it’s hurtin’ me to see.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried.

He shushed your apology. “Don’t do that.”

“Everything’s just so overwhelming… I’m so alone and I don’t know how to handle any of it.”

“I’m not goin’ to let you handle it alone anymore. I’m right here for you, sweetheart.”

You pushed yourself up to try to get off of Logan and shook your head. “No, I can’t put my burdens on you, Lo—“

“Stop that.” He pulled you back against him. “You can’t keep your burdens to yourself any longer. I’m here and willing.”

“Why?”

Logan looked at you and hesitated. How could he possibly tell you that he had a major crush on you when you were at such a low? He would have to wait and be okay with just being a friend for now.

“Because, sweetheart, I care about you,” he responded. “And I’m your friend. Let me help.”

You nodded. “And it all… won’t scare you away?”

“Never, darlin’. Nothing you could say would ever scare me away from you.”

Your breath caught at his words and the look in his eyes. You could see that he was serious and that there was something else behind it. You didn’t push though, not in the right mindset.

“I need you to stop holding it all in, sweetheart,” Logan continued. “I need you to be straight with me and allow me to help you.”

“I don’t know where to even start, Logan… Just the thought of any of it… I get emotional and I—“

“Calm down, darlin’. Breathe. We don’t have to talk about anything right now. Whenever you’re ready.” He kissed your head. “Right now, let me just hold you. Okay?”

You let yourself sink into him further, tears still slipping from your eyes. “What if I fall asleep?”

“Then I’ll hold you until you wake. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

[blue-jisungs]

HELLOOOOOOOOOO CONGRATULATIONS TO MY ONE AND ONLY ON 8K FOLLOWERS LETSGOOOOOO

so proud of you bro

sooooo 👉👈 I was wondering if you could do jaemin + pearls b u t specifically with one of those pearl back necklaces 👀 whatever the context but it could be him getting jealous or looking respectfully

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ WISH YOU COULD🧸ྀི — respectful boyfie jaem being whipped :p ( wc 1155 )

[ extras ] a small fight between them, reader drinks alcohol, reader wears a backless dress high key inspired by the one linked and the one in the pic ! also can u guess which idol i wanted to write w this idea in the first place based on the linked song~~~

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! MOTHERRR !!! TYSM I LOVE UUUU <3 thank u for sticking around hehe!! hope u like this one <33

@kstrucknet

“you’re joking”

your intense stare drilled jaemin’s soul inside and out. he frowned, shaking his head.

“angel, don’t get mad. you know how hell of a schedule mark and haechan have, we have to cherish it” jaemin pouted, grabbing his phone. “it’s just dinner”

“it’s my company’s banquet!” you whined, tossing your calendar on the table. jaemin chewed at his bottom lip, flipping the pages to see the date. he remembered when you put that in three months ago.

“i know, i’m so sorry. but you know that next week jeno has–“ jaemin started. the dinner with his friends was unexpectedly moved - and even though he protested, it was the only available date. “you said you didn’t even want to go”

“but i have to” you grunted, pinching the bridge of your nose. you wouldn’t admit that you already bragged about bringing your boyfriend with you.

you huffed, glancing at the clock. you had four hours to get ready.

“whatever. i’ll order an uber” you hissed, leaving the living room.

jaemin figured he won’t bother you longer. he felt bad, he really wanted to go with you. but…

but you’re here alone now, sipping on a vodka sour.

the room was huge and finely decorated. your company truly went all in, renting such a luxurious place. the food was delicious too, servers in tuxedos not missing a chance to offer small appetizers.

the gold ornaments and huge chandelier made you feel like in an old romantic movie, marble vases with fresh flowers acting like a set. you wished jaemin was here, he’d appreciate the beauty of it as well.

even the music! a jazz band was rented out and jealousy gnawed at your heart upon seeing couples dancing to the slow rhythm on the dance floor. ridiculously in love, enjoying the moment.

you sighed and swirled the glass, ice clanking. your phone kept occasionally buzzing from the inside of your clutch bag laying on the bar counter. you didn’t bother to check it. if it was jaemin, he should know better. you were sour that he didn’t come along (perhaps even more sour than the name of your drink would suggest).

“oh, girl…” you heard a sigh.

you looked through your arm and smiled softly upon seeing your bestie.

ningning tsked and shook her head, approaching you. her gaze stuck on your exposed back and she gently touched the pearl lining running along your spine.

“holy shit, you look amazing?” she gasped and you just grinned. ningning made her way next to you, mouth agape “like, you’re kidding. the back? girl… the pearls?”

“i bought this dress a while ago, didn’t have a chance to wear it” you admitted and scanned her “you look hot as hell too, miss girl”

she just giggled and ordered herself a drink too.

“can’t believe this asshole of yours…” she started but just saw how your jaw tensed.

“don’t even mention it” you mumbled, drowning any more words with your alcoholic beverage.

“are you having fun though?” she asked and the bartender handed her order.

“do i look like i am?” you snickered and looked up, only to meet a pair of familiar eyes looking at you through ningning’s shoulder.

you’ve been at the banquet for three hours now, bored to death. and, maybe, a couple of drinks too much. so you weren’t even sure if it’s not your imagination pulling pranks on you.

ningning turned around and scoffed.

“well… have fun. if you want to sleep over at mine, just find me” she sing-sang and walked away mischievously, drink in her hand.

you turned your gaze the other way, leaning your face on your hand. the bartender suddenly seemed like the most interesting person in the whole room, the way he poured the liquors and mixed them.

you felt someone approach you and you just tapped frustrated at the counter.

“angel…” you huffed, trying to turn your head even more.

you heard a soft sigh of resignation.

“if that makes you feel better, i couldn’t stop staring at you ever since i arrived”

you slowly turned your gaze, meeting jaemin’s ebony irises. his features were soft yet… there was a certain look on his face. some kind of regret, some kind of… possessiveness.

maintaining eye contact, you took another sip of your drink.

“that dress… holy shit. the pearls…” he hummed, shamelessly checking you out. well, that was your plan in the first place. he couldn't look away, a small chuckle leaving his lips “i kinda regret i arrived just now. everyone else got to see you like this before me”

he was trying to get you to talk - and you were trying to give him the silent treatment. but he could see your facade was slowly breaking, the need to reply with a snarky comment growing stronger.

jaemin turned his gaze to your face and smiled gently at the sight of your pearl earrings to match. earrings, which he gave you for your first anniversary.

“i’m sorry. i should’ve made it clear for the boys that i already made plans with you. we ate dinner and i left. i just had to” he apologized, honesty in his voice. “it won’t happen again”

“obviously. since it’s one time of a thing” you mumbled and ignored the proud smirk growing on his face.

you tried to ignore him, in general. he had no right looking this handsome in an elegant suit with his hair slicked back. when did he even find the time to change? and why does such outfit fit him so well?

he cleared his throat, eyes wandering at your exposed back again. now it was your turn to swallow a cocky smile behind your drink. the dress worked like a wonder.

“i know i’m fine” you hummed and put away the empty glass.

jaemin looked you in the eye and you both knew you’re good now. you knew he was waiting to make it up to you; it was just who jaemin was. he has a soft heart and hates making you upset.

“i know you wish you could” you teased, finally stepping closer to him.

“oh, that is correct” he played along, a proud smile growing on his features. “can i…?”

you stared at his outstretched hand, dramatically humming in deep thought.

you just grabbed your bag and took his hand, leading him to the dance floor.

the jazz band was still playing a slow, romantic rhythm.

“jaemin” you hummed, wrapping your hands behind his neck. your boyfriend gently held your hips, swaying you to the rhythm. “you know, i appreciate it. that you came, in the end”

“of course. sorry you had to deal with my foolishness first, though” he smiled and leaned closer, his lips brushing yours “also, this dress is really, really gorgeous. not sure if i mentioned.”

you just giggled, pulling him closer to seal his lips in a passionate kiss.

m. list <3

taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @slytherinshua

[itsthecline]

WONDERING WHY

0.0 TWO HANGOUTS WORTH

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ after your parents requested you to bring a date to midsummers , you can only think of one boy you know enough to ask. none other than jj maybank.

word count 2k

warnings christian!reader , kook!reader , and like one (?) sexual innuendo

next chapter

a/n this is a new series i’ll be coming out with now that i’m back from my hiatus:) this is just the prologue before everything gets going , but there will also be little flashbacks thrown in here and there!!!

THE WRECK. a local establishment in the outer banks that was owned by mike and anna carrera right across from the island’s surf shop. the place everyone in kildare went for the best sea food one’s heart could dream up. it was also a regular hangout for kiara , mike and anna’s daughter , and her friends— the pogues.

you didn’t know all of them too well , growing up on figure eight rather the cut. you had kind of known sarah from school , but you really knew jj maybank. he was one of kiara’s friends— a reckless kleptomaniac that grew up only ever knowing petty crimes thanks to his jailbird of a father. it wasn’t entirely his fault he held the reputation he did— you saw that.

you had met a different jj however. you knew jackson jay maybank , the cute boy that came to church with his mom every sunday , the boy you would run around with outside the church after services whenever your moms got to talking. he was your first kiss , and first boyfriend too— in the third grade.

jj maybank was the reason you were even at the wreck. you were actively seeking him out , peering around the restaurant when you stepped inside. you were so distracted by finding him , you ran into someone , knocking them off balance and causing them to drop a tray of food.

“oh , my gosh! i’m so sorry!” you apologized , bending over to help the girl pick things off the ground. you looked up at her and immediately flushed in embarrassment. of course , you would run into jj’s friend. you had finally convinced yourself to just go ask jj what you wanted , and you mess it up before even getting the chance.

“it’s fine,” kiara assured you with a soft laugh , picking scraps of lettuce of the floor and tossing it back on the tray, “at least it wasn’t oysters,” she shivered , remembering a time that did happen.

you both finished cleaning up the mess the best you could before standing up. “gosh , i’m so sorry again , kiara,” you sighed , fishing your wallet from your purse, “let me pay for ‘em.”

“no , no! don’t worry about it,” she quickly replied , pushing your hand of cash back to you, “it was just for my friends. they’ll be happier with fries anyway,” she explained to you , setting the tray down, “were you coming here to get something to eat? i can ring you up.” she moved behind the counter , and you followed despite not coming here for the food. though , the way you could smell everything mike was whipping up in the back made you think twice about it.

“no , actually i was looking for jj?” you admitted , scanning the room again , missing the way kiara’s eyebrows shot up.

“oh?”

“yeah , i just have something i wanted to ask him,” you explained with a short , polite smile. you didn’t exactly want to tell kiara all about your plans , so you kept your words to a minimum.

“okay,” the girl nodded , dusting her hands off, “they’re all out back , so i can take you to them,” she smiled , intrigued enough to want to see how this would all pan out. you nodded , accepting the courtesy before following after her. she weaved through tables , waving at a couple of guests , before pushing out to the patio.

the music changed , switching from a smoother tune to a swingier set. it was obvious someone other than mike or anna had control of the radio. your guess was kiara or maybe sarah.

she rounded the corner , spotting her friends chatting animatedly about something that had happened earlier in their chaotic day. kiara whistled once , catching their attention. “jayj , this nice girl was wanting to talk to you about something,” she announced , pointing over her shoulder at you before sitting down next to cleo and taking a sip from her smoothie.

you awkwardly waved at everyone , grateful for sarah’s familiar smile. jj perked up , not expecting to see you standing there. gosh , he hadn’t seen you in maybe three years. you never frequented the same spots as him , and he obviously didn’t hangout where you did.

somehow you looked the same— minus the baby fat. and he could , quite accurately , guess two bra sizes more than the last time you’d been face to face. you had the same style as before. girlier than all heck and not daring to show off too much. today , you settled on a simple , white skirt and a top in the sweetest shade of yellow. jj couldn’t help the way his eyes dragged down your legs , only being able to see a little snippet of them above your kitten heels. you looked just as cute as the day he’d met you. adorable.

“y/n/n y/l/n , what can i do for ya?” he chirped , pushing himself up from the wooden picnic table and marching over to you.

your hands started sweating when you realized there would suddenly be an audience for this all. “um— may i speak to you in private? please?” you asked , gripping at your skirt to wipe the sweat from your palms. your eyes adverted back to his friends— the infamous treasure hunters.

they had always intimidated you. not that they did it on purpose. no , they were all very kind during your brief and few interactions. it was more of the fact that they had lived so much ; they were so much more than regular nineteen year olds on the island. far more than you.

jj looked over his shoulder , noticing all of his friends eagerly watching and waiting. “sure , angel , we can go talk,” he nodded , gesturing for you to turn. you did , feeling his hand ghost over the small of your back. he led you towards the parking lot , stopping once you hit the gravel. “so what’s up? haven’t seen you in awhile,” he spoke casually , twirling the toothpick in between his teeth.

“midsummers is in two weeks , and my father would really like if i brought a date,” you began , straightening your back to try and come off more confident than you were. something about jj always made you want to shrivel up and hide. it was probably that smirk he was giving you. “i don’t really talk to any boys at all , and so i was hoping maybe you come with me? seeing as we know each other?” you concluded on a more sour note. you hated hearing the way your voice went up at the ends of your statements , obliterating any chances you had at seeming collected. you stared at jj , wincing almost in preparation for his rejection. it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you couldn’t get a date for midsummers , but it would be the worst thing if jj maybank laughed in your face again after all these years.

and then he chuckled , and you wanted to run away and die. you knew you shouldn’t have come here. you knew it would be a no.

“yeah , i’ll do it,” he agreed , getting you to straighten your posture again, “but i’m gonna need somethin’ out of it , ya know?”

“really? yeah! i could , like , pay you. and i’d obviously handle all of the coordination things and such,” you rushed out , ecstatic he actually said yes. you had been so worried about rejection that you hadn’t actually prepared yourself for a positive outcome.

“i mean , yeah , money’s nice , angel,” jj nodded , leaning up against one of the patron’s cars, “what about a date?” he suggested after a few moments of making you wait.

“a date?” you choked out , taking the slightest step back. the rocks beneath your feet shifted , giving away the movement. “i don’t date,” you stated , knowing he knew that about you already. everyone on the island knew.

“what? not even for old time’s sake?” jj tried , flopping his arms to his sides, “i mean , technically we’re already dating,” he defended himself , moving his finger between the two of you, “never really broke up , so…”

“jj , i’m sure our relationship from the third grade has reached its statute of limitations by now,” you huffed , crossing your arms, “besides , you laughing in my face and then continuing to ignore my existence as soon as we got to high school made sure i got the message,” you added , sounding far brattier than you ever had before.

the blonde was taken aback , not expecting you to ever throw something in someone’s face. he didn’t even realize that was something you remembered could be thrown in his face. “yeah , that was mean,” he admitted, “but this date could clear things up. you deserve to get taken out. maybe you’ll let me see your wild side,” he winked , causing your face to crinkle up.

“you’re dirty minded,” you pouted , going to turn away and forget this altercation ever even happened.

“wait!” jj moved forward , grabbing your elbow to stop you from leaving, “i didn’t mean it like that.” you tilted your head , arms still crossed. “okay , maybe i did , but it was a joke!” jj laughed , taking hold of you by the arms and shaking you a little.

you bit back a smile and rolled your eyes. “i don’t date , jj. i just need a date. for midsummers,” you explained to him with a shrug.

it’s not that the idea of a date didn’t spark something alive inside of you. it was that it did. you didn’t want to reignite the flame you once held for jj so close to your heart. he was your first crush , and that meant something to you. even at the ripe age of eight years old. he was one of your first friends , and he left you behind. that wasn’t something easy to forget. you had healed from it , sure , but you knew yourself enough not to reopen the old wound.

“then let’s not call it a date,” jj decided with a firm nod, “we’ll… we’ll call it a hangout. you tag along with me for a day , get a taste of the pogue life. then i’ll go to the kookfest with ya.”

“a hangout?” you repeated suspiciously, “and what activities would this hangout include?”

jj let out a short breath of air , like he was coming up with the first thing that came to mind. “i don’t know? petty crime , doing drugs , drinking beers? driving on my sick bike all the while? that sound fun?”

you let out a laugh , covering your smile as you did. “sounds like an ideal hangout with the jj maybank,” you agreed with a nod.

“yeah? that’s only the first half of the day,” he continued , chuckling along with you. he could almost feel himself slipping back to a younger version of himself. back when you would hang out while your mom’s caught up after their weeks. with how his life panned out , it was easy to forget that you two had once been close friends. it felt like a life time ago. gosh , maybe even eight.

you took another step back , tapping jj’s chest with a smile. “you have yourself a deal , maybank. i’ll see you tomorrow,” you told him , digging out your keys. your bmw wasn’t waiting too far from you.

“tomorrow?” jj asked , not too sure what you could have planned with midsummers two weeks out. anything could happen in two weeks. “what rush are you in , princess?”

you stopped in your tracks , jaw agape. “jj! you don’t just put on a suit and go to midsummers. there’s things that need to be done! there’s fittings , and luncheons , and everything in between,” you explained , not completely shocked he didn’t know , but still annoyed you had to spell it out.

“wait , wait , wait—“ jj chuckled , shaking his head, “what-cheons?”

“oh , my goodness,” you sighed , pulling out your phone, “give me your number. i’ll text you everything that needs to happen in the next two weeks.”

jj took your phone , typing in his information. “i think i should be compensated with two hangouts then,” he bargained , shooting himself a text so he would have your number too.

“you are such a pain. fine,” you quickly agreed , taking back your phone, “ten a.m!” you pointed at him , moving to your car.

“jesus , woman! you’re killing me!” jj gasped , wiping a hand down his face like he was under serious duress.

“my house!” you added with a smile , getting in your car and starting her up. you waved at him through the mirror before driving away. maybe it was a good thing you convinced yourself to ask him. it’d be a nostalgic two weeks , but at least it would be fun. that much you knew.

pulling out the parking lot , you got a text message. you braked , checking to see if it was your mother , but instead saw a text from jj.

daddy j💦

see you tomorrow princess

[zurazurax2]

Mac College AU Part 3

Mac (Date Everything) x Reader 

Synopsis: Mac becomes your statistics tutor and in the process becomes something more…?

(Author’s Note: Hey!! For those who asked for it here’s part 3, also part 1 can be found here and part 2 here. Once again this idea came from @veryfruitywriting her writing is literally peak, and I promise this is the last time I tag you about this😔🙏)

Word Count: 2k

__________________________________

To say Mac was caught off guard would be an understatement. They kept their eyes on you while multiple emotions and thoughts were going on inside their head: some disappointment in it not being a real confession like they assumed, some surprise because it was not at all apparent that you had never taken Statistics I, and finally a growing feeling of respect? Attraction? Their feelings for you intensifying as they realize how much work you must be putting into the course compared to everyone else solely to keep up. 

DEAR GOD you could feel yourself dying inside, Mac was just sitting there, staring at you after your confession. Your mind started racing with your own thoughts. They’re probably replaying every moment we’ve shared, noticing how lost I really was. Maybe I should take back what I said? Yeah, I can get tutoring from somewhere else.

“Um… Mac?” You started, snapping Mac out of their thoughts, “no pressure, really… actually I just remembered the university has a tutoring center and I can just go there—“

“No!” They exclaimed a little too loud then they meant to, “Sorry I didn’t mean to zone out there, I was simply thinking about my schedule. I would love to tutor you and I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to ask.” They responded and they meant it with full sincerity because in truth Mac was also looking for a reason to spend more time with you.

Since that day Mac and you would regularly meet for your tutoring sessions. With their guidance you went from feeling lost at sea, using a map you made yourself as navigation to taking a leisurely boat ride in calm water. Mac caught you up on descriptive + inferential statistics, sampling, regression, and types of data/testing. In between, you two would ‘take breaks’ (become distracted) as tutoring sessions would turn into pseudo-dates (even if you both never admitted it) but what else would one call time filled with the sharing of personal interests, experiences, longing looks, laughter, and some occasional flirting?

“I’m telling the truth, Newark would be an amazing place to visit, the sights alone are great, so scenic!”, Mac would insist with a big smile as they shared the top 10 places they’d want to visit.

“Oh you could not be more wrong, Newark is not all that!”, you would protest.

“And what evidence or -statistics- do you have to back up your claim?” They responded, trying to feign that this is still relevant to your tutoring session.

“I’m from New Jersey and have actually been to Newark,” you simply answered.

“Pfft, I call selection bias”, Mac jokingly dismisses.

“Don’t you mean voluntary response bias?”, you correct with a raised eyebrow.

Mac’s eyes widen and smiles in surprise from being both wrong but appropriately corrected by you. “Well, it’s good to see you really are learning during our sessions, but still, I stand by what I said, Newark is terrific”.

“Oh-kay, how about you tell me one of the most ‘scenic’ aspects of Newark?”, you challenge.

“Certainly, when it gets late Newark has the best spots to see the New York skyline”, Mac says confidently.

Your mouth drops in disbelief, “no way you just used the New York skyline, something you can see from other parts of NJ, and not even a part of New Jersey as a ‘scenic’ part exclusive to Newark”.

“Uhhh…” Mac turns red, realizing their mistake, “I know there are other examples but some say seeing is believing, I’ll have to see Newark myself to truly believe your claim”, they try to save face.

“Then I guess I’ll have to show you around Newark myself someday” you conclude with a playful tone and smirk.

.

.

.

Yeah the tension was palpable… but you both never made a move. You felt Mac was simply there to be your tutor, possibly friend but nothing more, these sessions only started because you initiated them; they most likely would have nothing to do with you otherwise. Mac, on the other hand, was sure you liked them back but there was always the worry in the back of their head that you truly just needed some tutoring that stops them from going beyond light flirting but concealing these feelings was starting to become too much for them.

Once Mac brought some cookies given to them by their culinary major friend, Dasha. Simple enough, just some cookies you two would share during that day’s session but kept finding themselves distracted anytime you would pick up a cookie to eat it. The way you would carefully pick it up between your fingers, then bring it up to your kissable lips, and sensually open your mouth to bite down; a small smile appearing on your face as you enjoyed the sweet treat would cause them to lose focus on what topic they were trying to teach you.

For months they repressed these feelings, in the end planning to ask you out when the semester ends so if they ruin your relationship make things awkward then there is no longer any obligation to see each other. When you guys’ Statistics II final rolled around is when they initiated their plan, it was an exam and while studying together they’d invite you over to their dorm.

“The professor will post our final exam and overall course grade at midnight, to celebrate us surviving the course we should have a mini party together and wait to see the results at midnight!” Mac explained excitedly, confident in their approach.

“US surviving? More like ME surviving, this class was a piece of cake for you,” you tease them, “but yeah I’m down, where were you thinking? I think the library will be closed by then.”

“I was thinking my dorm? If you’re comfortable with it of course”, Mac’s face becomes a bit red, somewhat unable to believe they are finally inviting you over for something other than tutoring sessions.

Your face became slightly shocked at the suggestion, you had never been inside Mac’s dorm so late, but you recovered quickly. “Oh yeah that works, guess I better try even harder on this exam. It would be a bit embarrassing if we stay up till midnight just to find out I didn’t do that great on the exam” you joke.

“Haha, very humorous but I believe in you and your ability to not only pass but excel on the final”, Mac responds. Your smile grows wider as Mac’s continuous support really does make you feel like you could do anything.

…

It was the night of the final, you and Mac had already taken the exam earlier in the day, you two were simply killing time waiting for the results. Currently, y’all were on their couch watching a movie adaptation of one of your romance novels that recently came out. The movie was not only bad but a complete letdown.

“I know I always give you some flack for your taste in literature but this time I mean it sincerely, what did you like about this story”, Mac asked confused, two-thirds into the film and they had yet to find any enjoyment in the plot.

“Okay so far I’m not going to defend the movie because I can 100% guarantee you that the original book was better,” you say in defense.

Mac raises an eyebrow at you, “Ehh, sorry I’m having a hard time seeing it.”

You’re quick to explain yourself: “Well for starters the original novel was spaced out better. The romance took place in the span of a few months and it was not simply back to back romantic interactions, I don’t know why the movie is trying to make it so the leads get together in one week. Second, the leading man is not this confrontational in the novel. He only becomes possessive after the two get together, not showing any entitlement to the MC and their life before then, and even after they start to date he was never THIS manipulative. Third, I don’t know why the tender moments are portrayed as more sexual or coercive in the movie when they did not play out like that in the book.”

“They didn’t?” Mac asks, amused by how passionate you were becoming.

“No, Mac, in the original scene they both brush their hands by the printer like this… sorry can I use your hand for this example?” Mac nods, allowing you to touch their hand. “Mika’s hand was on the copy button but Jake didn’t notice so he lightly placed his hand on her’s like this” You trail your fingers over Mac’s hand to demonstrate. They felt a shiver go up their spine, you continued. “And later when they officially hold hands Jake was not as confident as he was here, he certainly wasn’t as forceful either, watch as I imitate how it really happened in the book.” You pick up Mac’s hand, softly imitating a high five, then slowly you begin to interlock your fingers between theirs. Mac follows your lead interlocking their own slender fingers into yours.

“See, this is nice right? Kinder, sweeter, more genuine and loving” a content smile forming on your face looking at your hands together.

“It really is…”, Mac’s face was red as in the process of your demonstration the two of you were now inches away from each other’s faces; you also noticed the closeness and their flustered expression when you turned to look at them. 

It felt like time had froze, the two of you savoring the moment, everything feeling so right. You and Mac alone together, holding hands, basking in each other’s presence. Internally, the two of you felt it was the right time to finally make a move and cross the boundary from friends to something more. Both closing your eyes to lean in…

There was only one problem. You both were already in such close proximity, when y’all leaned in it threw the aim off resulting in you two bumping noses. Moving back, eyes wide, faces red, you two looked at each other mortified by what just happened. You cringing that your first attempt to kiss Mac failed. Mac surprised by how caught up they were in the moment they jumped ahead of their own plan, it was to ask you out then kiss you.

An “Uhhhhhh” was said in unison.

“Nice to know these feelings are mutual?” You say not too confidently, worrying in the back of your mind about the slight possibility you read the situation wrong. 

Mac let out a relieved and embarrassed sigh, finally hearing the confirmation they wanted to know for months now. “Of course, I honestly thought I was being super obvious at times with how fast I would blush around you, lose my train of thought, or simply be caught staring at you”. 

You shook your head, “not a clue on my side, probably because I was going through the same thing,” you admitted. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to ask you this for months now but… may I?” Mac gestures to your hand and you nod, allowing them to hold it again, “Y/N” Mac started, still somewhat nervous, “would you like to go out with me sometime?”

At hearing those words you smiled so wide, trying to stifle it you answerd, “Yes, definitely, I would love to”. Mac grins equally as big at hearing your response, their other hands moving up to cup your cheek.

“Then is it also possible to try this again?” They question, fixated on your lips. 

You let out a dreamy “yeah”.

The two of you lean in carefully this time, your lips meeting softly as if testing the waters then becoming deeper as both of your confidence grows.

…

After midnight it was no surprise to find out you both passed the final exam and overall course, Mac with an A and you with an A- ! Mac and you layed cuddled on the couch looking at the final score.

“Y’know, since you didn’t let me pay you I should really find another way to thank you one day” you thought out loud.

“I can think of a few ways” Mac casually responded.

“What?”

“What?”

__________________________________

ITS DONEEEEEEEEE 🦅🦅

This actually turned out a lot different then my original outline 🫢 oh well 😼👍

Let me know what y’all think! Was there enough longing, tension, idiots in love? (I hope so 😔)

[moghedien]

I think one of best underrated parts of milf Moghedien was that protagonists and Aes Sedai checked in repeatedly and were forced to admit that 1) Moghedien was telling truth, she didn't like steal kids from families or kill their caretakers, they really were just random homeless orphans she took in 2) kids were traumatized, but it was ''ordinary'' trauma of, again, being homeless orphans, nothing to do with Darkfriend business or Compulsion 3) kids actually liked Moghedien and kept asking after her

Ok I don’t remember #3 being the case. Maybe it is but I don’t remember that I’ll have to reread the entire series to find out I guess no choice

But also another overlooked funny detail is that the kids started getting better after Birgitte started help taking care of them and Birgitte and “Marigan” were also sharing a bed in Salidar, so to everyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, it straight up looks like Elayne’s weird fruity ass Warder got with Nynaeve’s widowed maid and adopted her two kids

I cannot stress enough how all of Salidar must have looked at the Elayne/Nynaeve/Birgitte/Marigan situation in Salidar like that was all some gay ass kinky polycule because that actually makes the more sense than what was actually happening

[nglgfics]

Now that I’ve found you

Part 1

(AN: Brace yourselves, this is the longest fic I’ve done so far. Pre-fame Liam. Gonna be posting it in parts over the next week or so)

(18+)

Masterlist

You hadn’t really planned on coming back to Manchester but here you were.

It was meant to be a change — a year, maybe two. A quiet return to something familiar after a few rough years where nothing quite stuck. A degree program that didn’t scare you. Rent you could barely afford. Enough time and space to figure out what you actually wanted before you had to start claiming it out loud.

It wasn’t a triumphant homecoming. It didn’t feel like coming home at all.

Manchester had changed, or maybe you had. The city looked older and newer all at once — shinier corners, rougher edges. There were memories hidden in the cracks of pavements and under the hum of streetlights, but most of the people from back then were gone, or unreachable. You hadn’t been back since you left as a teen.

Still, the city clung to you. The way the rain smelled. The slick stone of the train platforms. The bite in the air that felt like something waking up inside your chest. It wasn’t comfort, exactly, but it was recognisable. You could work with that.

The first few weeks were worse than you’d expected. You weren’t exactly outgoing at the best of times, and here you were — an outsider in a city you half-remembered, in a program full of strangers, eating cold toast for dinner and pretending you didn’t mind.

Your flatshare was a mess from the start. The guy who handled the rent vanished after your deposit cleared. The boiler didn’t work, the bed frame collapsed the first night, and the girl in the next room had loud fights with her boyfriend every night. It took three days for you to admit it wasn’t going to work.

You’d just packed up and didn’t really know what you were going to do next when you met Eva by chance.

You were standing at the edge of a crowded pub-turned-house-party hybrid, your back to the wall and your hands stuffed in your coat pockets, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. And she walked up like she’d been sent.

“Are you going to hover there all night or are you just waiting for someone to hand you a pint?” she asked, tone half-playful, half-daring.

You blinked, startled. “I’m just… watching.”

She grinned. “That’s what I thought. C’mon. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

And that was it. No slow warm-up. No awkward get-to-know-you. She made a space and pulled you into it like she’d already decided you belonged there. You ended up crashing on her sofa that night. She offered without ceremony — threw a blanket at you, kicked an empty wine bottle aside, and said, “Don’t snore. I’ll kill you.”

You stayed there for a week and a half.

She didn’t ask questions you didn’t want to answer. Didn’t treat you like a project, either. Eva had this way of making you feel included without ever making it look like charity. She was sharp, funny, almost untouchably cool, but she never made you feel small.

Eventually, you found a shoebox-sized flat above a takeaway, damp in the corners and noisy from the street — but by then it didn’t matter. You had Eva. Her people became your people. Her rhythm became yours.

You weren’t like her — not loud, not magnetic, not the kind of person who takes up space without trying — but she seemed to like that. Or maybe she liked that you didn’t compete. You played the supporting role well. Showed up. Kept her secrets. Knew when to disappear into the background so she could shine.

You never said it, but you were grateful. You felt it all the time — a quiet tug in your chest, a loyalty that rooted itself deep. You wouldn’t have survived those first weeks without her.

——

For all her sharpness, Eva also had quiet edges. You rarely saw them in public — not at parties, not around the group. But late at night, in the small kitchen of her flat, with the lights low and the windows fogged from tea and cold air, she softened. Not warm, exactly. Just… less armoured.

That was when she talked.

Sometimes it was nonsense — music, old gossip, petty takedowns of people you’d never met. But every once in a while, without warning, something real slipped through.

One night, you were both sitting on the counter with your backs against the wall, sharing the dregs of a bottle of red that had turned slightly vinegary. She’d kicked off her boots and rolled her jeans halfway up her calves like it was the height of summer, even though the kitchen was freezing.

She was quiet for longer than usual, and when she finally spoke, her voice came out low.

“We weren’t official or anything.”

You looked over at her.

She didn’t meet your eye, just kept staring at the dark window across from you, as if something might appear in the glass.

“But it felt like something,” she said. “More than just… messing around.”

You didn’t ask who she meant. You’d learned not to.

She shifted her weight, twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

“I don’t usually let people in. Not properly. I like to keep things clean. On my terms. But with him…” Her jaw flexed. “It felt different. Like we had this thing. Quiet, but solid. Like we saw something in each other no one else could.”

She paused to light a cigarette, smoke curling between her fingers.

“And then he just… stopped calling.”

That silence hung for a second too long.

She gave a short laugh, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Didn’t owe me anything, I suppose. But still — when someone looks at you like you’re the only one in the room, and then they disappear… it does something to you.”

You felt that line land — sharp, final.

“He never really said goodbye. Just… stopped being around. Like whatever we had wasn’t even worth ending properly.”

She didn’t look at you, but her voice dropped a note.

“And I let it happen. Told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d misread it. But I didn’t.”

She took a slow drag on her cigarette, exhaled, watching the smoke curl.

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” she added, quieter now. “It’s been easier, not bumping into him. Like the air’s finally cleared a bit.”

You said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say.

She didn’t bring him up again. Not directly. But you could feel him in the space between certain silences, in the way her voice tensed when a particular song came on, in the way she looked away when someone asked too many questions about what she wanted.

——

Eva liked to arrive late. Not dramatically — just deliberately. She said it gave the night time to warm up before she entered it. You followed her through the front door of a semi in Chorlton, already humming with too many bodies and the thick, living smell of warm beer, cheap scent, and cigarette smoke.

Inside, the lights were dimmed under scarves and tea towels, casting everything in a warm, uneven glow. A stereo wedged on the kitchen counter croaked out The La’s through worn speakers, the cassette warbling every time someone knocked the unit. In the living room, a sagging sofa had been pushed against the wall, replaced with a fold-out table crowded with mismatched bottles, half-drunk cans, and crumpled crisp packets.

Eva unclipped her hair and shook it out, fingers fluffing the roots with a little toss of her head. Already scanning.

“Decent turnout,” she murmured, more to herself than to you, then pressed her scarf into your hands. “Put that somewhere, yeah? I need to find Sam — he said he was bringing the good stuff.”

Before you could answer, she was already halfway across the room, slipping easily through the press of bodies with the kind of confidence that always made you pause. Within seconds she was laughing at something, leaning into a taller boy’s ear, her smile already switched on. You watched her disappear into the crowd like she’d been pulled into orbit — hers or theirs, it was hard to tell.

The house was bigger than it looked from outside. People spilled out of each room, into corners and alcoves you hadn’t even noticed at first glance.

You found a quiet spot near the coat pile, draped her scarf over the bannister, and leaned back against the wall.

You weren’t in a rush.

Eva vanished at parties — that was just how it went. She found someone, found something, and the night ran off without her for a while. Sometimes you didn’t see her again until it was time to leave.

You hung back, coat still on, the heat already slicking under your collar. The room smelled of sweat and cheap lager, perfume layered over with something musty and old — like the house had hosted a hundred nights just like this one, and never fully aired out between.

It was the kind of party you weren’t quite used to yet.

Not in the way these people were.

Everyone seemed to know each other — not just in name, but in shorthand. They moved with an ease you hadn’t figured out how to mimic yet. Familiar people in unfamiliar clothes, leaning close to talk over the music, laughing at things that clearly meant something. You caught fragments of in-jokes, lyrics shouted off-beat, voices overlapping with the kind of intimacy that made you feel peripheral.

You edged toward the wall, tried to look like you belonged. Sipped slowly at a drink you hadn’t really wanted. You tugged your sleeves down, kept your eyes moving, not too quickly. You knew how to do this — how to hover just enough to avoid drawing attention, how to nod along like the song was one you remembered too.

But truthfully, it wasn’t your kind of setting. Too loud, too much. You didn’t like shouting over music or smiling too long or pretending not to notice when someone’s eyes skipped over you in favour of someone else.

Still — you stayed.

You always stayed, when you were somewhere with Eva. Even when the house got too hot, even when the corners filled with people you didn’t quite know what to say to. You were still working out where you fit in all of it.

And then — you saw him. You recognised him instantly.

Tall. Broad-shouldered in that careless way that didn’t feel deliberate — like he hadn’t filled out so much as grown into himself. Lean, still, but with a solidness to him now. One hand curled around a bottle, the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He wore a soft, dark jumper, sleeves pushed to his forearms.

His head tilted slightly as he listened to someone speak — or maybe pretended to. Detached. Unbothered. Like he was letting the night happen around him without needing to claim it. How easy it seemed for him to go still and command the space around him without trying.

And his hair — soft, shaggy, pushed back in places, falling forward in others. The familiar cow’s lick at the front, as stubborn as ever. It looked like it had been mussed by the wind or maybe his own fingers, the kind of hair that refused to be styled but still somehow worked.

Liam.

Older. Sharper. The same.

Your breath stopped — like actually stopped — and the heat of the room disappeared under a sudden, low hum in your ears.

You hadn’t expected this. Not tonight. Not ever. But it was him.

And you knew it before you even knew you were looking. You stood frozen, heart hammering, coat still clutched around you like it might shield you from whatever this was.

Your throat tightened.

You hadn’t seen him in seven years.

Not since you both lived on the same street. Back when he used to knock for you after tea, dragging you out on his bike to the canal, or to that burnt-out building past the corner shop. You’d hang around for hours, doing nothing in particular — just being there, the two of you.

He was the only person who ever really saw you. Not like people who asked too many questions or tried to puzzle you out — he just got it. Got you. Even when you barely spoke. He didn’t push, didn’t make a big thing out of it. He just stuck around.

And bit by bit, you came out of yourself. Talked more. Laughed more. Felt less like you had to hide.

You never had to try with him. You just were. And somehow, that was enough.

At thirteen, you didn’t have the words for what it was. You just knew the days felt wrong if you hadn’t seen him. That certain things were only funny because he was there. That sometimes when you looked at him, your chest felt strange and your face went hot and you didn’t know why.

He’d started looking back differently too. His jokes softened when they were just the two of you. His teasing slowed, got quieter. He started sitting closer. Brushing your shoulder with his on purpose and pretending it was nothing. Watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. You noticed. He knew you noticed.

And it scared you both a bit — that shift. That slow, silent gravity pulling you toward something neither of you could name.

You knew he’d kissed girls before. Everyone at school talked about it. He didn’t brag, but he didn’t deny it either. There was that girl in Year 9 — blonde, loud, always hanging off him. You’d seen them once behind the chip shop. He’d had his hands on her waist and she had her lips on his neck, and something in you had twisted tight.

But with you… he was different.

He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t smooth. It was like he didn’t want to get it wrong. Like he knew it wasn’t just messing about. That it would mean something.

You remembered it vividly now. It was early summer. Just warm enough to leave the window open, the air thick with the smell of damp brick, chip oil, and something blooming unseen beyond the fences.

You were both thirteen. You were sitting on the edge of his bed, knees touching. It was a narrow single with a duvet kicked half to the floor and a broken zip on the pillowcase. His brother’s side of the room was empty — Noel was out with his mates.

The cassette player between you clicked softly, whirring through That’s Entertainment. Liam’s side of the room was a mess of clothes and trainers and posters curling at the corners. The ceiling was cracked above the headboard. A sock dangled off the curtain rail.

He was flushed from the sun, or from nerves maybe, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his neck. You couldn’t stop looking at him. You didn’t know why yet — only that you didn’t want the day to end.

“I’m off to Ireland tomorrow,” he’d said, eyes on the window.

“Already?” you asked.

“Mam wants the cheap tickets on the ferry. Says it’s quieter before the schools break.”

“How long?”

“Couple weeks.” Then, quieter: “You’ll still be here after, yeah?”

You’d nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

He looked at you then — really looked. Not just in passing. Something searching in it, like he was checking you were real.

You felt your whole body tighten under it. Like all your skin had gone electric.

He smiled — soft, a little unsure. “You ever kissed anyone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t laugh. Just tilted his head like he’d already figured.

“You want to?”

You couldn’t speak. Just nodded.

He moved in — slow, deliberate. His knee pressed into yours, grounding you. His breath was warm, edged with spearmint. You could feel the heat coming off him — rising from his chest, his skin, the space between you.

Your whole body had stilled. Not frozen — just waiting. Every part of you leaning toward him. Needing him closer. Needing to know what it would feel like.

You wanted it. More than anything. His mouth on yours, his hands — warm and familiar — holding your face, your waist, your wrist, anywhere. You just wanted to feel him.

He looked at you — properly looked — then let his gaze drop to your mouth. Just for a second. Not greedy. Not teasing. Like he needed to see it before he touched it.

Then back to your eyes.

His fingers brushed the side of your hand. Light. Careful. Waiting for you to flinch. You didn’t.

Your heart was hammering. The kind of nervous that buzzed in your fingertips.

He tilted his head. You followed.

Your noses brushed.

You felt the closeness of him everywhere — skin prickling, breath catching, the air between you drawn tight as wire.

You wanted to close the last inch. You almost did.

Then:

“Liam! You left the back door open again — I’m not freezing my arse off!”

His mum’s voice cracked through the ceiling.

He jumped. “Shit,” he muttered, already backing off, cheeks pink.

You laughed. Too fast. Too light. Pretending it hadn’t meant something.

But it had.

Of course it had.

He left for Ireland the next day.

And before he got back, you were gone.

No goodbye. Just silence.

And now, here he was. In this room. Just feet away.

Still Liam. Still the same full lips, same eyes, same voice tucked somewhere in your memory like a match waiting to be struck.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You turned your face toward the kitchen before your body could betray you completely. But the electricity didn’t fade. It flickered just under your skin.

Like it never left at all.

You leaned against the low brick wall at the back of the garden, barely breathing.

You still hadn’t recovered from seeing him.

Not just the shock of it — not just the impossible fact that Liam Gallagher was suddenly there, in the same room, seven years later — but what it had done to you. The force of it.

You’d seen him — half turned, mid-laugh, bottle in hand — and your whole body had jolted like it had been hit by something hot and electric.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t slow.

It was instant.

Your chest went tight. Your pulse kicked up like it had somewhere to be. Every nerve in your body seemed to lean toward him, like it remembered something your brain hadn’t caught up to yet.

All you could think about — all you could feel — was how much you wanted to kiss him.

Not sweet. Not soft.

You wanted it rough with meaning. Hot with memory. A kiss that said: I remember you, and I’ve wanted this longer than I ever knew.

You wanted to know what his mouth felt like now — after all this time. If he’d kiss you like he used to look at you. Like he couldn’t help it. Like it undid him.

The want settled low, thick behind your ribs. It wasn’t shy. It burned. It took up space.

But outside, it only got worse.

The ache stayed with you.

Alive. Unrelenting.

Still there — just under the surface.

The door creaked open.

Footsteps, slow and steady, crunched across the paving.

“Knew you’d be out here.”

You didn’t turn right away. “Still not great with crowds.”

“I remember,” he said, coming to stand just beside you. “You always vanished when things got loud. Used to take me ages to find you.”

A beat.

“But I always did.”

The words landed soft and heavy in your chest.

You looked down at your hands, throat tight. “I wasn’t hiding. Just… trying to breathe.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I liked about you. You never stuck around just ‘cause you were supposed to.”

You glanced up — and caught him looking.

Not casual. Not really.

His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slouched like he didn’t care much either way. But there was a tension in his jaw. A flicker in his eyes that gave him away.

Like the sight of you had knocked the air out of him, and he hadn’t figured out how to get it back yet.

You swallowed, heart thudding.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” he said after a moment.

“A little over a month now,” you answered. “Started uni. It’s been a bit mad, settling.”

“I saw you in there,” he said, glancing down.

You nodded. “I saw you too.”

He shifted, hands still in his pockets.

“When I realised…” His voice dipped. “It hit harder than I thought it would.”

You didn’t say anything, just felt your pulse knock against your ribs.

A beat passed.

“You look different.”

You glanced over. “So do you.”

He turned his head just enough to look at you directly. “Yeah?”

“You’ve grown into yourself more,” you said. “Taller. Broader. Still got that face, though.”

He grinned. “You’re not doing bad yourself. You… filled out.”

You gave a low laugh and our fingers curled slightly in your sleeves — like you might touch him if you didn’t keep them busy. You could feel him watching you, and the want curled up under your ribs, quiet but sharp.

The air between you buzzed again—quiet, heavy.

“I didn’t know what happened to you,” he said eventually. “One day you were just… gone.”

“We had to move,” you said. “Quick. My dad got a job down south and we left that week.”

“No warning?”

“You were in Ireland,” you said. “I left a note with a number. Where we’d be staying. I pushed it through your letterbox.”

Liam blinked. “You what?”

You looked at him. “I waited weeks for you to ring.”

His brow furrowed. “Swear down, I never got it.”

“I figured that out eventually.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “Mrs Devlin still next door?”

He nodded slowly. “Aye. Still there. Still nosy as ever.”

You let out a breath — not angry, just tired. “She probably binned it.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Probably thought it was a bloody takeaway menu.”

He rubbed his jaw. “If I’d seen it…”

“I know,” you said. And you did. Or at least, you wanted to.

He exhaled, jaw working. “Thought I’d said summat wrong. Or done something. Thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“You didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t even get to pack my things,” you said quietly. “It happened so fast.”

“That last day,” he said. “Played it over in my head more than I should’ve.”

“I did too.”

He shifted his weight, voice dipping. “Used to wonder if I’d made it up — the way you looked at me. That moment.”

“You didn’t.”

There was a beat of quiet between you.

His mouth twitched, like he was about to say something else. Then he clocked the way you were holding yourself.

“You’re bloody freezing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already pulling off his jacket. The movement was quiet, unhurried — like he’d already decided.

He stepped closer and draped it over your shoulders. It was warm from him. Worn soft. The collar brushed your neck, and the weight of it made you feel held.

His hands stayed there a moment longer — one adjusting the lapel, the other just resting lightly at your shoulder.

“Better?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, barely breathing. “Yeah.”

He didn’t move.

His thumb traced a slow, unconscious path across the fabric, just over your collarbone.

And you looked up.

It was like the moment bent inward. Nothing loud or sudden — just gravity shifting, time folding.

You didn’t mean to stare at his mouth. But you did. And he noticed.

His gaze flicked down. Then up again.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, knuckles grazing your skin.

Your breath caught. A flush spread across your chest, down your arms, low in your belly — heat pooling, thick and slow between your legs. You shifted slightly, tried to breathe through it, but the wanting was sharp now. Heavy. Fierce and quiet and completely out of your control.

“I used to think about this,” he murmured. “You. Lookin’ at me like that.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t stop,” he said, quiet but sure. “Been waitin’ on it long enough.”

Your chest tightened. The air felt too thin. You couldn’t look away from him.

He leaned in, slow and sure, and your eyes fluttered shut — just for a second — because the heat coming off him was dizzying. His thigh brushed yours, solid and steady. You could feel how close he was. Not even touching you properly yet, and your whole body was already reaching toward him.

You reached out and grabbed the front of his sweater — soft, dark wool, warm beneath your hands. It bunched in your grip. Your knuckles brushed the edge of his collarbone, and you didn’t pull back.

He dipped his head, slower now. Savouring it.

His nose grazed yours. His breath was shallow.

His lips hovered — not quite touching, but close enough to make your own part instinctively. You could feel the shape of his mouth, the tension in his body, how badly he was holding back.

His hand slid up, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Gentle. Warm. Reverent.

He exhaled, rough.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since I was thirteen,” he said quietly. Like it slipped out.

It hit you low and deep. You could feel it in your stomach, in your knees, in the thrum between your legs.

“Liam—”

“I know,” he breathed. “Me too.”

And then—

Voices.

Too close. A shout. A laugh. The creak of the back door opening.

You both froze, the moment suspended mid-breath.

His forehead pressed to yours, his hand firm at your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Always with the fuckin’ timing,” he muttered, half against your cheek, his voice wrecked with it.

You were still buzzing, still aching, the want crackling under your skin.

Then he exhaled sharply, and stepped back.

The cold rushed in where he’d been.

You let go of his shirt slowly, fingers loosening one at a time.

Neither of you said anything.

You stayed there for a moment, jacket warm around your shoulders, the air still crackling between you like something half-spoken. The voices had faded back inside. The night pressed close again, quiet and still.

Liam hadn’t moved far. Just stood there, head bowed slightly, hands deep in his pockets like he was holding something in.

You could feel the tension still in your fingers, the phantom echo of his body near yours. Everything in you was still humming.

He shifted his weight. Nudged a loose stone with his boot. “This wasn’t what I thought tonight’d be.”

You glanced at him. “No?”

He shook his head once, slowly. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

You didn’t speak, but you didn’t look away either.

Another beat passed, full of everything unsaid.

Then he inhaled, steadying himself. “We should probably go in.”

You didn’t move.

His voice softened. “Not ‘cause I want to. Just…”

You nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

He stepped away and reached for the back door and pulled it open, but you didn’t move.

“I should go,” you said quietly, though you weren’t sure if you meant it.

He turned toward you, one hand still resting on the doorframe. “Already?”

You nodded, eyes on the dark beyond him. “I’ve got an early shift.”

It was half a lie, but he didn’t press it. Just stood there, watching you like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment either.

You slipped your arms out of his jacket slowly, trying not to breathe in too deep — but it was everywhere now. His scent. Woven into the lining, into your skin, your hair. Warm cotton and clean sweat, a trace of soap, something faintly earthy that made your chest ache. Like memory. Like want.

You folded it carefully, slow and deliberate, like it was something fragile. Then held it out to him with both hands.

He didn’t take it straight away.

His eyes dropped to the jacket, then back to your face — searching, maybe. Or just caught.

“Keep it,” he said. His voice was low, soft. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You shook your head, the movement small. Pressed the jacket gently into his chest.

“If I took it home…” you started, and your voice cracked just enough to make you stop and swallow before trying again. “If I had that with me tonight, I wouldn’t sleep.”

He blinked — caught off guard, but not in a bad way. “You wouldn’t?”

You tried to smile, but it faltered halfway. Too honest to play off.

“It smells like you,” you said. “That’d keep me up. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you.”

The air between you changed — thickened. Everything quieted down, like the night itself was listening.

And he felt it. You knew he did. Saw it in the flicker in his eyes, the shift in his mouth. The way his jaw tightened like he was holding something in. Then his hand came up, slow and warm, closing over yours where you still held the jacket — not gripping, just holding. Steady.

He took it from you gently.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost a laugh in it. “I’ll take it. But it won’t do me any favours. Just means I’ll be lying there smellin’ you on me, wide awake, wishin’ you were still in it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed.

You stepped back.

He watched you. Like he was memorising you. Like he wanted to reach out again but wasn’t sure what would happen if he did.

Then — almost as an afterthought — he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper.

He held it out, eyes on the ground.

“Just in case,” he muttered, glancing up ay you through his lashes. “If you ever want to… y’know. Finish the conversation.”

You took it. Said nothing. Just slipped it into your coat pocket without unfolding it.

There wasn’t anything else to say.

He nodded once, jaw tight.

You turned. Walked away. Heart thudding too loud in your chest.

You didn’t pull the note out until you were three streets from the house.

Thick black ink. Just a phone number.

And one word underneath, messy, rushed:

Liam.

Your fingers tightened around the paper.

You didn’t stop walking.

But you smiled.

Continuing in Part 2

[onlyyoucanhurtlikethis]

i know where i stand - kylian mbappe one shot

She set her fork down, letting the metal clink lightly against the plate. Kylian was scrolling through his phone between bites, a familiar sight in the cozy warmth of her apartment. The simple dinner she’d put together hadn’t felt like a big deal at first—just another easy evening together—but something had been on her mind all day.

Finally, she spoke. “I talked to your mom last night.”

He glanced up, finished chewing, and set his phone aside. “Yeah? About what?”

She drew in a breath, running her thumb across the rim of her wineglass. “She asked why I’m not moving in with you.”

He froze for a split second—nothing dramatic, but enough that she noticed. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair. “What did you say?”

“That we haven’t really talked about it.”

He nodded, weighing her words. “And what did she say?”

“She said I decide everything,” she replied, unable to stop a slight roll of her eyes. “Apparently, I’m the one calling all the shots.”

Kylian gave a quiet huff of laughter. “Sounds about right.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You really think so?”

“Definitely. I wouldn’t push you,” he said simply, meeting her eyes. “The second you’re ready, you’ll let me know.”

There was a calm, unshakable certainty in his voice that made her heart clench. “You’ve been ridiculously patient with me,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s easy.”

Taking a slow sip from her glass, she set it down with care. “Your mom also said that if I give you even the tiniest opening, you jump right in.”

His lips curved into a shameless grin. “I admit it.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “So you really are that confident?”

He leaned in slightly. “I’m aware of the situation. I know it’s on your timeline, not mine.”

She looked away for a second, remembering how her friend Ness had once marveled at his level of devotion—like it was something unbelievable. “Ness kept telling me she couldn’t figure out if you’re actually this…sure.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I am what I am.”

She studied him for a moment, her voice turning softer. “Doesn’t it ever feel unbalanced?”

His brow creased, as though the thought was foreign. “No.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

“Because I know exactly what it means that you’re even here, in this with me,” he said, his tone steady. “I know where I stand. I know how I feel. And I know I’ll wait as long as you need.”

She swallowed, the weight of those words settling over her. He said them not like a man giving in, but like someone entirely sure of himself. She braced her elbows on the table, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. “That’s…big.”

He held her gaze, unwavering. “You’re my family, you know. You will be. You’re the one I build my life with. My parents had their life before me and our kids will have their lives after me. So yeah, me putting you first sounds about right.”

A tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying began to ease. She could feel her heart pounding. “That’s a hell of a statement,” she whispered.

He barely blinked. “It’s how it is.”

They fell into a silence, but it wasn’t uneasy. It felt like a pause just long enough for everything to sink in. Eventually, she found herself nodding, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to—only that his certainty somehow lifted a weight off her shoulders.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing. xiao x fem!reader

word count. 4.7k

genre/warnings. royal!au, magic!au, heavy angst, major character death, reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

summary.

Your fingers intertwine with his. “I know, Xiao. I know.” He wonders if you really do know. He wonders if you know that he only remembers what it feels like to exist—to be—when you’re looking at him. He wonders if you understand that he would trade his life for yours in a heartbeat, that even since becoming familiar with power and status and things finer than he deserves, all he’s ever wanted is you. All he’ll ever want is you.

It’s become something of a routine.

In the dead of night, you creep across the thick carpet of your room, skirts sliding against fur, until you reach the heavy wood of your door. The thing had always had a wicked creak to it, but you’ve since mastered the art of opening it silently; years of practice had done you some good. It swings open easily enough, revealing the empty hallway to your squinted eyes.

“Xiao,” you murmur through the crack. A soft silver light spills into your room, courtesy of the small magical bulbs lining the halls that invite a lustrous glow into the castle. You’d asked Guizhong to have those installed a few years ago after you saw her displaying her abilities in the courtyard. She’d laughed, finding it ridiculous that a Wizard Sovereign was being given such a mundane task, but indulged you anyway.

The young yaksha responds quickly to your call of his name, as he always does. He bounds down the hallway in seconds, stuttering to a stop in front of your door.

You’ve always liked the way his spear looks at his side; viridescent as it is, it casts a lovely glow on his pale skin and dark hair, illuminating the brighter streaks in a way you find quite beautiful. Even in the low light, mixed silver and green, he looks handsome enough for your heartbeat to quicken. He peeks one golden eye through the door, curious and vigilant.

“What is it?”

“Come in, please.”

Xiao hesitates where he stands; he’s supposed to be patrolling the halls right now, and he just happened to find himself pacing back and forth in the area of the castle where your room is located. He surely can’t justify going off-duty without reason, even if it is by your command.

“Just come in,” you repeat with a bit of a whine at his silence, returning to your seat on the bed and patting a spot on the edge. “They won’t catch you. If they do, I’ll tell them I heard noises and asked you to check.”

“You used that excuse last time,” he says, giving you a disapproving look and leaning his weight against his spear. You smile.

“I hear a lot of noises.”

And Xiao knows he can’t win against you, so he merely sighs before sneaking a glance down the hallway and slipping inside your room. The door shuts silently; over the years, he has also gotten quite a bit of practice on avoiding that characteristic creak. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed, though his spear never leaves his side.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s common that you ask him inside, sure, but you never look so perturbed about it. 

“I don’t know, something just feels off tonight,” you admit, fingers curling into your silk sheets. “Can you feel something?” He stares at you blankly. “With your, uhm, power?”

The question is so ridiculous that Xiao snorts, the first sign that his serious facade is melting, slow like candle wax, and your presence is the flame. “I’m a wizard, not a fortune teller.”

“The castle feels quite empty today. I heard Zhongli and much of the guard is away on business.”

Xiao nods, having been made aware of the expedition. He had been invited, but had rejected the offer in favor of staying here to protect you—not that he’d listed that as the official reason, of course, but he certainly kept it in mind. 

“You still have nothing to worry about,” he replies gruffly, observing how you gnaw at your lip, “two of the Wizard Sovereigns are still here, as well as the other yakshas and…”

He trails off, suddenly feeling awkward. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noting how the tips of his ears flush pink. It’s infuriatingly cute.

“And you?” you finish with a smirk, nudging at his side. He flinches, looking away in embarrassment. Truthfully, he can’t understand the sudden rush of heat to his face—protecting you is his job, after all, so there should be no shame in admitting that.

“I suppose.”

You decide not to tease him about his flustered state for once, instead glancing out the window. The moon rises high in the sky, loose rays scattering through the curtains and contrasting the dark sky. 

“The moon must look so beautiful from the Harbor,” you note absently. Your hand reaches for Xiao’s, and though his face burns in embarrassment, he doesn’t flinch away even when your fingers fall over his. Instead, he allows you this moment of silence; he knows you’re thinking about the civilians of the Harbor, as you always are.

You and your family are quite beloved among the people; whenever Xiao accompanies you on excursions to the Harbor and around the market, you’re greeted with starry eyes and wide grins filled with affection. Admittedly, Xiao had tried his hardest to keep them away at first with a fierce glare, but you merely placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and told him it was alright—you want to see them, talk to them, get to know their lives. You adore your people as they do you.

The room grows quiet as you fall deeper into thought, and Xiao is overcome by the desire to ask what you’re thinking. He’s not good with words, nor is he good at comfort or anything of the sort, but he’s willing to battle whatever demons are intruding on your calm mind.

“Can you…do the thing?”

He has to suppress a laugh at the way you call magic—the art he’s spent years learning and endless blood, sweat, and tears mastering—the thing, but he indulges you regardless. He dips a hand into his pocket, producing a Qingxin flower that he will never admit he carries around for this very purpose. As his fingertips glow with the magic streaming through his body, your expression glows with awe, only growing brighter when the flower’s stem curls and spreads at the edges, popping new blooms until an entire bouquet is held within his hands. 

And though Xiao usually hates when humans ask him for frivolous entertainment, he doesn’t mind doing it for you. He thinks you’re the most beautiful when you’re like this, all star-dotted eyes and soft smiles, so he’ll do whatever magic you want until he has nothing left.

“Wow, Xiao!” you whisper, trying to keep your voice down even though your hands clap quite loudly. “Your magic is always so beautiful…it must be so difficult.”

His lips press into a half-smile. “It’s not hard at all. Very basic manipulation.”

His fingers curl around the flowers again and they glow golden, rippling at the edges until they explode upwards into a small shower of sparks. They disperse like tiny stars among your high ceiling, and your jaw drops in delight.

“Do more, do more!” you request excitedly, hands falling over Xiao’s. He gulps.

“I don’t have any more flowers,” he replies a bit unevenly, showing you his empty pockets. As a yaksha, he’d feel a bit stupid carrying a pocket full of flowers instead of weapons, but the look on your face makes him regret that decision.

“There are some just outside, can’t you go pick more?”

And he really shouldn’t, he thinks, even as he slips outside to the courtyard, but he just can’t say no to you. The night air bites—he pulls his cloak tighter around himself, slinking into the garden. There are countless flora and fauna here, the kind that burst in the day and the kind that bloom quietly in the dark. You like to spend your days here often, reading or asking Xiao to tell you stories. His eyes fall upon the Qingxin, a small patch at the edge—your favorite.

He only manages to pick one flower before a deafening blast bursts from the castle, the ground rumbling under his feet. In surprise, his gaze whips over his shoulder in time to see the beginnings of smoke rising from somewhere around the Great Hall. It filters up slowly, clinging to the clouds and easing a sense of foreboding into Xiao’s heart.

“What the hell…” he murmurs to himself, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Yaksha, sir!”

Xiao turns to see another guard—Donghai, he thinks his name is—stumbling out of the castle, blood staining his cloak and leaking through the front of his uniform. One dully glowing hand is pressed to a deep wound in his stomach, but it’s not enough magic to heal it properly.

The guard nearly collapses at the yaksha’s feet, a broken sob ripping through his throat as Xiao catches him by the arm. Up close, there are even more gashes criss-crossed across his face, crimson dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Xiao demands, shaking him by the shoulders a bit to get his attention. His eyes are growing hazy, focus fading like water slipping through fingers.

“We…trap. Inside the castle,” Donghai wheezes, struggling for breath. He coughs once, splattering Xiao’s arms with blood. “Monsters.”

A hot, searing pain like sharp claws rakes through Xiao’s chest, slicing his heart to ribbons and dropping its remnants at his feet. He sets Donghai in the grass, harshly barking at a shell-shocked guard standing nearby to administer healing. He doesn’t stay to see whether they follow his order or not, instead sprinting through the palace gates.

Chaos swirls before his eyes.

The castle is flooded with carnage, beasts growling as they roam the halls and survivors dragging themselves into corners to fade away in the dark. The expensive carpets and draperies have been torn to shreds, walls splattered with blood and dusted with burn marks. The air seeps with darker magic so dense that he feels like he’s choking on it. Xiao doesn’t know where to start—there’s too many screams, too much chaos, too much—

You.

He has to start with you. He should always start with you.

Jumping into the fray feels as natural as breathing. He’s spent his whole life learning to fight, fighting to survive, fighting to protect. But the magic drains from his body at a pace so fast that it’s abnormal—he’s fighting with his heart, not his mind. Lightning flashes of green seep from his skin as he cuts down monster after monster, jumping and plunging and slicing through the air. The monsters are more vicious today; a claw catches Xiao in the back, and he slams into the stone wall, the air being knocked from his lungs.

He crumples, crawls to his knees, coughs, then rises again.

In order to defeat monsters, you must become one yourself.

As he runs past the throne room, he tries to ignore the ugly tear through the royal family’s portrait, the canvas split directly across your smiling face. He doesn’t want to entertain the implication in his mind.

“Princess!” he screams, letting his throat grow raw with despair. The air inside the castle is burning, and he doesn’t have the magic left to cast the proper spell to dispel the heat—it’s all he can do to stay alive as is. Flames roar and lick at his skin as he advances further. He rips his cloak off, pressing the fabric to his nose to subdue the thick smoke filling his lungs.

Something worth keeping is something worth dying for.

Silvery spots of light dot through the grayish darkness, and Xiao follows them. He knows this hall, knows it by heart because it’s your hall. His fingers brush along stone walls as he fumbles to find your door; when he meets wood, he immediately shoves it open.

Hell greets him like an old friend. 

/

Xiao staggers out of the castle minutes later, thoroughly beaten and a fresh scar seared into his right arm. He doesn’t want to look at it right now, though—can’t look at it right now, because there’s so much to be attending to. People moaning for help and crying for their lives, laid out in the singed grass of the castle courtyard. There are medics running about, some from the guard and some he doesn’t recognize. But Xiao has nothing left to give. He can’t save them; he can’t save anyone.

He stumbles forward, one foot after the other, limbs getting caught in the scraps of his shredded cloak. Something small and white falls from his pocket, floating to the ground in a heap of dirt.

A Qingxin flower. It starts to scatter with the wind; Xiao hisses a breath between his teeth.

“No,” he whispers, dropping to his knees and scraping the petals together like a madman. The soft white forms a small pool in front of him, though his fingernails cake with dirt and his body burns with overuse.

“No, no, no,” he repeats like a mantra. He’s already collected the remnants of the flower, but it’s not enough—tears and darkness blur his vision at the edges, and he’s still tearing at the grass with reckless abandon. Someone’s calling his name, he thinks, or maybe his mind is already frayed at the edges. Either way, he ignores it in favor of gathering the flower in his quivering palms, closing his hands around it gently. He’ll keep this safe, if nothing else.

His vision loses focus, and the last thing he sees is the ground shooting toward his face.

/

When Xiao wakes up, it is morning, and the dawn brings a world so different that he doesn’t recognize it at all.

The stiff cot he was placed on feels like sandpaper to his bones—they groan in protest as he moves, urging himself to sit up. It takes a few minutes before he can wobble to his feet; by the time he manages it, a sporadic pain starts to stab into his head, raw and pulsing. A royal messenger bounds up to his side, eyes narrowed as they read robotically from the scroll in their hands. With every word they speak, Xiao’s shoulders feel heavier. Maybe he should have stayed asleep. Maybe he should’ve forgotten.

The entire royal family was killed in the chaos. The other four yakshas are also dead, having been attacked first when the monsters invaded the castle. No one can explain how they had appeared inside, no one can explain why, no one can explain any of it—it was just a senseless, horrifying massacre. He has been dismissed from his position as yaksha, and is to vacate the castle effective immediately.

As the messenger leaves and Xiao’s thoughts wander to last night, he can’t gather the energy to wonder why he’s just been fired. He doesn’t even really care—it’s not like there’s anything left to protect anyway. He doesn’t find it strange, at first. All he can really do is walk forward, golden eyes staring blankly ahead, off the castle grounds and away from you.

When Xiao walks through the Harbor that day, skin painted in black, blue, and red, no longer do the people revere his arrival. News travels quick in Liyue Harbor; it’s only natural that the people had already heard of their royal family’s fate. Men, women, and children line the stone streets, staring up at the ruined castle in horror, whispering amongst themselves and shedding tears together. They scream at him and the other former guards, jeering and tossing trash that bounces off his body dully. He can barely feel it, can barely feel anything.

“You damn wizards,” one man cries, shaking a fist in Xiao’s direction, “what good are you here if you can’t do your one goddamn job? Get the hell out of Liyue, traitors!”

“The poor royal family,” one woman yells, tapping a handkerchief under her eyes to catch stray tears, “they trusted you!” Her eyes fall on Xiao, and she adds, “The princess trusted you!”

While the other guards curse and mutter under their breaths, some even daring to yell back at the crowd, Xiao says nothing. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t talk back, doesn’t even contemplate a response. 

Because they’re right.

You had trusted him to protect you, and he had failed.

He continues on.

The expedition returns that day, bearing witness to the fallen castle and traumatized guards, all blank eyes and flat faces. Xiao does not go to greet those returning—instead, he finds himself on a cliff overlooking the sea, just outside Liyue Harbor. That place no longer feels like home, no longer feels like anything. He can’t stand to be there a moment longer. If his comrades want to see him, they will come find him in time.

Zhongli approaches within the next hour, remorse written all over his face. Xiao can sense him coming, but chooses to say nothing; he feels that Zhongli might be his last comrade in this world.

“Your arm,” he says passively, in place of a greeting. He takes his place at Xiao’s side without issue, still and proud as a statue. He’s always carried an aura of power with him—Xiao wishes he had been there last night. Maybe things would have been different.

He glances to his right arm, to the emerald lines swirling and swaying down his bicep and ending just beneath his elbow. A faint glow emanates from the mark, a reminder of their magical origins. When it shimmers under his stare, Xiao scowls and pulls his cloak over his arm to cover it. The garment is still tattered and stained, and the torn fabric fails to hide the shining mark underneath.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he replies, as if that is a proper explanation of where it came from. 

Zhongli clicks his tongue. “You must’ve overexerted yourself quite a bit in order to sustain a sigillum.”

It’s not mad, or judgmental, or even disappointed—just factual. It’s his way of gently prying, offering Xiao a chance to speak about what he saw and experienced. Sigillum are known to be extremely painful for wizards, a permanent mark signaling a severe overuse of magic, and most who have one certainly didn’t gain it by choice. Xiao is no different.

He doesn’t speak, and for a few more minutes, neither does Zhongli.

Just when Xiao gets tired of staring at rolling waves and solitary islands in the distance, Zhongli brings the whole sky crashing down.

“Guizhong is being tried for crimes of treason.”

Xiao’s heart lurches, nearly throwing him forward into the unforgiving sea. Zhongli is strong, one of the most powerful wizards known to Teyvat, but the quiver of grief in his voice is audible; now, there is truly nothing left.

Without a response, Zhongli continues on.

“She was the only one of us Wizard Sovereigns present there, and she’s being blamed for the attacks and her failure to command the guard and protect the royal family.”

“Marchosius was on duty last night as well, he can—”

“Marchosius is dead.”

A slow, wobbling breath flows from Xiao’s lungs then, dissipating like ice into the air. Everything feels unreal, like a terrible nightmare that he will shake himself out of any second now. If Guizhong is being tried, it’s likely she’ll be sentenced—the commonpeople’s reaction has made that quite obvious already.

Xiao knows Liyue’s obsession with contracts. Debts of blood can only be paid with more spilling.

“So, what?” he hisses. “You’ll be the only Wizard Sovereign now? They’ve already banned all of the lower guard from the castle, do they expect you to protect it by yourself?” His heartbeat quickens, sprinting and burning like he had yesterday, and it sends a shooting pain down his spine. “I mean, they haven’t even investigated why it happened. Are they idiots? They think they can fight magical beasts without us? Even one of us would be better than ten of them against a beast, don’t they know—”

“Xiao.”

The gentle, rumbling voice of his superior pulls him out of his thoughts, and Xiao flinches when he realizes he’s summoned his spear, fingers clenching white-knuckled around it, chest heaving with every fiery breath. Zhongli’s stare is full of needless pity, and Xiao looks away with a huff. Really, he doesn’t find his anger unjustified—the actions of the new castle are truly foolish, and he’s unsure who exactly is making such decisions.

“I’ve been relieved of the position,” Zhongli explains woefully. “They suspect that wizards planned the attack as a sort of coup and it got out of hand, so the entire guard has been dissolved. I assume we’ll be replaced with humans.”

The thought is so ridiculous that for a few moments, Xiao doesn’t even dignify it with an answer.

“They think we killed more than half of our own guard on accident? That we planned to let the castle be destroyed?”

The anger threatens to drown him all over again, and Zhongli sighs, looking out at the sea vacantly. His eyes, which usually reflect kindness and mirth, only show an exhaustion far past his years.

“Xiao, you have to understand. The humans…they don’t understand how magic works, how we work. And humans will always fear what they don’t know.”

No, Xiao wants to say, maybe scream, humans don’t always fear what they don’t know. Because you had never been afraid of him a day in your life. The thought makes him feel as though the ground will give out underneath him, makes tears spring to his eyes.

In his entire time in the guard, Xiao thinks he has only cried once.

It had been while he was still just training as a normal guard, when the magic still took heavy tolls on his body and he returned to the barracks every night sore and bruised. There was no respect for him back then, given that he was an orphan, no one special, no one from a revered wizard bloodline. It didn’t bother him most days, but there was one day when it just became too much, and he curled up in his bunk and cried. He sobbed into his fist, wiped his tears, and set out the next day to do his job all over again, as he always did.

When he thinks about it now, a lot of that stopped mattering by the time he was promoted to a yaksha. Things got better after that—people started bowing their heads to him and complimenting his strength, and it felt nice. Recognition was nice, but it paled in comparison to everything he felt when he met you. You never cared where he was from or who his parents were, because all you loved about him was him.

But you’re not here now.

He falls to his knees, head bowing to the sun, eyelids fluttering weakly. Zhongli’s mouth falls open in shock, and though he reaches out, he’s stopped by Xiao’s strained voice.

“If they saw…if they saw how hard I tried to save her,” he pauses as the lump in his throat broadens, and he chokes it down, “if they knew what I had to do, they would never suspect us.”

“I know, Xiao.”

And before he realizes it, he is trembling; tremors run over his entire body, shifting and pulling like tectonic plates, matching the earthquake reverberating in his hollow chest. A hardened fist meets the ground, glowing with magic and creating a small crater from the force.

“If they knew what I would do to bring her back, they would never…”

He can’t get far enough to finish the sentence, a sudden wave of emotion crashing over him until glassy tears flow freely from his eyes, plummeting to the ground in dark splotches. Zhongli says nothing at first, or perhaps has nothing to say, nothing to wane the overflowing grief coursing through Xiao’s veins.

In a single night, Xiao had lost everything he had ever known.

Zhongli leans down slightly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and pointedly avoiding the fresh mark painting his skin. His voice just barely bubbles forth from his chest.

“You are the last yaksha. Your fellow yakshas, your comrades, your friends, they watch over you now. You must not let the grief become your undoing. There is no sympathy left for us here now.”

Xiao’s fists clench against the ground. He thought he’d known grief for years now—the grief of being weak, the grief of being unwanted, the grief of loss—but none of that had ever compared to the ice-cold pit in his heart now. He looks up, looking entirely lost, entirely empty. 

“What do we do?” he asks in a whisper.

Zhongli quietly lifts his chin to the sky, arms crossed over his chest, something like a behemoth to Xiao’s crouched form. A vague twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only sign that shows unrest, or perhaps despair.

“Even if there is nothing left,” he says, “we live.”

/

If he had just been more calm, thought more about what he was doing, he could save you right now. He would press his hands to your stomach and let all his magic coalesce until you were okay. 

Phantom apologies and twisted prayers slip from between his lips. 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Your blood soaks through the gaps in his fingers. His breathing starts to pick up. He’d used up too much magic earlier; there’s not enough left to heal you properly, not enough left to do much of anything. All he can do is watch as you fade away, eyes still warm with mirth.

You cough, reaching out. “Xiao, your arm—”

“It’s fine,” he hisses, teeth gritted, trying to summon some semblance of power to help. It’s not fine, really—his arm burns like hellfire, like a knife is cutting down to the bone, but he won’t stop for anything. He doesn’t even notice the lime glow searing into his skin, marking him with regret and memories that will sting in the back of his mind. 

“Mother always said that Qingxin mean strength, since they grow on stone peaks,” you whisper, tucking the flower into the pocket under his cloak. When your hand brushes past his chest, he traps it there, fingers curling over yours so you can feel his heartbeat. You manage a weak smile. “Xiao, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Princess, I—“

Your fingers intertwine with his. “I know, Xiao. I know.”

He wonders if you really do know. He wonders if you know that he only remembers what it feels like to exist—to be—when you’re looking at him. He wonders if you understand that he would trade his life for yours in a heartbeat, that even since becoming familiar with power and status and things finer than he deserves, all he’s ever wanted is you. 

All he’ll ever want is you.

“Xiao,” you murmur weakly, eyes glassy and thumb brushing over his lip. It reminds him too much of the many moments in which his heart grew fonder, in which you shared silent laughs in the dead of night and brushed fingers under lantern light. It hurts. “So beautiful.”

He wants to tell you that this isn’t beautiful, that none of this is beautiful, that the raw stench of burning flesh and iron will haunt him for years to come. He wonders if he should tell you that he saw your sister’s bedroom door smashed open, a shred of your brother’s cloak soaked in blood, the thrones tipped to the ground and marred with deep claw marks. He thinks he shouldn’t.

His heart beats in tandem with yours, aligned perfectly in a steady rhythm that slows to a crushing conclusion.

And in your final moments, you murmur three words that have his eyes fluttering shut painfully. Everything stops. He can’t breathe. Your silken curtains shoot up in flames, heat crawling up toward the ceiling. The room still burns around him, books and photos and memories and lives becoming ashes, becoming unrecognizable and irreparable. He feels that he himself is burning along with them.

And if Xiao draws you into tired arms in that empty room and cries, sobs, breaks, until the words “no” and “please” don’t even sound real anymore, until his tears dot your lashes and run down your cheeks, that is a secret between him and the unwavering moon—all that will be left is cinders and contrition.

Everything crumbles to dust beneath his fingers.

A/N. so this was actually supposed to be a prologue to a bigger multi-chap fic with childe and scara (and ofc xiao) in the same universe, but i never truly saw it through so... whoops. but if this gets a good response maybe it'll happen one day LOL who knows! thank you for reading!

[the-lambda-archives-ai]

Statement of : Gordon Martinez Freeman, 30 year old MIT graduate,Regarding a peculiar video game he’d found.

Recorded direct from subject, May 16, 200-

Statement begins.

Pt 1 > here

ABOUT 👇

Hello! I am the author of this AU, you can find my main at @inkzectz , for more meta questions about this AU, or for general comments about it, please go there.

What is the AU about?

LA : AI is a crossover AU of sorts, in the simplest way put, it’s TMA but with HLVRAI characters, TMA stuff happens but altered to fit the general HLVRAI narrative, and with my own changes, headcanons, etc. added

I will be updating/editing this post as I progress.

Will it have spoilers?

Disclaimer!!

The AU will have a lot of the original themes of hlvrai and more so TMA, more so, horror themes, this will include gore, body horror, worms, decomposition, cult themes, psychological horror, arachnophobia,flashing imagery, etc.

(Will update as I go on)

I also feel it is important to mention this is the first time I have ever made a ask blog/ web comic/ published a story online, I will make mistakes, please bare with me as I am trying to figure things out.

English is not my first language, I do my best to grammar check and write well, but at the end of the day I will also be making mistakes.

Please be patient with me.

This au is a passion project of mine that I am doing on my free time because I want to, it is important to remember as a reader, I do not owe you anything.

It is best if you’ve seen it but as of writing it right now (early ep 4) there aren’t any spoilers. Once I am a little further ahead then you may want to listen to it.

Yes, not a lot, but vague/mild spoilers about how the world works, plot points, and character.

Again the spoilers will be vague and mild at worst, as it progresses I would recommend listening to tma, but it’s sort of like how while half life knowledge is helpful in hlvrai it isn’t exactly necessary to enjoy hlvrai bc it’s different enough from it to not really matter (?) I hope that makes sense.

Asks rules

- No telling [ player ] exactly what happens ex : “omg [ player ] when you weren’t looking [ npc ] said this very important thing that is supposed to be kept secret for lore reasons”

- Please avoid asks like “tell this character they’re pretty” while I appreciate the compliment, I am trying to write a story and want to keep things as on topic as possible. Instead tell me on my main if you like the art, I’ll probably reply with a doodle or something, just not on here.

- Less so of a rule but more so of a general statement, I will be avoiding asks that either are too close to what happens or if answering would mean progressing the story too quickly, there’s a lot I want to happen and I want time to do it all.

- Another one that’s less of a rule and more of a general thing, if I don’t like what you said I won’t be answering.

- I also sometimes just don’t know how to answer some things.

- Please be respectful of the ships I choose to include and don't force your own, ship wars and such will not be tolerated.

- Please be respectful of others and do not spoil anything, not everyone has listened to TMA and knows it's themes.

I will not be answering everything, I cannot always get to every message so please be respectful of that.

Select character

Character abouts! [ Will be updating as I continue to work on the story ]

[ select ] > Mr. Freeman

> Gordon Martinez ‘Martini’ Freeman

30 y.o . 6’0 . 230lb . Romani / Puertorican . male [ he/him ] . bisexual

[ PLAYER ]

> Lives in Seattle, MIT graduate, left Black Mesa, works as a librarian IRL but also makes money via streaming video games occasionally, in real time it is 2018.

> Believes in the paranormal out of fear but tries to rationalize out of denial, he will never admit something is supernatural and will jump through hoops to rationalize even if deep down he does believe.

> Has a son named Joshua Medrano Freeman, who is 6 years old, Gordon and his old partner met in college but split up before Joshua was born, they remain civil but are nothing more to each other than Joshua’s other parent.

> Gordon rents an apartment with 3 rooms, his own room, Joshua’s room, and a third that used to be a guest room but he has so little visitors he’s just chosen to revamp it into a gaming room.

> Gordon works primarily in a library for now as he’s looking for a better job.

> Gordon often wears hoodies, sweaters, t-shirts, crew necks, and any general outfit one would wear at home, long curly hair that is beginning to grey due to stress, unkempt goatee, and almost always wears green tinted glasses [ he doesn’t need glasses he just thinks they’re cool ]

> His hair is usually pulled back in a ponytail but can also be found in a bun or just down.

< [ select ] > Mr. Coolatta

> Thomas ‘Tommy’ Coolatta, primary researcher, and technical head of the institute.

39 y.o . 6’7 . 190lb . Chinese/filipino . Male [ he/him ] . ???

[ NPC ]

> His father owns the Lambda institute and he grew up in it, he officially started working in the archives when he was 24, and of all the employees in the entire institute he has worked there the longest.

> No one knows who his father really is, Tommy being the only one who’s ever actually seen / spoken to him, his father is the real head of the institute but gives most his orders through Tommy, so Tommy is also technically the head as well.

> Not much is actually known about him, besides his father he doesn’t appear to have any other family, nor does he ever speak of his personal life much.

> Tommy primarily works as an archival assistant, specifically in research, he is the one who will verify details regarding statements or do further investigations into aspects of the statements.

> Tommy is quite the colorful character, often wearing colorful clothing and accessories, he seems to think doing so brings some cheer into an otherwise boring environment, he often wears patterned polo shirts, cheap company bracelets, pins, lanyards, pant chains, but is never without his signature multicolor propeller hat.

[chubbedupcheer]

A forewarning. None of this is really safe for work.

So I was staying at theirs last night and we were watching tv and drinking wine just casual and after about half a bottle I start feeling a little mischievous. “Thank god I got changed into my pjs that skirt is getting way too tight. I could feel it pressing against me all through dinner.” I said and I saw their eyes widen in that adorable pathetic way they do.

We keep watching our show and keep drinking and I talk about the tights I wore the other day when we where out that kept ripping because my thighs had just gotten to fat for them and I see them getting more and more worked up so I think I’ll push a bit more. “Thankfully I didn’t have seconds with dinner or I’d have broken my skirt.” I smirk at them. And something in their eyes changes from big and wide to suddenly sharp. “Good girl.” They say. And my world view flips.

For context I’ve always been the more dominant one in the relationship we don’t really use dom and sub terminology as I find it kinda cringe. But in that moment I felt my knees buckle thankfully I was already lazing on the bed. Gut squeezed into my partners pjs.

And in that moment something hits me. I’ve been going along with getting chubby for them mostly because I enjoy seeing them go brain dead for it, I enjoy being able to shut them up with a single comment. But in that moment they praise me for being too fat for my clothes and suddenly I need them to do it more.

And I think they can tell right away the way my body language shrinks and theirs grows as they just quietly look over. “You are my good girl growing so nicely for us.” And all I can manage is a mumble.

And so it begins realising that my partner wasn’t entirely honest with me about how deep into this kink they were.

They squeeze my belly and jiggle it. “Want me to say more? Want me to tell you about how small and curved you where when we met and in only a year you’ve gotten so deliciously fat for me, for us. Remember bursting buttons of your old clothes how did that feel such a visceral way to show how big that gut is now.”

My mind is just empty, and then we have the best sex we’ve ever had them whispering in my ear telling me what a fat slit I’ve become me telling them how much fatter I’m gonna get for us. Fantasising about being pregnant and how I’d never loose the baby weight telling them about if we got married how I’d have to get my dress resized because when I go for the fitting the seamstress will be shocked but my gut being even bouncier and fatter than last they saw. Them whispering under their breath that I keep getting fatter. Then they say something incredible, “now when we go visit your mum instead of getting sad when she calls you fat your gonna be proud aren’t you, proud that your noticeably fatter.” It was insane seeing my sweet girl. Suddenly turn so evil and the worst bit is it’s the best I’ve ver felt the best orgasm I ever had was from asking them to call me a fat slut asking them to make me fatter. Promising them I’ll keep growing.

Feeling them grab me and squeeze me and admitting to myself that I’m not just doing this for them but also because I want it I need it. I need to be fatter I want to grow so badly, please.

[roseykat]

TITLE: Table Manners and Bible Studies

PAIRING: Jeongin x reader

SUMMARY: Jeongin, a churchgoer who is also a very sexual person, likes to immerse both you and himself in the realm of sensory play, among other things as well.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: themes of BDSM centred around sensory play, soft dom Jeongin, explicit language, use of ice cubes, body-safe hot candle wax, a feather, blindfold, safe and consensual play, nipple stimulated orgasm, mentions of religion (no specific religion is being mentioned here but the concept is that Jeongin is religious for the purposes of this work).

MASTERLIST

He goes to church. That’s all you know about one of the guys in your class who always dresses well, dons cute glasses and seems well put together. He’s an intriguing one among the masses of students that attend and even with the volume of people, he still stood out to you even if he was quiet.

However, it was never in your interest to approach a guy like him. He and his four friends, all from the same church, seemed relatively lovely and all kept to themselves. From your perspective, it appeared as if two of the girls really liked him. If they did, you don’t blame them. Whoever he was seemed to be sweet.

“Still eyeing him up?” Your friend Minho pokes you in the ribs with his finger, lulling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not eyeing him up,” you snap defensively, averting your stare away from his group to refocus on your lunch with him.

“Just say he’s hot,” he encourages. “If I’m willing to admit it, then you should.”

“You think he’s hot?” 

“And you don’t?” He questions back, almost offended that you didn’t assume otherwise. 

“I suppose that means something coming from a whore such as yourself,” you remember with a sigh. 

Minho nods in agreement with your statement, “and as a whore, I’m telling you he’s hot. So why not go for him?” 

“That’s not who I want though,” you say to him.

A cackle nearly breaks out from his mouth, “that’s right. So how is the hunt for one of those dom boyfriends going anyway? Isn’t that the type you’re looking for?”

“He doesn’t have to be, but it would help significantly,” you answer truthfully. “I just think that would be the best way to get my foot in the door for getting into BDSM.”

“I seriously don’t know where you got that idea from, but you don’t need to go searching for a boyfriend who’s into BDSM to get into it,” Minho truthfully informs you. “There are sites and apps where you can connect to doms and go from there. But if you do, don’t just jump at the first dom that you see. Always do background checks.”

You sometimes forget that Minho himself is in the BDSM scene. He has been for a while and for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve always been interested in what he does. From his stories, they sound exciting and riveting; exactly the kind of thing you want to try out to make your sexual life a little more lively. 

“I know that,” you whine. “If not that, then I don’t really know where to begin.” 

“Well, we all start somewhere,” he says with a hint of optimism. “Since you’re interested still, there’s a BDSM convention at the end of this week. If you want to get your foot in the door with it, I reckon you should go.”

“A convention?” You ask with intruigue. “What do they host there?”

“They’re there to promote safe BDSM to people and have a variety of pop up stores on site that sell anything related to it,” he answers. “I’m supposed to be going but, I’ve got something else on at the same time. In fact you can have my concession.”

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“Yeah, it’s already printed off,” he says. “I’ll give it to you on Thursday.”

It was a good idea at first, but come the day of the event, your nerves were shot. It was your first time being surrounded by anything like this. Particularly by yourself. It was a bit stereotypical to assume that the convention was run something along the lines of seeing naked people tied up, some in cages, or live scenes taking place in front of crowds. 

That wasn’t the case at all. It was almost like a niche grocery store where the locals gather to buy homegrown fruit and veggies. Some part of that concept helped calm a few nerves.

Once you receive your concession band, you start around the front area of the pop-up stores. People were lining up to see demonstrations of shibari methods and most were interested in buying a series of items for the bedroom. 

They were all displayed like sea creatures at a fish market, waiting to be bought. From cattail butt plugs, clover nipple clamps, juicy erotica novels - one of which you picked up - lengths of different coloured ropes, wooden floggers, riding crops, and so much more. 

Away from all the chaos at the stalls was an area called BDSMC; BDSM and coffee. It was a way to set people up with potential doms and or subs. Each individual looking for a buddy would order a coffee or drink with a green cup that had either letter on it; D for dom or S for sub. Red cups were exclusively 'do not approach' because the person either didn’t want to engage or they may already have a partner and are just there for some good coffee. 

It was an awesome set-up and had you thinking about heading over to maybe find someone who would be interested. However, you stored away that thought as you continued to have a look around. 

One thing that was painfully obvious to you was the fact that people weren’t there by themselves. They were either there with a group or their partner, making you feel even more out of place and slightly overwhelmed. But you weren’t going to tap out early. Minho gave you his ticket not only because he couldn’t attend, but also because he wants you to experience what you’re looking for, for yourself.

So you scour out the stores under the guise of your own interest, coming across a few which struck that interest. There was one store tailored specifically to pain play, a heavy aspect of BDSM. Another stall had all to do with sexual health, consent and BDSM - not necessarily selling anything, but just there to answer any questions that people may have. 

One place had caught you attention, a store all to do with sensory play and deprivation - a term in which you’ve came across within the realm of research into BDSM.

In nicely orgasnised lines were individual packets of silk blindfolds in a variety of different colours. There were boxes of body safe candles, most likely for temperature play, noise cancelling headphones, sleek metal handcuffs, and other items that had you wondering how they work. 

“Hello, anything I can help you with or just browsing today?” One of the shop owners approaches you from behind the table. 

“Oh, just browsing thank you,” you reply back to her.

“No worries, let me know if you need anything,” she smiles back at you and walks down to the other end of the long table. 

“Hello, do you have any of these in black?” A person beside you asks to another store keeper. 

Out of sheer interest, you briefly look up at the person just as an unspoken social acknowledgement while the owner tends to their new customer. But to your absolute shock and surprise, the person enquiring happened to be someone very familiar.

The jet black hair, distinct glasses, the trendy casual outfit...

…there was no way.

“We should do. I’ll have a look around in some of our storage containers just behind the back for you,” she says helpfully. 

“Thank you,” the customer responds. 

It was definitely him, and whilst your eyes had been glued to his presence for such a long time, his gaze catches onto it. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a mousey volume.

You stall in your step a bit just as you were about to walk away to remain unknown, but the angelic purity in the tone of his voice lulled you back. You’d feel bad if you didn’t greet him too. 

“Hey,” you say to him awkwardly. “How are you?”

“I’m good thank you, yourself?” He asks back. 

“Yeah, good thanks. I know you, sort of. Aren’t you in my class?” 

It was a useless question to ask considering you’ve spent too many times looking at him to know that it’s definitely him. That distinct soft expression couldn’t pass you by. The only thing different is that he wasn't swarmed by his usual collective of friends.

A small smile spreads on his face, “yeah. I’ve seen you here and there. You usually sit close to the front.” 

“That’s right,” you nod, bewildered that he knows who you are and where you sit during class. “So…what brings you…here of all places?”

Jeongin shrugs with a smile, “interest. You?”

You nod, “also interest.”

The lady pops back from behind the screen with some items, “you might be out of luck. We’ve only got grey and white left but there’s a couples' one for you and your partner here.”

Your mind stutters upon hearing those words come out of the lady’s mouth, “oh he’s not - we’re not-“

“What about any more of these? Preferably in black as well?” Jeongin picks up a baby pink coloured blindfold and presents it to the woman. He seemed to have saved that awkward statement yet wasn’t entirely effected by it as you were.

“I’ll have a look around the back again and see if we’ve got anything,” she says, quickly rushing off.

“Sorry about that,” he says apologetically to her. 

He was as nice as he looked. Almost like a gentle, placid puppy which makes you wonder, how is someone like him at one of these conventions. Specifically, someone who is quite religious. You didn’t want to judge right away, but that was the preface of your observation.

“I take it you’ve never been to one of these before,” he points out as he waits. 

Your shoulders relax defeatedly, someone had finally ripped down your facade, “can you tell?”

“Just a little bit,” he grins. “But props to you for coming here on your own by the looks of it.”

“A friend of mine recommended I go so I thought I should,” you respond, eyeing up some of the other products.

He nods engagingly, “really? Why did they recommend it to you if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Just…looking to get into BDSM,” you reply honestly, feeling comfortable enough to talk to him about this. Plus there was no point in hiding your intentions given where you are now. “He said I should go to one of these events, check out the stores, and see how some of this stuff works I suppose.” 

The lady returns from the back with exactly what he requested while also picking up a few extra things before paying for the lot. Your attention fixates on those items, wondering who he uses them on; a pyrex glass dildo, one tube of strawberries and cream flavoured lube, and also a ball gag

Whoever his partner is must be lucky. 

The shopkeeper bags all of the items he paid for in a discrete bag before he thanks her.

“That's a good step, but if you’re a beginner, it’d be best for you to start out small,” he advises just an idea suddenly strikes him. He wonders for a second about whether or not it’s appropriate to ask, but he considers your circumstances and why you’re even here. 

“I figured that. No point in me diving right into the deep end when I can’t swim yet,” you agree. 

“You know, because we’re both here, we should get together sometime so we can talk about these kinds of things. I could show you how all of these work too if you want,” he pitches his suggestion to you, holding up the bag of things that he just purchased. 

You stare up at him, utterly bewildered, “wait, are you serious?”

“Only if you are, otherwise-“

“No!” You cut him off. “I mean, yes - yes I am serious. It’s just, I was shocked that you even asked me.”

He stifles a chuckle as a reaction to you being so oddly yet unforceably cute, “alright then. I’ll give you my number. I’m Jeongin by the way.”

“Jeongin, okay. I’m Y/N.”

It was nice to finally put a name to a handsome face. Jeongin, who was as unsuspecting as the come, had exchanged numbers with you before you both departed. He left you wondering so much more about his personality and particularly his interests with BDSM. It even made you forget to text Minho to tell him how well the convention went.

Right before you decided that you were going to ring him, a text came through to you from Jeongin. 

To you from Jeongin: ‘Hey Y/N, it’s Jeongin. It was nice meeting you the other day. I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee to talk and get to know each other more. If so, when are you free?’

You to Jeongin: ‘Hey Jeongin, it was nice meeting you as well. I’m free in the afternoons throughout the week. We could go for coffee on campus after class if it’s not too far?’

Jeongin to You: ‘Nope, that’s perfect. Shall we say Monday straight after? We can head there together.’

You to Jeongin: ‘Sounds good to me. See you then.’

Jeongin to You: ‘Yup! :)’

With those responses from him in mind, it made looking forward to Monday a little more palatable. Usually, it’s hectic with quizzes, tonnes of readings, and a boring two hour lecture. Meeting up with Jeongin meant you had something to look forward to after class. 

Just as the lecture comes to an end, you look back to the middle row of seats in the centre section of the room as you pack up your things and see Jeongin waving out to you. You wave back, acknowledging that you’ve seen him and watch him say bye to his friends before he makes his way down to you. A couple of them seemed rather puzzled that he was leaving them, but nonetheless, they let him be. 

“Hey Y/N,” he says to you, walking down the steps. “What did you think of that?”

“Boring as per,” you groan. “It made me want to sleep.”

Jeongin laughed, “shall we go before you fall asleep then?”

The pair of you exited the theatre together and headed to one of the nearby cafes on campus. Normally teeming with hungry students, the venue wasn’t as packed as it usually is from the help of classes that run through into lunch. It meant that you and Jeongin were able to receive your drinks relatively quickly in order to sit down and start talking.

“How was your weekend?” He asks you.

You finish bringing your drink down from your lips, “not as exciting as I wished it had been. Mainly just catching up on some of the online work that we were meant to do.”

Jeongin is shaking his head but silently agreeing with you, “I don’t know why they bother giving us tasks to do online.”

“I suppose to make us suffer even more,” you guess. 

“I think you might be right, and since it’s worth credit, we have no choice,” he snickers. “But anyway, on a completely different note, what did you think of your first BDSM event?” 

“Not as daunting as I was expecting it to be,” you answer honestly. “It was pretty pleasant, to say the least, and the people I met were really nice.”

“That’s good to know,” Jeongin nods. “Usually I hear of beginners who get too overwhelmed and never come back. It’s a shame really because they only see the tip of the iceberg.”

“Do you normally attend those events?” You ask him, still immensely intrigued that he even went in the first place. 

“Only when I can,” he responds. “Most of the time, classes and other stuff get in the way, but I’ve found a balance now. What made you want to get into BDSM anyway?”

“A friend of mine is well into that space and I always hear him talking about it. Since then it’s always interested me, so I started doing some research about it,” you answer. “It was the same person who told me to go to that event.”

“Smart choice for doing your research, not many people do and just head straight into something they don’t know,” Jeongin mentally applauds you. “It can turn out to be a really good or really terrible experience for beginners.”

“Yeah, he warned me about that,” you chuckle, just thinking of Minho and what he’s said to you in the past. “What about you? How did you get into BDSM? Sounds like you’re already in that space.”

“I am. I’ve been in it for four years, since the start of my degree,” Jeongin confirms adjusting his black glasses. “I got into it just by interest as well - similar to you, except, I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing someone who was already part of this space so some things I had to learn the hard way.” 

“Then I take it that you’re relatively experienced then,” you respond, inferring an assumption already.

Jeongin smiles shyly, almost like he’s somewhat embarrassed by your comment, “you could say that. Is it right to assume that you’re looking for someone to do scenes with?”

You give a nod, “yes. Just…didn’t know who with.”

“That fits then; given that I have some experience and you haven’t yet, then maybe we do a trial, see if we click, those sorts of aspects. What do you think about that?” He asks you. 

An excitement thumps against your chest, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” He replies with optimism. “Then if it’s okay with you, do you maybe want to talk about some of your kinks and things that you don’t like and organise a time and place for our first scene?” 

“I’d love to.” 

Both you and Jeongin brought a lot of ideas to the table, conducting a healthy discussion about what you’re both into and not. Although he openly stated to you that he mainly presents himself as a dom, he was open to switching too. However, for the purpose of getting you into the swing of BDSM, it would be best for him to take the reins.

So with a little more talking, you both came up with a set date and time for the first scene which was to be at Jeongin’s place; not too far from campus. All the information and the logistics leading up to the scene were slightly nerve-wracking but didn’t match your level of excitement. 

Considering your inexperience with BDSM, Jeongin had to factor in what would be the best method of easing you into things. Sensory play was the one thing that came to mind. It’s not too extreme, can involve some restraints, and can act as a good stepping stone for a BDSM beginner. 

“It’s a good way to start off,” Jeongin said to you back at the cafe. “If it’s just sensory play only, people don’t usually climax from it. But if there’s some sort of sexual penetration that’s involved, then most likely. I don’t do the latter.”

“Still sounds like fun,” you replied.

“It is. I can deprive you of one or more of your senses which will only enhance the other.”

His way of describing the basics of sensory play could’ve easily put you to sleep – not because it was boring, but because his voice was so silky smooth that you could listen to it all day. The fact that he has so much knowledge about a subject was strangely erotic.

With your mind cleared in preparation for the scene, Jeongin flicks you a text an hour beforehand to see if you are still keen. He definitely knows that you are, but it’s also to cover his end as a dom to ensure that you know that you can pull out of the scene before it starts. 

To You from Jeongin: Hey Y/N, still on for tonight? 

From you to Jeongin: ‘Hey! Absolutely, I’ll text you when I’m at yours?’

To You from Jeongin: ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Even if you didn’t want to go through with it tonight, Jeongin would be okay with that. For whatever reason why you would say no, he’s happy that you would feel safe to refuse. But never in your wildest dreams would you ever think of refusing, because as soon as it was time to leave, there was no doubt in your mind that you would turn back.

You had showered and packed a bag with a towel, extra clothes in case, a water bottle, and some snacks. If anyone were to come up to you and look into your duffle, their only thought would be that you’re heading to a gym nearby, not heading to your first BDSM scene. It was a nice little secret to have. 

As you arrive on the street of Jeongin’s apartment, you text him to say that you’re nearly there and knock on the door once you’ve officially made it.

“Hey,” he greets with his smiley usual self. “Come in.”

“Hey,” you respond, looking around as you step in. 

It was rather spacious which is usually not generous with student accommodation. Normally it’s one room cramped with a desk, chair, inadequate storage underneath the single bed and a community bathroom down the hall. By the looks of it, Jeongin had all this space to himself including a small bathroom and mini kitchenette area. 

“Wow, you got lucky with student housing around here.”

“Can’t stress the word ‘lucky’ enough,” Jeongin emphasises, closing the door behind you as you take your shoes off. “Took me about four months last year just to apply for a viewing. But after living in shared accommodation on campus, I needed my own space.”

“Fair enough,” you say. “Some student spaces are lucky enough to have wallpaper. But anyway.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” He offers. “I bought food earlier on.”

“No it’s okay thank you, I made sure to have some water and food before the scene,” you politely refuse. 

“Okay, good,” Jeongin nods, impressed even. Those who forget to eat before a scene will often find that their energy depletes faster, rendering them unable to continue or even worse, it could go hand in hand with a sub drop. “Then in that case, shall we get started?”

Your stomach flips excitedly, “sounds good to me.”

Jeongin does the honours of leading you to his bedroom. It’s adorned with a minimalistic aesthetic and beautiful muted tones. There’s a decent queen-sized bed centred back against the wall. Laid on top of its surface is a black cardboard box and a set of black restraints right beside it in contrast with the white fitted duvet. Flickering on the bedside table burned a red candle.

From what you could gather, it was most likely for wax play, but it smelt amazing. Almost a woody with a tinge of floral essence to it that filled his room.

“We can start the scene by taking your clothes off and I’ll get these restraints ready, okay?” Jeongin suggests to you. 

“Okay.” 

He steps over towards the mattress, picking up the long restraints. Only two – one for each of your wrists that he was going to link to the bedposts. He secures the ends of them in place while you strip yourself down to your bra and underwear. You fold them over your arms as Jeongin returns to carefully take them from you and places them on his chair in the corner of the room. 

He comes back once he’s done, eyeing up your body. It’s not that he meant to gawk or observe you per se, but he was in fact silently appreciating your body. He could only just hide the fact that he’s very taken with how you look and the way you pull off a simple black bra and underwear set. 

It wasn’t lingerie, but they were intricated pieces. Jeongin seems to be aware of that when you feel him delicately glide his fingertips down the straps of your bra from behind while you stare into his mirror on the wall. 

“This is is pretty,” he says. 

You swallow quietly, content with his observation, “yeah?” 

“Yes, but unfortunately I need it off for this scene. Is that okay with you?” He asks. 

“That’s okay,” you reply clearly.

“Okay then, what’s your colour?”

“Green.” 

With your given consent in mind, Jeongin works behind your back to unclasp your bra and places it with the rest of your clothes. It’s not an awkward moment for either of you given that it was nothing in comparison to the things he had planned for you. 

“Beautiful,” he comments, his eyes lingering for a few seconds too long in the mirror. Your cheeks instantly become hotter, hoping Jeongin can just hurry up and put the blindfold over your eyes so you don’t have to look at him. “Let’s move to the bed. I’ll get you to lie down so I can put the restraints on your wrists.” 

On his instruction, you make your way over to his bed after he moves the black box to the nightstand. You sit down on the mattress edge and prop your legs up until you’re able to lie down flat with your head on his pillow.

Jeongin slightly manoeuvres each of your arms before strapping your wrists into the restraints and for a couple of seconds there, you’re in your own mind. It still baffles you that you struck gold with Jeongin by absolute chance. Not to mention he’s the same person who attends church and goes to bible studies and is the same person who’s tying you to his bed. 

“Not too tight?” He checks in with you. 

“Nope, that’s fine,” you reply. 

Jeongin takes the lid off of the box on the side and takes out the silk black blindfold he purchased from the convention the other day, “okay, I’m going to place the blindfold over your eyes now.”

You nod as total darkness shields you from the predictable. Now you can’t see what’s coming next. The excitement and anticipation hinder all nervousness you’ve been feeling while Jeongin takes a moment to appreciate the state that you’re in. It’s not often for him to be so taken with a person to the point where he just about forgets what he’s doing.

Only then does he realise that he’s in a scene and needs to refocus. 

Once he’s content with everything, he decides to move on, “now we can start.” 

He goes back to the box, careful not to make too much sound so that you can’t grasp a hint of what might be inside. The first item he picks up is a long, spindly black feather. It’s simple yet very effective, responsible for creating that ticklish sensation when he dances it lightly and softly along your skin. On its first contact, your nerves try to anticipate where Jeongin will take the feather next, but their guesses come up short when he uses it somewhere else. 

The feather glides from the base of your throat, downwards and in between your tits. Jeongin then uses it to delicately lick over your nipple, making you keen slightly to one side. You can’t help but suppress a moan by biting down on your lip. It shouldn’t feel this good too early, but you can’t help your body’s natural reaction to the feather that leaves tingles in your muscles throughout its wake. 

The smile on Jeongin’s face indicates that he’s enjoying watching you squirm and quietly whimper, still teasing you with the black plume. He drags it from the tips of your toes, up your shin, and right over your clothed pussy, making you press your head back into the pillow. 

Jeongin makes a mental note of that reaction and smirks. To him, those small effects of what he’s doing to your body with only a feather, make him wonder how sensitive you really are. But it’s not his whole desire to spend too much time with it and proceeds to move on to something else; the hot wax. 

After placing the previous item in the box, Jeongin swaps it for the candle. The catcher has collected a substantial amount of wax at the bottom which will allow him to pour the majority of it out before it starts to solidify. But Jeongin stalls for a moment as he tries to make up his mind on where to pour first. 

In his opinion, he wants to cover all the sensitive parts that you’ll let him. Your tits, collarbone, throat, tummy, wherever. Eventually, however, he knows he’ll get to those places. So he starts with your tummy, watching the hot wax drip and dribble onto your skin, hardening as it makes contact. 

A gasp is forced out of your mouth, “s-shit-“

“Too hot?” Jeongin asks you, pulling back the candle before he goes to pour again. 

“N-No,” you shake your head fervently. “J-Just wasn’t expecting-"

Jeongin pours a steady line of wax in between your tits, prying your mouth open for slightly quiet yet strained moans to roll from the base of your throat.

He expects you to have some sort of reaction to the hot wax, but not like this. Usually, people try to escape from the head, some swear like sailors, and others might scream or yelp. You on the other hand…it makes him wonder if you’re a masochist with the way you’re moaning from the slight pain. 

Nonetheless, he drips more wax, this time down your abdomen, forcing you to purse your lips to suppress any sound.

Despite the temperature of the thick content, your brain, for whatever reason, deduces it as a good sensation rather than a bad one. It does burn a bit, but not to the point where you feel like you need to call for a break. That feeling when it settles into the skin where it’s magnificent and warm is too good to pass up, allowing you to keep going.

With the session barely in full swing, you’re trying to keep it together for Jeongin so that hopefully he’d invite you back for another. Yet, within the second you even start thinking about that, Jeongin pours some of the wax, just about the line of your underwear, making you tug hard on the restraints. 

“Fuck – oh my god,” you groan, feeling the heat emulsify within your lower half. It spreads beautifully, just where you want it. “That feels…” 

“Good?” Jeongin asks, making your back arch slightly when he drips more wax from your sternum to just above your belly button. There are some areas that he won’t cover with the wax since he wants enough sensitive space for the next part of the scene. 

“Y-Yes.” 

Since Jeongin has some verbal confirmation from you that the heat feels good, his indication of pinning you for being a masochist grows stronger. It’s not abnormal, but it’s rare. Not everyone is a fan of pain and some even find it confusing when it’s applied in the bedroom.

That’s not Jeongin though. He appreciates pain and pleasure in a controlled environment. In saying that, he cannot make a full observation of whether or not you’re a full-blown masochist. He’d need to actually ask you first and run other ‘tests’ to achieve a result. 

In light of the pain, Jeongin makes use of the little wax he has left, steadily pouring it onto the underside of your tits – close to where you want it. When there’s no content left at the bottom of the catcher, he moves on once more. This time, to a completely opposite temperature. 

He sets the candle back down on the nightstand, leaving it to continue burning so that the aroma fills the room rather than smoke if he were to blow it out. You then hear his footsteps shuffling around to the other side of the bed, making you wonder what it is that he’s doing. But despite tuning your ears into his every movement, Jeongin makes sure to be as careful as he can to ensure that you don’t know what’s coming next. 

The one thing that you hadn’t noticed in his room the second you walked in was a mini tin bucket of ice cubes on the other side of his bed. He gave away zero hints towards his next move, so when he quietly picked up one of the cubes and immediately placed it just above your tits, you suck in a huge gasp. 

“Geez, I wasn’t ready,” you sigh out some of the anticipation that’s building inside of you. 

Jeongin smiles, “good.” 

The areas of your body that are free from the hardened wax allow him to glide the ice cube gently over your skin. The temperature in comparison to the wax is electrifying, more so than what you ever would have anticipated – had you known it was coming. 

Jeongin watches the ice cubes melt from your body heat, seeing the droplets of water pool for a second and run down your sides. When the first cube has melted down completely, Jeongin picks up another. This time, he drags it slowly above the band of your underwear again. 

“Mm! Fuck…” you exclaim loudly, trying to conduct the sensation when it only just builds. “S-Sorry.” 

“You’re okay,” Jeongin reassures you. 

He then brings the ice cube up to one of your nipples, causing you to arch your back and tug on the restraints simultaneously as a sharp gasp leaves your mouth. The corners of Jeongin’s mouth perk up at your reaction. He doesn’t want to be too predictable and switch to your other nipple. Instead, he manages to pick up another ice cube and uses it on your other nipple, dancing it around your sensitive buds that have begun to stiffen and perk up.

Your poor brain is confused by the stimulation. It’s not happening between your legs but you can feel it from your chest. It feels weird not to be contracting around anything, which only makes you wish you were. Nonetheless, it’s still valid stimulation that you feel building and at first, you’re not sure if it’s an orgasm that’s forming or if it just feels good. 

Regardless of the matter, you can’t help it. It’s patterning the pleasure for you to experience without you having any say in it whatsoever. Your mind is muddled with what to say – how to express how you feel or what’s happening to your body. 

Jeongin has some idea of it now that he’s been listening to you panting and watching you writhe on his bed just from a couple of ice cubes. However, he wants to see how this plays out. 

“J-Jeongin,” you mumble, sucking in small breaths of air. “I’m…”

His ears spring up at the sound of his name, but he refrains from saying anything at all. Instead, he picks up another ice cube, allowing the one in his left hand to melt away before applying the fresh one. The chilly sensation replenishes but it doesn’t stop that sensation that you can feel in your tits all the way through to your pussy. Even though it feels similar to an orgasm, it triggers zero verbal response when it decides to hit you out of nowhere. 

Jeongin sees your mouth part, your legs bracketing together like they’re trying to find something to clamp around. All the while, he doesn’t stop stimulating your nipples with the cubes until your back is flat on his bed again. He had to see it through to the end. 

Breathless and slightly dazed as you were, the first thing that came to mind was that you did in fact cum. Following that came anxiously wondering what Jeongin’s reaction was.

At that, an invisible weight of embarrassment starts tugging you down. You wanted the blindfold to remain over your eyes, terrified of meeting whatever expression was laden on Jeongin’s face. There was no point in trying to gauge how he reacted when you orgasmed, but there was one thing for sure and that was he didn’t stop you from doing it. 

A few lingering moments later, Jeongin becomes satisfied with the tail end of the scene. He got through the aspects of sensory play that you both wanted to cover from the conversation you had at the beginning of the week.

He gently removes the silk blindfold from your eyes, fixing some of your hair in the process to get it out of your eyes. Even though your eyes shy away from his face, Jeongin can easily see the deep red burning through your cheeks. 

“I’ll get these off for you,” Jeongin murmurs, already freeing one of your wrists from the restraint before moving on to the other.

Once you’re completely unrestricted, you sit up straight away and start blabbing out an explanation to him. 

“Just so you know, I didn’t have other intentions going into this,” you speak quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting to…to-“

Slightly taken aback, Jeongin had to step in to reassure you that there’s nothing wrong, “Y/N, it’s okay, seriously. It’s not your fault that your body couldn’t help but do what it needed to. But you’ve just come out of a scene and I want to make sure that you’re ok-“

“Yes but, you said the other day that people don’t usually climax from sensory play only,” you interrupt him. 

He softens a bit, a small grin forming on his face, “I said ‘usually’ not ‘never’. I didn’t rule out that possibility.” 

You suddenly click onto his words, “so there is a possibility that they still can.” 

“Yes, but you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about or sorry for. Some people can orgasm through nipple stimulation. It’s not always easy, but you managed to do it, with ice too, and relatively fast. Plus, I thought it was cute,” he responds. 

‘Cute?’ If melting from embarrassment was a thing, you’d be a puddle all over his floor. Your face comes to fall into your hands, almost making him giggle. 

Jeongin then continues, “now, if you’ll let me help you, I’ll show you to the shower to get some of the wax off. Then we can have some of that food I was talking about earlier.” 

-

A/N: again, this was meant for Kinktober but my dumb ass didn’t upload it. I’m turning this into a bit of a slow burn series, but not just yet because I’m working on other things atm as listed down below:

1. Noxious Compulsions

Minsung x reader (you can find the snippet here)

2. Foul Play

Part 2 to Don’t bite the hand that feeds you

3. Venom Eater

Part 2 to Venom Biter

4. Some things are better left known

Part 2 to ‘Some things are better left unknown’

These are the main pieces that I’m working on at the moment bc they will be quite dense, and I try to add as much detail in as I can. However, there are 100% other things that I have still sitting in my Doc’s folder that I’ll release too!