#i cannot fathom that the year is already almost over

[trailshome]

PROGRESS UPDATE: 12/01/2023

Well, here we are, nearing the end of the road for Chapter One. I've just finished tweaking Lesilfae's section and am now in the home stretch for the lead up to Chapter Two (give or take two spots that need coding tweaks). Finally, after forever and a half of fighting with TLH for progress, I've done it.

Like I said before, you won't be getting the entirety of Chapter Two but rather a small snippet to read. It has a few branches that take place so it's taking much longer to get through unfortunately. However, with my Patreon now set up and in place, of anyone would like more frequent updates to TLH you can sub to a low tier and get a monthly update to the alpha demo alongside other misc goods.

But!! The word count has to strayed much from the original once I started to cut things down and reorganize different sections. That's a bit of a bummer, but there is an expanded Greta path and you get to spend a little more time with Gale and Hollond, hehe! So even though the word count hasn't grown much, it's still got quite a bit of new content and tweaked scenes. One of which you'll notice at the beginning of Chapter One!

Also, reconsidering my port options for TLH -- really liking the way coding in Renpy feels. Obv, it won't be a visual novel but... Maybe we can have a few graphics. As a treat. If I choose Renpy. Twine has been frustrating me to no end, something about it doesn't jive with me but we shall see!!

Also, I know, I know... "Clam, you keep talking about moving TLH but you never do", and in my defense, Learning Hard. Not super hard but like, my attention span is crap, so it takes me way too long... But I digress. I'm not completely all talk haha!!

And, here! Have some character sketch art (it's of Les), as an apology for taking so long.

[trivia-yandere]

kitty

when you're going through a rough heat, who else is there to call besides bunny hybrid jeon jungkook?

word count: 5.570

warning: hybrid au, dirty talking, bunny jungkook, cat reader, smut, submissive reader, dominant jungkook, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, heat, jk calls reader "kitty", nipple sucking, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink,

like idk yall i seen this video and almost fell tf out so I was like why not do what i do best and make a fic

The first time you met Jungkook, you pondered if he was something else in his past life. Maybe a lion or tiger - a fearless wolf. As a bunny hybrid, he had little to none of the characteristics. The bunny hybrids you’d met were all full of fear and caution. Any little sound sets their fight or flight off - and it’s never truly fight. They were naturally terrified people, always shutting themselves away from those who were considered “predators”.

Jeon Jungkook was different. For a bunny hybrid, he lacked the fear of a hare. He often stood tall and firm, never cowering like his fellow bunny hybrids. When he spoke, he looked you in the eye - prey or predator. The only thing he had in common with them was his diet - consisting of various fruits and vegetables.

You were a cat hybrid. You wouldn’t consider yourself top of the predator hierarchy but you weren’t a prey. You - and those you associate with - share too many characteristics with that of a feline. You cannot fathom not sleeping the majority of the day and eating even when you aren’t hungry. You were often cranky and you didn’t enjoy unnecessary noise.

There were a lot of things you didn’t like and Jeon Jungkook was one of them. He was too hyper and energetic, often hopping around - even in his human form - and being a complete nuisance. You despised whenever you and he were forced to be around one another because that meant that you weren’t going to know any peace.

You recall when you first met Jungkook. “Sorry, Y/N can be a bit…grumpy.” Yuna murmured to Namjoon. She looked down at you in your cat form - a form you preferred to be in when you longed around lazily. Your back was arched and your ears were casted backwards, ready to attack.

And you were hissing right at Namjoon - but not at him. At Jungkook, the chocolate- colored bunny in his arms.

Yuna had warned you that her relationship with Namjoon was going great and he had even gone as far as to ask if she wanted to move in with him.  She contemplated it - they’ve been together for a year already.

You, however, were a factor Yuna had to consider. Especially since Jungkook was around. Neither you or Jungkook were considered “pets” to Namjoon and Yuna; even if that was what it was “legally”. You’ve grown alongside Yuna, she is only a few human years older than you.

  In a world where hybrids are sold to families as pets, you were placed into Yuna’s household by her grandfather. She still doesn’t know how her grandfather acquired a young feline hybrid, but you were always treated like a family member rather than a pet.

Now, years later, you enjoyed Yuna’s place. She had taken you along with her when she moved out instead of leaving you with her parents. The entire household already smelled of you - a scent Yuna couldn’t smell herself as a human - and you enjoyed everything to be exactly where you wanted it. There wasn’t anything in the household that you didn’t know where it was exactly.

One of the main reason why moving to Namjoon’s place would simply not work - so Yuna offered for Namjoon to move here.

Jungkook wasn’t considered a pet with Namjoon either and unlike you, Jungkook was a ray of sunshine. Yuna still tells the story of how when she first met Jungkook - in his bunny form - he had hoped right into her lap that she was so shocked that he was hybrid and so friendly. She still tells the story of when you “met” her first boyfriend - a boy from High School she had forgotten to tell you was coming over. You had attacked the poor boy so bad that he left not even 10 minutes later covered in scratches.

You, to this day, refused to see how you were wrong.

“You’re going to have to go to your room if you’re going to be hostile.” Yuna had said with a stern voice when you hissed at the bunny. Namjoon had put him onto the ground cautiously. “Why don’t we introduce you and Jungkook properly? You’ll probably like him better that way.”

Yuna knows your type and it was one of the reasons she suggested it. She was shocked herself at how something so cute could turn to a hot piece of ass - something she told Namjoon bashfully.

But of course, at that time, you were being stubborn. You clawed at Jungkook instead and that only prompted Yuna to yank you up and speed walk down the hall to your own bedroom. She was warm with embarrassment and she threw you onto your bed and immediately, you turned into your naked human self.

Yuna had seen you naked countless times that it doesn’t affect her - but she had told you with Namjoon moving in, you could no longer randomly go between cat and human forms. One of the many reasons why him and that hare shouldn’t be in your home.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Yuna hissed. “I told you-”

“I think he was sizing me up.” you interrupted, eyes staring straight back at hers. “Coming into here like he owns the place.”

Yuna knows you’re talking about Jungkook. You met Namjoon before and immediately liked him, expressing to her that she and him were perfect together. 

“You do this all the time when there’s other hybrids involved. You’re so jealous-”

“Territorial.” you corrected. “And that hare stinks! How old is he even?”

Yuna rolled her eyes. “He’s younger than me and Namjoon but-”

“Ugh, I hate kids.” you rolled your eyes. “No wonder.”

It wasn’t a lie. You hated a lot of things and sometimes, Yuna couldn’t understand why she adored you so much. You just didn’t like people you weren’t accustomed to. Oftentimes, you’d sit at the window and hiss just because if you saw children - even if they weren’t doing anything worthy of being hissed at.

‘You must want me to die alone.” Yuna crossed her arms. “You always do this with every person I date that owns a hybrid.”

“We all die alone. Do you expect to be buried with anyone?” you deadpan, yet you pout a bit. You didn’t want Yuna to feel as though you didn’t care about her. It was that hare you didn’t care about - coming into your home and sniffling as if he owned the air.

“I just really like Namjoon, Y/N…”

Your ears perk at the way Yuna’s voice drops.

“FIne.” you exhaled. It hurted you to say that. “But keep that hare out of my stuff…”

Accepting Yuna and Namjoon’s relationship meant accepting Jungkook. You had locked yourself in your room the first week before you came out. You have yet to witness Jungkook in his human form and vice versa. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t around one another.

Jungkook was overbearing, hopping around in your space. It didn’t matter how much you hissed or swiped at him, he followed.

There were times in which you enjoyed your peace and it was as if Jungkook was determined to ruin it. A month into living with him - and still neither of you had presented to one another outside of your hybrid forms - you were sitting at the window seal. You were soaking up the sun, eyes closed and purring with satisfaction. Your tail wagged back and forth and - You’re suddenly caught off guard by the sudden pressure on your side, prompting you to fall onto the hardwood floor. You land on your feet, but immediately are being pushed onto your side by a familiar being.

Yuna watched lazily as you and Jungkook - as cat and rabbit - begin to fight. Typically, it began with Jungkook, who has always been smitten by you since day 1, climbing onto you. 

Today he was feeling extra perverse and he’d begun to hump you - an action that had caused you to attack him entirely. Your claws dig into his fur to shield him off and you’d hiss. The action is funny to watch a bunny hump onto a cat - but knowing that it was just you and Jungkook made it even funnier. 

Namjoon didn’t find it funny, however, and you hadn’t seen Jungkook for a week after that. He had apologized profusely about Jungkook’s behavior to you - both in cat form and while in human for when you had stumbled out early in the morning one night to sneak food.

The first time you saw Jungkook in his human form, you were in complete shock. You were home alone. Yuna was at work and Namjoon had visited his parents for the evening for dinner. You only assumed Jungkook went with him.

Wrong.

Witnessing a tall man in your home had sent alarm bells in your head. He had sat at the dinner table, munching on an array of celery and carrots. His nose had twitched in a way that appeared oddly familiar.

“Jung…kook?” you had asked, voice so meek. You were literally cat-like, Jungkook thinks. The way you were completely still, watching him with wide alert eyes.

“Y/N?” Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes growing wide with wonder, as well.

You, flustered, had run away. You had called Yuna and asked her why in the world she didn’t tell you that Jungkook looked like that. She had laughed gleefully, stating that finally you were going to come around once you saw just what the man looked like.

The sexual tension is excruciating. 

Not just for you and Jungkook, but for Yuna and Namjoon.

Jungkook hadn’t made it a secret that he found you attractive. He followed you around oftentimes when at home, no matter how bitchy you were. 

Namjoon has always been attentive when it comes to Jungkook ruts. He had no problem with allowing Jungkook to do what he wanted - deal with it alone or have someone help him. But this wasn’t just his home anymore, so for Jungkook’s rut he had gotten him a hotel room that specializes in ruts and heats.

Against Jungkook’s best wishes to ask you to help him. He was upset and Namjoon had to drag him out of the home - but he wasn’t going to allow him to make you anymore uncomfortable.

Jungkook had gotten another cat hybrid to help him after nearly 45 minutes of searching.

Namjoon doesn’t believe Yuna when she tells him that you are just as infatuated with Jungkook as he is with you. You, however, are just bitchy. Simple. You would never admit that you find him attractive - but Yuna sometimes would find you sitting on the window seal in cat form watching as Jungkook works out outside. Or how when you all eat dinner together, your pupils would grow big watching Jungkook.

This is how Yuna finds you one weekend. You’re in distress and Yuna can hear you. She finds your small cat body on your bed, meowing. Your meow is so soft and laced with such need and yearning that she instantly knows what’s wrong.

“You’re in heat.” Yuna strokes a finger on your head, a giggle in her voice. 

If you were in your normal state, you would’ve bit her for teasing you. But you’re in heat and thus, highly horny.

“Do you want me to ask Jungkook?”

That is not what you wanted at all. You didn’t want to see Jungkook’s naked body hovering above yours, those dark eyes staring intently at you as he fucks-

“Oh fuck.” you say, your naked body now against your bed. You roll around and scream into the sheets.

“You so want Jungkook.” Yuna squeals. She’s already texting Namjoon, stating that for the weekend, the both of them would need to book a hotel. You could have the home and be comfortable to enjoy your heat.

With Jungkook.

No interruptions.

“I…I can’t.” you murmur, clenching your thighs together. Everytime you think about it, it just causes your core to throb more and more.

“Why can’t you?” Yuna questions. “You want Jungkook. Jungkook wants you. You’re in heat so of course he’ll fuck the shit out of you-”

You groan - more like moan needily. 

Yuna is gone within an hour and leaves you and Jungkook alone. 

You’re determined, though. You aren’t going to fall into temptation.

Jungkook never makes anything easier for you, either.

You’re at the counter, cutting into your steak when you sense Jungkook behind you. Though Yuna nor Namjoon had told him why they were leaving for the weekend, he could sense something was different in the air. 

Jungkook had watched you leave your room from down the hall and immediately noticed the sway in your hips. You smell different, too. More sweeter.

“Y/N.”

You don’t stop cutting into your steak, but your thighs do clench at the sound of Jungkook’s deep voice.

“Jungkook.” you respond.

Jungkook’s ear perks. Your voice is different; low in tone and a bit…breathy?

Jungkook licks his lips.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You snort. “What movie?” you place your cut steak into a bowl and slowly turn around. You didn’t want to face him, but you had to.

Jungkook’s wearing grey sweatpants - red flag number one. They’re dangerously low around his waist. His tank top is tight and you’re positive that he had worked out earlier today.

“Whatever you want to watch, baby.” Jungkook licks his lips, tilting his head at you.

Red flag number two. Your stomach churns at the sight and immediately, your eyes flicker away. You clench the bowl in your hands. “I-I guess.”

You were in heat, it’s more obvious now.

Jungkook enjoys your banter. He adores the way you’d hiss at him with those hard eyes. You’d insult him and everything he loves - but that only turns Jungkook on.

Now, however, you were being - dare he say - submissive. You were nervous,  your body warm. You’re shy and not meeting his eyes and you hadn’t stopped clenching your legs since you and he stepped into his bedroom. In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t have come to his room to watch any movie, but you did today.

You also hadn’t stopped trembling as you ate your steak.

You picked a random movie and sat on his bed, furthest away from Jungkook. You had nervously finished your steak and were watching the movie, but couldn’t focus on it. Your mind is occupied with the smell in Jungkook’s room; ivory and clean. It smelt so much like him that it was driving you crazy.

“You’ve been still for nearly 45 minutes now.”

Your head snaps to the sound of Jungkook’s voice and you swallow thickly. Your pupils, Jungkook notices, are large and round. He admires that just as he does when you’re in cat form.

“Is everything alright, kitty?”

Jungkook’s lip twitches upward. He’s smirking right at you - he knows. He can smell the sweet scent of your ripped pussy. Your leg is shaking with anticipation and if he’s correct, you’re screaming to be mounted right about now - and have been ever since you’ve gotten into heat.

Your mouth parts so you can let out a sigh.

“It hurts.” Jungkook states. He knows - he’s been through this. He isn’t sure how heats work for women, but he knows for men, ruts are unbearable. He’s constantly hard, his cock begging to be buried deep into something warm, tight and wet. “Doesn’t it, kitty?”

You nod your head, staring right at him with those pleading eyes.

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jungkook ponders. The television dances off of his face, casting a shadow that causes your heart to pump.

Your attraction for Jungkook is evident, even if you do hide it behind annoyance oftentimes. Now, you cannot hide the fact that your eyes wander to his arms. His biceps are so big and you always itch to feel them - bonus if it’s flexed. To his sweatpants. He’s seated leaning against his wall, completely relaxed in contrast to your uptight position. His legs are spreaded and his hand lights on his thigh lazily.

You speak before your mind can process what you’re saying. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Aww, kitty.” Jungkook sing-sons, but in mere seconds he’s on you. He tugs at your clothing, knowing you’re itching to get out of them. They’re too tight against your hot, sticky skin. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?”

You nod your head as Jungkook pulls at your shorts and discards them, your soaked panties going along with them.

Your scent instantly fills his nostrils now that you’re naked. He groans, licking his lips with great satisfaction. “Smell so sweet, kitty. I know you taste even sweeter.”

“Please fuck me, Kook.” your back is against his warm sheets now and you’re pleading. You didn’t want to wait - you’ve been waiting all day. You weren’t  strong enough to fight off the natural urges to be stuffed.

“You’re so needy.” Jungkook’s hands roam your now naked body. He’s been dying to sink his teeth onto your skin, run his tongue across it. He thought about burying his face between your legs and eating you until you were a shaking mess.

“Please, Kook.” you beg again, a hand grasping his tank top. “We have all weekend.”

How right you were.

Jungkook is tugging his sweatpants down, his cock immediately poking out. Pink, angry tip oozing with pre-cum that causes you to groan at how pretty it was. “Turn around. You’re such a begging whore, kitty.”

You compy, arching your back like the good whore he told you that you were. Your thighs break apart and widen, telling him that you were ready.

“You’re already dripping and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” Jungkook chuckles darkly, marveling at your glistening cunt. 

You let out a sharp breath when Jungkook’s tip slides between your wet folds. Your pussy instantly clenches around nothing, your thighs quivering. Jungkook inhales sharply, your wet pussy throbbing so much that he can feel it. 

“Please fuck me, Kook. I’ve been waiting so long.” you whimper. You wiggle a bit, hoping that you would feel him slide into you.

You begging for Jungkook’s cock sends him off. He enters you swiftly and in one go. You yelp out, pussy instantly clamping around his cock. 

“Oh fuck, kitty.” Jungkook groaned, head leaned back. His hands instantly wrap onto your hips, his nails digging into your skin to keep you close. 

Jungkook’s cock begins to pump, thrusting so deep that he hits in the very spot that you need him to. Your fingers dig into his sheets for comfort while your mouth is falling open to let such sensual moans.

You were a submissive little thing while in heat, Jungkook notes, fully allowing him to take control of your body. His hips rut, fucking his cock deeper and deeper into you. With each thrust, you’re growing louder, your pussy begging for more. He would  have never thought he’d see the day this happens - he always took you as the more dominant type.

But, you were also a feline and maybe that has something to do with the way your heat is set up. Whatever it was, Jungkook was enjoying it. His eyes are fixed on the way your ass bounces against him, your pussy making such beautiful squelching sounds with each pump of his cock. 

“You’re so pretty, kitty. You should see how good you looked being fucked.” Jungkook pants. You’re creaming on his cock entirely, a sight he never wants to forget.

“Feel’s s-s-so good.” you stutter, your eyes fluttering. Deep down, you hated being in this position. So vulnerable towards Jungkook, the man you’ve hated longer than you’ve liked him. But you were far too gone now in your heat and all you truly wanted was Jungkook.

What you did care about was the way Jungkook fucks you, slamming his cock in and out of you at such an alarming pace. You’ve heard about rabbit hybrids - how good fuckers they were. Their staminas rarely decreasing. You’ve never thought you’d experience one before.

There’s such filthy noises coming from Jungkook’s bedroom that you’re glad that Yuna and Namjoon aren’t home - you couldn’t bear doing the walk of shame back to your room.

“Gonna cum all over my cock already?” Jungkook chuckles darkly. He can feel the way you’re squeezing him, your back arching to feel even more of his cock. “Go ahead and cum, kitty, but I’m not done with your pussy just yet.”

Jungkook was a man of his word. You creamy cum coats his cock entirely as he sends you over the edge. Instead, he flips you onto your back and forces your legs apart. Witnessing your glistening pussy this way was another sight he has to save in his mind - in case he never gets to have you in this position again.

Jungkook leans down, both of his large hands engulfing your breast. He manages to capture both of your nipples into his mouth, suckling harshly onto them. You gasp, already going through such a great amount of overstimulation - but Jungkook doesn’t care. 

Jungkook continues to suckle and smack onto your nipples, his tip rubbing against your throbbing clit. You had to admit the sight of him - so handsome and dominant - against you sends another wave of pleasure to fall through you.

“Kookie,  please.” you gasp out.

Jungkook’s dark eyes flicker up at you. He pops your nipples from his lips, saliva coating them and leans back. He removes his tank top and throws it aside then goes towards his sweat pants and removes them as well. 

Jungkook had already fucked you, but witnessing him naked just as much as you is a reminder that you and him are actually doing this - when you were done with your heat, this was going to be engrained in your mind forever.

Jungkook settles back between your legs. He grasps his cock and slaps it against your throbbing, wet clit. “What do you want, kitty?” he asks.

“I want your cock.” you respond as if on command. “Please fuck me, Kookie.”

Jungkook smirks. “These little nicknames you’ve never called me before are cute.” he says, rubbing his pink tip against your clit. “I’m used to you calling me such harsher names.”

“I’m sorry.” you pout.

Jungkook licks his lips. The Y/N he knew would never apologize - you were truly fucked out. 

“It’s okay, kitty. You know I love it.”

 Jungkook begins to enter you. His large hand places itself right onto your stomach to keep you in place. He starts slowly, inching deeper and deeper into you. You’re watching just as intently as he is when his cock fully enters you.

Then, without warning, Jungkook’s hips begin to snap aggressively. He pounds in and out of you, his hand on your stomach forcing you to stay in place. You were a moaning, squealing mess in less than a minute. The room echoes with wet skin slapping, groans and squeals - the movie now just background noise that neither of you care about.

Feeling Jungkook raw like this in this position was amazing - you felt every throbbing vein of his cock, every curve as it pumps in and out of you. 

“Kitty…” Jungkook groans, his eyes watching the way your face is drawn with such pleasure. “...I’ve wanted to feel your pussy around me for so long now.”

Jungkook is never going to make things easier for you. His hair is stuck to his forehead due to the beads of sweat. His eyes are dark with lust and it doesn’t help how completely fit he was - how you’ve managed this long without jumping his bones was astonishing even to you.

“I’ve wanted you when I was in rut but Joon forced me away.” Jungkook’s hips snap even harder now at the memory. He could smell you from just down the hall, his cock hard. “I had to fuck another cat hybrid, but she wasn’t you.”

Jungkook’s hand was going to bruise your stomach with how tight he was holding you, but he doesn’t care - and neither do you. All you cared about was how delicious his cock felt slamming into you - how disrespectful it may look from the outside looking in. 

“Your pussy’s so tight and ready to be bred. I haven’t even came in you yet, kitty.” Jungkook chuckles darkly. He should’ve asked if you were on any forms of protection, but he has an idea that you aren’t. From what he’s heard from Namjoon, you don’t typically warm up to outsiders; especially men.

Maybe it makes it even more special that you’ve managed to warm up to Jungkook. Still, he’d just pull out of you when the time comes.

Jungkook’s hand slides down just enough so his thumb could twirl onto your already overstimulated clit. He watches the way your thigh quivers and you begin to squirm beneath him.

“Feel’s good, kitty?”

“Yes…!” you huff out.

“You’re already so close again, kitty.” Jungkook chuckles smugly. “Such a greedy pussy you have.”

You’re whining now, your pussy drenching not only your thighs and Jungkook’s cock, but his sheet. He doesn’t mind it in the slightest - this was just the beginning of your heat. This was the most intense.

“Wanna feel you cum in me.”

Such perverted words - Jungkook groans. You were so far out of it that he wasn’t going to acknowledge what you said. The point of the heats was for you to be bred - but he wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t, right?

No.

Jungkook continues to pump his cock into you, his thumb twirling even harsher now. Your back is arched slightly, your pussy clenching his cock so tightly and before he knows it, his abdomen is being drenched.

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook gasps, the sight of your squirting pussy sends him completely over the edge that he’s cumming right in you without realizing. He attempts to pull out of you, but he’s too slow. Your legs somehow find a way to wrap around his waist and you allow the warm cum to stuff you just like you wanted.

Most of your days consisted of the same routine.

After the sex, you and Jungkook would rest. You stayed in his room and he hadn’t minded in the slightest, holding you close against him.

When you awoke, you were hungry. Jungkook enjoys watching you eat, even if  you were devouring meat while he stuck to his fruits and vegetables. He likes the way your teeth sinks into the bloodied steak, your tongue licking your lips to savor the taste.

After eating, you’d fuck each others brains out. It was therapeutic, really, the amount of positions Jungkook has had you in in such a short amount of time. 

Jungkook has fucked you in front of his mirror, showing you just how good you looked when you were fucked out and begging for more. He’s had you against the wall, your legs wrapping tightly around him so he didn’t have a choice but to milk your walls with more of his seed - you’re too far into your heat to give a fuck about the consequences.

Currently, Jungkook’s head is bobbing back and forth. He’s on his knees at the edge of the bed, left hand gripping your thigh while his right is firmly gripping your ass. His tongue flickers past your clit greedily, those sinful moans music to his ears. 

Jungkook finds that he simply cannot get enough of you - not your scent or your taste. Whenever you’re ready for another round, so is he.

“Slow down”  you grumble softly, but your hand gripping his hair says differently. So do your hips that slowly begin to grind against his warm tongue.

“You sure?” Jungkook questions smugly, flickering his eyes up. His right hand slides from your ass to tap against your clenching and unclenching hole. “You’re making a mess all over me, kitty.”

Jungkook watches your reaction just as his fingers enter you. Your already wet pussy continues to drip all over him, begging to be bred and used for his enjoyment - like it has since the beginning. His curls curl just a bit as he pumps them in and out of you, marveling at how wet you get with each thrust.

Your teeth are sinked down against your lips, drawing a bit of blood. You weren’t trying to be quiet - there wasn’t a point in it. The pleasure of Jungkook’s fingers were just highly overwhelming. Your pussy’s squelching loudly and the noise dances off his bedroom walls - when this was all over, you promised him that you’d clean his room top to bottom.

“You have such a pretty pussy, kitty.” Jungkook grunts, pressing a firm kiss on your clit. “I want you to cum all over me again. 

You’ve heard this all before from him, but each time you do, it causes you to whimper. Jungkook’s voice just does something to you - the way he speaks so calmly, but with such authority. His beautiful face and dark eyes that look right at you, rosy lips that often smirks when you’re moaning because he knows he’s fucking you good.

Jungkook connects his lips back onto your already throbbing clit, his tongue devouring instantly. He rolls it harshly, groaning along as his fingers thrust in and out.

In and out - in and out.

Your thighs are shaking, your hands continuing to grip at his dark hair. Your head falls back against the pillows and you let out a long moan.

You ponder how things were going to go back to normal between you and Jungkook. How could you pretend to hate him when you’ve been fucked too good by him - a bunny hybrid. His ego was going to go through the roof now and Yuna and Namjoon would know just how amazing he was.

Fuck.

You were cumming, Jungkooks warm tongue twirling around your sensitive bud effortlessly. You were beginning to hate him again with how amazing he was with his cock, tongue and fingers - it just wasn’t fair how all of this could be tied to one annoying man.

Jungkook knows you well enough that you want his cock next. He pushes himself up and forces your legs to your shoulders. You're so wet that his cock slides right into you, your arousal seeping out with each inch of his cock.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate - and you don’t want him to. He slides out of you until his tip is still inside and then slams right back in, hitting your sweet spot.

Your lips part  to let out a strangled moan. Jungkook does it again and again, slamming his cock in and out of your sweet pussy, wet skin slapping against one another. Jungkook’s balls, full of enough cum to give you more and more just how you like, slam against your ass with each thrust. Your breasts bounce right in his line of view and Jungkook imagines how good they’d look swelled up with milk.

Jungkook groans. It was natural for him to want to breed - even if it was with a person of a different species. The babies would be either or - feline or hare; the feline trait was the dominant trait of the two. It was at this moment he hadn’t thought about the consequences of doing this without any protection, his natural instincts kicking in.

“You’d look so pretty round with kits.” Jungkook groans, his eyes drifting to your stomach. “Or kittens - whatever they’d be.”

Your pussy clenches at the thought, your heat clouding your mind from sanity. You only thought about his pumping cock milking your walls with his seed again - and again and again until your stomach is round.

“Your tits would grow bigger for our kits. Full of milk…” Jungkook cannot help it anymore. He leans down to wrap his tongue around your nipple, imagining the way they’d taste if they were full of milk.

Your sights are blurry. It was all too much - Jungkook’s dirty words with his pumping cock and now his tongue suckling onto your breast as if his life depended on it. You were cumming again with each sloppy thrust of Jungkook’s hips sending you deeper and deeper over the edge.

“Fuck you’re so pretty when you come, kitty.” Jungkook groans, popping your nipple from his wet lips.

“‘wanna feel you cum in me, Kookie.” you beg, thighs already shaking.

Of course you did, Jungkook thinks. You wanted his cum from the very beginning and who was he to not give it to you? You were such a good girl when you were in heat, completely different from your usually bitchy self that he adored that he couldn’t help but give you whatever you asked for.

Jungkook cums, his legs shaking and eyes snapping shut. His breathing is intense as cum seeps into you.

Your eyes are heavy, your pussy clenching and unclenching every so often to take in all of Jungkook’s warm cum.

“You’re going to be so pissed when you’re off of your heat, kitty.” Jungkook murmurs, still cumming into your warm cunt. 

Kits or kittens didn’t sound too bad, right?

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom

[chlmtsdoll]

BORN TO BE SEEN

Timothée Chalamet x female reader

☆ summary: dating an A-list movie star isn’t cut out for everyone, your exhaustingly in love and devoted to Timothée — but with his full schedule of press, interviews, and events it’s a non stop challenge to get your man alone.

☆ word count: 7.7k

☆ warnings: 18 +, smut, teasing, edging, mostly exhibitionism, oral (m) reviving, lots of pda, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, heavy fluff, angst, obsession/worship

☆ A/N: I cannot believe this is my first ever Timmy fic after stanning him for years. I really let my fangirl flag fly so I hope this is well loved.

Part two 💋

There wasn’t anything but the landscape of a few stars scattered around the dark blues and grey of the night sky when your jet had finally landed. You hadn’t slept the whole flight. Not due to the anticipation of when you could finally lay eyes on your star boy after weeks of only getting as much as a couple late night calls and red carpet photos all over the internet from every journalist, high society article, or press outlet that could exist. You were proud. Maybe the proudest girlfriend out there, but there were times you could see how he fought the balance of it all not getting to his head.

The lights in the space that was exactly comforting to you were rising and you click your phone to check the time. Half after 3am.

You were tired, hell, only just pushing. But you couldn’t have been more awake with the adrenaline of getting your man for a whole three weeks that was starting to rush in.

“Okay, hotel is secured. They have your chauffeur waiting to take you straight there so you can rest, I’ll get your bags- -” your shared assistant that your boyfriend always kept around to take care of you when flying you out, was ready to go as she gently assured your stay. You already pictured it would be the most glamorous in-crowd hotel you could fathom. (Picked by him) you assumed there would be bodyguards with champagne even waiting for you outside this jet knowing your boyfriend.

But, you shook your head gently, with a smile. Already grabbing your designer purse to exit and get to fresh air finally. “No, no. I want to see him first.” You told your assistant and she only looked a tad stressed as she had already gotten out her phone to text a schedule change to the chauffeur.

“No problem, it’s already taken care of. I know he’s dying to see you.” Her voice had a flow of newfound tenderness to it — that made your blush heighten just a second before you and your bags were being escorted from the jet. Sure, there wasn’t a squander of sun out and lucky no paps to be found. But the moment your heel touched the gravel you pushed on your sunglasses (mainly to hide your tired eyes from your driver who was greeting you and taking your things in order.)

Scatter brained, you watched the lights of the new city you’d get used to for the next couple of weeks. Thinking and sorting out the plans you and your boyfriend would make in the wist of his tumultuous schedule. You knew he was a busy man. Maybe the busiest in the industry as we speak, all the promotion, press conferences and red carpets… with awards season creeping around the corner there was but so much time and attention he could give to you, his girl, in between.

The exhaustion, the flights back and forth. You did it all for him. And he made sure you’d be there to experience the bliss of having such a life so young. As much as possible.

His sweet reminders of just how much your hard working man adored you even through the chaos of it all. The world at his finger tips — you were always on his mind.

Even if the moments in between could be the sweetest you’d maybe ever experience, your love and his fame, it was a rollercoaster time to time. And the media wasn’t a first grade class, the pressure of it could be a thing of its own.

Everyone knew that you were the movie stars supporting and to put it as they say ‘almost annoyingly visually perfect’ girlfriend. They all were obsessed with the bond you shared. The it-couple factor you have. Your all too well, put together clothing that possessed the it-girl factor they all feed off of right beside your boyfriend. And you’d seen how his fans could nearly feel how obsessed with each other you are, through every snap of a camera shot that was published of the two of you.

And of course, that came with struggles, the public isn’t known for always being nice. But that’s what pushed the two of you even closer. He was there to protect you from it all, never making you feel like a burden in his limelight.

The idea of seeing him in just a few had your teeth bearing into your bottom lip, with a crooked smile and a soft squeeze to the hem of your skirt, you’d been pulling up to the dimly lit back entrance of the venue. You remembered him saying he’d be working late for a last minute photoshoot for his upcoming snl performance. He’s been over the moon about it and you hadn’t complained once every time you’d been a giggling mess when he’d run with his excitement of being back over the phone with you, no matter how late or early.

You missed him.

Before the driver could come to a halt, you’d already been grabbing your purse to jump out of the car.

“This way,” your assistant, right behind, had voiced to you — but as you go close to the door, the driver was peaking at your absence of the back seat.

“I can wait out here, ms. I know you had a long flight, there’s no problem.”

“Oh.. no, it’s fine, take a lap. I won’t be quick.” You flashed him a small thankful smile as your assistant braced your back gently to lead you inside the venue.

There wasn’t much to it. A long hallway, an elevator, and another long hallway. You knew he’d definitely not be expecting you to have came straight to see him, probably not wanting to bother you with texts thinking you’d be fast asleep under the warmth of luxury hotel sheets at this hour.

You hadn’t told him you landed anyways after all.

So you hoped the click of your heels against the floors as your assistant guided you to the back green rooms wouldn’t ruin the surprise.

Soon just hearing him made the tightness in your stomach come escalating when you sought out the sound of his voice. A few doors down. You could tell he’d been conversing in a way that he’d sure been smiling ear to ear. And your favorite tune there is, his follow up laughter that echoed as you got closer. Your favorite sound. Your obsession. Your home after another lonely flight.

There wasn’t another man out there like Timothee.

Stopping to watch him from the doorway first, your arms folded as your heart melted. You watch him take up the space in the room like second nature.

He’d been goofing around with his photographer Aidan. His hair an untamed state that looked dreamy as is, standing lean and stature in some ridiculously colorful outfit that he made look effortlessly cool. He moved his hands expressive as ever as he laughs in a humble tune. And his smile, oh, his smile in your opinion, could save lives if the right people were in charge.

Your assistant walked ahead, but Timothée hadn’t noticed you just yet — he’d been pretending to create some kind of silly music video with his photographer trailing around him, as undeniably impressed in a way you had no doubt was a reaction your boyfriend had no issue bringing out of anyone who’s around him. His fingers blaze through his hair quickly, trying his best not to laugh too much at his own radiance.

He was perfect like this. In his element. So beautiful in a star-like way that for a moment your smile was so large to the point your face began to hurt. You forgot you’re not just watching him on a tiny screen anymore — but right now. In real time. Your angel boy being right in front of you.

And then there’s something that shifts, after a mere few minutes of conversation, something in his expression notes he’s already aware of your presence, like he feels you there. When he does finally turns around, with that soft boyish grin creeping up on his lips, eyes full of something playful, and that damn charm — you barely have time to sink in how good he looks before,

“You came all this way just to stare ?”

You giggle out a soft squeal and there was not much to say before you were springing to be swept up in his arms. Heels once against the floor now being lifted as Timmy held you to him like it’s been more than a couple weeks, like centuries. Your lips mesh on instant, unhesitatingly taking it in with a little “mmm” of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and his grip around you was firm with warmth. He smirked into the kiss, you could feel it even with your eyes closed, the tickle of his mustache — new yet familiar, you let out giggles in between the perfectly timed and soft yet daring kisses he left that said ‘fuck I missed you.’

Days of distance melting away and the two of you were completely unbothered by anyone around watching, already swooning and playfully shaking their heads knowing the magnitude you shared as a couple. Even as your boyfriend set you back to your feet, you’d still been trying to grasps a leg around him, feel the roots of his hair through your fingers. And he couldn’t let up on you either as he kissed on your face till you were a mess of laughter.

It felt like highschool. Timmy’s team, his photographer, your assistants — they didn’t exist in your reality. It’s just you and him.

“I missed you.. what are you doing here, baby ? I thought you'd be at the suite by now,” Timothee voiced softly as he pushed a few of your locks out of your face to see you. Eyes sparking up at him like it was the first time. Your smile beaming, and you held his wrists.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.. I had to see you ! It’s been three weeks, Timmy.”

“I know,” He laughs and leaned in to peck your cheek, your hands ghost over his rhinestone necklace with admiration and your eyes inch down his body of intermixed clothing of colors and brands, you grin.

“This is.. a look.”

“You like ?” His grin was back and you bit your lip just enough to bring the pride to his expression. Your eyes flicker over his studded belt.

“You know I love everything on you,” Your voice was humming of flirtatious notes towards your man, you drape your arms over his shoulders again and Timothee managed to keep his cordial manner but slightly licked over his bottom lip and scanned just over your head to check for the attention of the room, and to your luck, his team members had gone about what they’d been doing before your arrival. So, Timothee’s hands gracefully on your waist, flow a bit lower as he kept you close and under the gaze of his hooded green eyes. You were stuck there.

His fingers graze over the tight fitted mini skirt you had been flaunting. A light grey cashmere. You could tell he was holding back from the three weeks weight of not being close enough to feel the heat of your skin — trying to fight it’s way through him. Your hands now gently drifting his arms and the look in your eyes stricken by the man you got to call yours, Timmy just pulled you a little closer so you’d been hovering his chest. And he’d been able to lower his voice to whisper in your ear,

"This skirt… how could I focus on work tonight, baby ?" He was trying to keep a normal embrace of you, but he’d had that sly look of course. His fingers brushing against your thigh again and he was massaging the right of your hip with tenderness — just enough to make you shiver and heave a small little gasp. Pulling back to look up at him with doting eyes and a small sideways smile of mischief on your lips.

“I just wanted to give you a little surprise,” Your tone sweet, but laced with a hidden, lustrous, message behind it you knew your boyfriend could only take in doses. He scoffed with a chuckle and looked over to a corner of the room, noticing the time had been slipping as you’d already stolen his attention from his shoot. Quite the distracting treat.

“Uh huh.. we’ll talk about it later..” he started and he leaned back in to leave another slow, tasteful and greedy kiss on your lips. It had you closing your eyes and lingering for more. “Go get some rest, chéri, I love you.” Timmy slowly inched away with a soft chuckle as your intertwined hands stay locked although drifted between the two of you for a moment. The firm grasp of just not wanting to let your boyfriend out of your reach consuming you while the playful pout-like smile you gave him was what had him probably now staying till around five am.

When your fingers do slip, and your dragging your feet to walk away, instead biting your lip like a love stuck school girl — you watch him part. With the same restraint and grin upon his lips as he mouths a little “go” to your gone essence. And you were holding down your miss, your need, your want for him and to stay in his world the entire ride to your suite. The ravishing room with a view of the city, towering buildings, an outlook from an enormous glass wall. It all made you feel a little less distant knowing you’d finally been in the same city as your man. That’s what you needed. Close enough to your Timothee. At least for you.

With a soft smile, your bags became your last priority when you dropped them to reach what was left on the king sized bed for you. Pink peonies and red roses. Your absolute favorite, left next to a box of laudrée macarons. Elegantly wrapped in ribbon.

Your heart was going mad. And your face flustered as you plopped on the bed to find the pint note left on top of the candy, “Un cadeau pour la femme que j’aime. Tu me manquais trop, bébé.” You read instantly with the sound of Timmy’s voice in mind, you were rubbing your bitten lip to hide your obvious blush from the empty room of course. A girlish titter leaving you as you lay back and stare over the sweet words your boyfriend had written.

It was things like this. Dating an international superstar could be a deal breaker for most, but you weren’t like most. And neither your boyfriend — he made you feel loved.

No matter how far.

So even being as hard to pin down as he was, between filming and touring, meetings and flights. When it came to you. He did whatever he could to make time.

Eventually, you had fallen asleep with a quarter of the box of chocolates gone delightfully, and sunken between the silk sheets as the low sunlight of the day crept in. You slept so heavily you didn’t even wake when Timothee snuck in somewhere between five thirty and six am. Probably only letting himself sleep for a few hours before he was up, dressed and ready — but not to start promotion or press.

“Mon amour..” you heard a tender note into your ear as you’d been half in a dream and also waking up, feeling a gentle kiss being left on your neck, and hands through your hair. “Baby.. -wake up.” You sigh a tired-some little hum before shifting from your side to your back. A sleepy grin takes upon your lips when you feel another kiss embrace your jaw. Soon opening your eyes to not just Timmy, but the keys to his BMW dangling from his fingers.

“Brian won’t be on my neck for a few hours.. wanna take her out to go shopping ?”

Something along the lines of a squeal and a yawn was your answer as you jump up from your comfort almost immediately. Not taking your time at all before you’d been out the door, Timothee hardly got any real free time away from his work and it wasn’t even a question that you’d take it for granted. A quick fur coat, your heels, and a mini skirt would do. It was a shock to you both how fast you were out that door, hand in hand of course, for the first time ever.

While your plans were to shop. Something the two of you shared an overwhelming desire and bond for, it couldn’t have been less about clothes and more about when you could get them off. Timothee eyeing through some Chanel sunglasses, and you on him, caressing your finger tips over the loops of his belt like the clock was ticking before he’d get a text or call from his manager.

It was excruciating but he showed less resistant than you expected. Leaning over tiers of shoes to kiss you, rest his hand on the small of your back, even grip your side time to time. Pulling you in close so he could whisper a “I see paps starting to line up outside.. let’s give them a show, yeah ?”

And that was like ecstasy for you. One thing you both were good at, was not minding a little attention from the cameras. So when you and your boyfriend had been with your purses, shoes, pretty patted wallets and all, you two went into pda overdrive.

It was between you and the check out counter who’d get to Timmy first. And had simply won.

Your man was reaching into his back pocket to pay. But you didn’t make it that easy as you’d been standing on your tip toes, leaving kisses, soft pecks and smooches all over his face. His lips and his collar. “Baby..” Timothee chuckled as you’d cupped his jaw. He’d lifted his chin playfully higher so you’d struggle to reach and he could attend to getting his credit card out. But that was the last thing on your mind when you couldn’t even get yourself off his sent now. So you only followed, reaching for his lips anyway,

“What ?” Your giggle is soft with your reply, hands lowering to his neck with a small sound of pleasure leaving you when your boyfriend couldn’t help but lean into your kiss unapologetically. Even as he had passed off his card to the the cashier behind you, whom was truly trying to look away from your affection on display.

But completely distracted and without a care of who’d been in there, even possibly a fan being at a lost for words of the actors drift right now — Timmy was too lost in you.

“You’re something else, you know that ?” the corner of his lips curled to a grin when his hands rested on your waist, you pulled back to look at him. Eyes staying on his sweet lips that were yours to tease only with a devious smile.

“You can’t tell me to put on a show and expect it not to be good…” you hum and your boyfriend was in a painful field not to let his fixation on you over take him. Making himself as collected as possible, take you by the hand, and your bags of course— out of there quickly. You titter as you trail behind him in that moment which was caught in hundreds of snaps from the paparazzi outside. It would be published everywhere in approximately twenty minutes.

"Did you have fun spending all my money, baby?"

Your smile achingly sweet. "Well.. you love spoiling me."

To which he chuckles and mutters, “how couldn’t I ?”

When you two got back to your hotel, standing in the elevator with the somberly slow pace it’s going, it’s light music being a bore when you’d rather hear your name being purred from Timmy’s lips, you needed to get him up to that suite immediately.

And to only make it tougher — Timothee was leaning against the elevator wall, eyes on you with that little grin. The one that made your body ache. The corner of your lips tugging on a smile and you’re trying not to look at him. You shift your weight on your heels. Gripping the ribbon handle of the bag holding the freshly bought designer accessories.

“Stop staring at me and pull up your pants.” You direct your need to be pushed against this elevator wall to teasing your man as your eyes flicker to his jeans that were sagging off of his ass.

He just smirked, and annoyingly tugged them down a little farther so you could see the hem of his Calvin Klines. “Ma chérie, you love it. C‘mon.” He beckoned and you breathed out some pent up air. Biting your lip.

“I do… I love that shit,” was mumbled from you, and your man heard with a cocky chuckle as he ran his tongue over his teeth and sure enough, he was backing you against the elevator wall.

A proud sense of glee was washing over as you’d claim to be a master at manifestation. How quickly Timmy’s hands find your hips, leaning down to put his mouth on to yours in a crash, like he’d been starving for this — because he has.

“You really did come all this way just to tease me.” your boyfriend’s voice sets lower, teasing, raw. You’re barely getting the chance to respond because he’s excellently taking away your ability too. You softly groan into the way his lips move on yours like a dream. One hand gripping your hip, the other tilting your chin up as he kisses you —deep, slow, like he’s savoring the taste. Your fingers tangle in his short curls, pulling just enough to make him groan.

"I missed you," you breathe between kisses that are growing sloppier, needier. More urgent as the floors escalate. And your risk driven man smiles against your mouth. "Yeah?" He feels out the metal handle bar against your back, hands trail lower, gripping your thighs, as if he’s about to lift you against the wall, you giggle into the urgent kisses.

Elevator sex ? Fuck yes.

Was your fantastical thought before you heard a ding.

The doors slide open and a stranger steps in. The core shatter of feeling Timothee pull back from you on instant washes over and completely fucks up your vibe.

His jaw clenched, and a wave of frustration hit as your face was burning as you adjusted your skirt.

Your terrified they could hear the way your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest. And Timothee gives them a polite nod, solidifying his charm always. He stuffed into his pockets like you weren’t caught in an unseeable act at all.

The seconds stretch painfully.

Could the door just fucking open ?

You tap your foot. He sucks in his breath.

And when you shift, still feeling the faint touch of Timothee’s hands on you, you peak up at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

Finally another floor hits.

They step out and the second the doors close, your boyfriend has you against the wall. “I wasn’t done.” His tone deeper, haughty, as he now grabs your wrist. They’re above your head in no time and you gasp,

“Timmy-”

“Shh.”

He’s looking up at the numbers on the top of the confined space going once again painfully slow, the camera beside it — then he’s looking back down at you. Fuck it. He’s pressing his body against yours slow. Intertwining his fingers within yours at a toe curling pace. He’s trailing torturous, sweet kisses down your collarbone. Breathing on to your skin and suctioning his lips on a final place. You whimper something hard to tell. You let your eyes close and feel it. Feel his large hands, exploring and groping your body, your thighs, your ass. Moving you against that wall like a trophy. His lips move to over your chest where your cleavage is just perfectly on display. Licking over the top your breast, taking his time. Running you through.

Your watching. Watching carefully every ounce of longing over the last couple of weeks he’s putting into tasting you. Feeling his want and need as he just keeps getting lower. Pressing a kiss to your abdomen till he’s on his knees. Hiking your mini skirt up a little just for him to see. Carving your leg over his shoulder and kissing on your inner thighs with a soft hum,

“Timothee..” you pant as you view with hands going to his hair, running through his scalp and your skirt up just enough to see green orbs staring up at you as his lips grace your skin. With hunger, and a small grin on display. His lips kiss, peck and smooch on your thighs till he’s breathing out near the thin layer of fabric over your cunt. He pressed a careful kiss there,

He’s really going to tear into you in this fucking elevator.

But that came crashing down when the elevator dings again. And before you both can even think about getting your shit together, in walks Brian. Timothee’s manager. Someone who’s probably seen it all with him probably wasn’t prepared for was something like this.

He makes his presence known, “Seriously ?”

You were breathless as you gasps before covering your mouth. You hit Timothee in the shoulder who was gripping you and had no intention of stopping. Your face turned into the sun. You tried to fix your skirt that was slightly crooked, straightening up like you weren’t pinned against the wall about to get eaten out.

Brian was staring deadpan at Timothee who was reluctantly rising from his knees with more of a sense of frustration that he’d been interrupted from his girl over anything else. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. Timothee had a daring look on his face, like he didn’t care. “What ? She just got here.” He chuckled, unbothered. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Right,” his manager sighs, running a hand down his face. "And in five hours, you have a live audience watching you host SNL.“

Your heart has calmed down for once and you noticed your man most likely now laughing at your shaken appearance now, yet he’s still got his hands looped around your waist.

Brian just shakes head. "I don’t care what you do. Just... at least make it to rehearsal on time." Then he finally steps out of the elevator when the floor hits.

The second the doors shut again —

"How many more time you think we’ll get caught ?" Timmy is tugging you back in already, and you’re pushing him away with a bashful snicker.

“You’re crazy.”

☆

Due to your own gentle encouragement, and firmness to keep your clothes on — Timothee did end up making it to rehearsals on time. With as much energy it took to restrain yourself from making anymore risqué moves with your boyfriend, keeping your hands to yourself until after the show was necessity for such a huge night.

In all his greatest, you had no doubt he would blow the world away once again with his presence, his performance, his aura. It’s a feeling — the one where he doesn’t have to try to be amazing at everything he does.

So when your in a crowd of cheers, watching your man from side stage, overseeing him kill his opponents this awards season, the hug you had when meeting him back stage, was as authentic as could be. You threw your entire body into him the moment your bodyguards brought you back.

“You killed it, baby! You were amazing!” Your feet were off the floor again as he held you in his arms, his laughter closest to your ear, and the cast and crew around all came in hot with the excitement of the environment. You think back when you were out there, cheering for him. And his eyes matched yours for a moment, sparkle and all through the lights. A beam of ‘all for you’ like a subliminal message that only you caught.

He was setting you down with a brief kiss and you’d been smiling up at him after hanging on to it for a moment more.

“Are you ready to catch dinner with everyone? Change into that pretty dress we got earlier?” Timmy kissed your cheek with a grin, knowing you’d been thinking about that dress all day. Almost as much as him really.

“Wouldn’t you like a treat..”

“C’mon, don’t tease me. Where’s my reward for tonight ?”

Your eyes trail his figure with a little smirk, “Later.” You used his own game on him, and Timmy was putting his front back on not to draw attention to the way he’d ran a hand over his neck in primal repression, just before accepting your claim. He draped an arm over your shoulder, you blush.

Timothee got his team to take care of you as quick as possible. Not caring much for himself to do another outfit change when the ones he’s been in for back to back red carpet events were taking over every news outlet as we speak. His Yankees bomber jacket was his choice for the night. But you. You’d been dripping in drapes, rhinestones, and dollars by the time you’d been out of your suite again.

One thing about Timothee was that he was going to have you looking the prettiest, decked out for whatever event it was, on his arm. The Louboutins he gifted you the other night, along with simplistic jewelry that was not only blitzing with bling but had a message —

A chain around your neck with his initial.

So when he caught you in the suv to take you both to dinner, it was his unhinged jaw that did it for you.

“Holy fuck,” he didn’t even try to stutter when you sat extra close to him in that car. He kissed your shoulder. Diving in your florally vanilla sent.

Your smile proud, “this is all you, y’know.” You gesture to your dress, your diamonds, your Prada lipstick — but actually meaning all the heart you would put into being their for your man a million times again for what it’s worth. He was giving you a full dreamy grin as he looked over how chalant you’d been alongside his casualness. Reaching over to shut the door behind you, but getting extra close. So close his heat was emerged with yours, and his lips lingered your gloss for just a second.

And thank god the ride was short.

When you two got to the after party, it had been all flashes from the cameras the moment you stepped foot out of the car. So much so it was hard to see, hard to take shape of anything around you, but Timmy was the perfect gentleman — your hand locked in his as he lead you to your destination so you wouldn’t go blind by the lights. All those cameras, on him all the time. He was a pro at navigating it. So soon, the room was buzzing with nearly everyone currently relevant in Hollywood. Timothee effortlessly moving through the crowd, not giving quotes to reporters on purpose yet flashing that all knowing look.

All that as you we’re seated with him at a dimly lit table in the corner. Just how you liked, even with the chaos of all the stars around. His mind is completely on you.

Instead of sitting across, he’d moved his chair to sit right beside you. Taking your hand in his again and pressing it to his lips. After only an hour, when he’s sipping on a beverage and taking glimpses of you in, the way your dress sits and your collar bones look eloquently perfect. Your body was all he knew. They way you’d been playing with the ‘T’ chain around your neck, shining there with honor. All while you’re taking about him.

It makes him want to get you somewhere private and fast because you were unbearable (he’s terribly flattered).

“Oh my god,” you titter as you lift your phone that’s blowing up from messages from all your friends. Banging on about how iconic Timmy was tonight. “Everyone’s saying that Oscar is yours. And they’re totally right.”

He let’s out a humble chuckle and reaches out for his straw to stir around his drink, mumbling a soft “no, no.” He shakes his head, neat yet disheveled curls falling with.

“What do you mean no ? Yes !” You laugh more cordially so no cameras catch a bad shot of you looking insane.

Timothee gives you a fond smile, he watches your reaction to all his accomplishments and aways notices you might be a tad bit more excited — adorable and endearing, than he could ever imagine for himself. And you noticed that underneath his cool, the nervy jitter of his fingers would start up, so you set your phone down, you take his hand in yours, holding it under your chin with a sweet little smile.

“It’s already yours baby, you’re a prize.”

“You’re a prize,” he replied, green eyes never moving away from your shine.

You can’t help but blush, you were both so locked on one another. So into each other. Timmy let his thumb brush against your cheek, leaning in close and you felt a camera flash somewhere ahead of you — but it didn’t matter. You’re zoned in on the man beyond you.

“Can we get out of here ?” You suggested quite, but voice filled with a dazed kind of essence because your eyes flicker over his fit again. Saying so much without saying anything. He gets the hint and tenses up again.

“Are you suggesting we get away, mon belle?”

“Mhm” you nod as his thumb covers your bottom lip, almost slipping through before he catches himself in the act of being too taken by you. Your looking at him, pure yet seductive, and the corner of his lips curl upwards as he takes your breath away again in a gentle kiss. Before you knew it, Timmy was standing to his feet and taking both of your hands with him. He alerted Brian, his bodyguard and said his goodbyes to his peers before resting a hand on the deep of your back to meet your driver somewhere outside of the venue.

Of course, a hurd of fans, paparazzi and journalists all caught the two of you leaving that after party early and the sounds of screams mixed with paps trying to get to where your car was could be heard from the airport. Cameras were snapping photos of you, your glow, in the hard earned dazzle your boyfriend had been responsible for. And you had a polished expression. Waving to your audience, you didn’t mind at all having this dress in the press.

“Over here!” “Beautiful!” “Is that necklace in honor of your boyfriend?”

You were biting your lip and being an absolute doll for the paparazzi, giving a prideful beam over your shoulder at flashes — that being before Timothee took you by the hip. And pulled you into hiding with him in the car, you only giggled playfully when you’d been grabbed by him suddenly. He pretended to be annoyed by the paps asking him if he’d just talk about you. Even once, but, he held a small grin on his lips by the time you two were secured in the backseat of your ride. Because in the morning, you’d look stunning as ever. Posing for the cameras, hand in hand with him and it would be all over every social media platform in existence.

Everyone would go insane. His fans. The world. Obsessing over how you’d headed out early. Obsessed with how obsessed you were with one another.

Still on the high of his SNL performance, and the stride of his fame, with fans that were in tears as soon as he showed his face, paparazzi and people begging just to touch him. The chase and drive of award season and all, the praise, the status; you couldn’t have made the climax of his stardom feel like anything other than pure paradise. Solidifying his high paced lifestyle is all worth it when It’s only been a couple minutes since the driver pulled off, and you two had shut the window peek on sight.

the hum of the car engine was tough along the faint sound of people still screaming Timothée’s name in the distance while your all over him. Your glazed nails running down his chest, slow like you want to drive him insane. Your eyes were now dark, practically devouring him immediately. Your lips parted and meshing with his like you’d been starving. Timothee pulled you into his lap without anymore hesitation and you’d let out a little hum when the trace of his hands over your hips came in. Gripping on you like you’d get taken away if he didn’t grasp on long enough. Your hands go to his hair — Kissing deep, slow yet at a rushed pace, recklessly in that back seat.

Timmy’s Cartier ring, cold and sliding up your thigh, inching all over the way you sat on his lap and making sure to pull you in, keep you boarderline close. “Mmm.. mhm- -” was the only thing coming from you. Topping up so your knees were on the leather seats, on either side of his hips. And you deepen your smooches a little more and a soft groan comes from Timmy’s end. Your body drives him crazy. The way you arch your back ever so slightly. The way the fabric of your dress hugs your curves, clinging in all the right places.

And you’re flaunting it, teasing, and pushing on him. So he grips your ass with a little shake and you squeal with excitement. “I wish you could have seen yourself up there tonight. You looked- - fucking incredible.” You murmur against his skin, punctuating it with an open mouthed kiss.

Timothee smirks, “Yeah ? You liked that, huh ?”

“Yeah.. you’re so famous baby, and you work so hard. Everyone loves you.” You huff out a little sound, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, dragging your mouth against the slight scruff of his mustache, down to the heat of his neck. Your hands grazed there along with your kisses. “Never shave this okay ? It’s so hot.”

Timmy gives you that damn cocky grin, closing his eyes as he tilts back, giving you space to ruin him. “Mm, you're really gassin' me up right now.” His voice smug and heavy, hands ghosting over your inner thighs, daring to squeeze your ass some more which makes the dampness between your thighs rush in. You felt the stretch of his Adam’s apple along with a soft sigh that comes from his lips when you lick over his skin. His fingers tighten around your waist and he starts rocking you down against him and your eyes go intense and lost in his. His breath catches when your fingers only trace lower, teasing over his waistband.

You sincerely couldn’t sit with the temptation for another minute. So you lean up, find your balance within the bumpy ride pushing you only closer into your man, and speed to get his belt undone.

Just what he needs after all of it. The weeks that went by, the tiresome press and events. Alone with the love of his life, feeling him this way and getting him like this. That mix of devotion and sensuality. The voice of his girl right now, telling him everything he needs to hear “you’re taking home that Oscar, baby” — that’s exactly what he craves. You make him feral.

So as your eyes grow with hunger, your hands working quick to get his fly open and to embrace his boxers, sitting pretty with a nice tent. You’re watching the way he breathes when your fingers trace over his cock, teasing, hiking your dress up and getting on your knees in front of him.

There was only one way to finish what he started earlier.

Timothee stretched as much as he could in the fine spaced car as your nails trail the tops of his thighs and he’s man spreading for you. So heavenly, his jaw flexes,his eyes darkening in the low glow of the passing city lights.

He’s viewing you with so much hunger, lips parted, chest rising and falling as you sit up to tug his jeans farther away from his hips. “You gonna be good f’me ?” Timmy’s voice softened but assertive as he was already holding your chin in his grasps. Hooded eyes only on the beauty that you were as you’d been starring up at him, with a lust filled little smile and nod. Too sweet, too much for him to handle as your hands were doing a job of their own — reaching to stroke him once. Slow. Painfully slow. And as he curses, you try not to giggle but your lips grave the tip of his cock. Not looking away from his expression for a second as you let your tongue dart out to taste, lick a stripe on him dutifully.

Your boyfriends brows knit upwards and his tongue darts out to wet his lip as he watched you repeat that a couple more times. Then your mouth is on him completely,

“Oh.. shit,” one of his hands is reaching out to the arm rest across the seating, and the other going to search through your hair.

A low whimper could be heard from you as you didn’t hesitate to have your mouth filled with his dick the moment you’d fit him in. Sucking nice, then more brazen. Hallowing your cheeks and making him groan for it. You could hear his grunts, feel his veins pulse as you pick up the speed. And your sitting in your own pool uncomfortably when you let your hand glide and flow up his abdomen another time to grip his studded chain. Playing and toying with it as he moaned through the wet noises you made on him. You’re moving your mouth up and down on him in sequence with moans drawn out sharply as Timmy grips the back of your neck to move you how he wants.

Your hand was pumping him at the same time as he was dropping his head against the seat with a deep groan and you wish you could see it. Like all the tension, and the noise around Oscar’s buzz being washed away from him. He’s letting you take him away. “Fuck, you make me feel so good, pretty girl.” Although you were flattered, you couldn’t be more focused on trying to get him off. His skin just feeling right against your tongue and you only stop for air just to smile and calmly run your thumb over his tip with a sly grin. It makes him have to restrain from kicking the drivers seat ahead.

“Easy..” you murmur with a soft giggle as you watch your man fight it from above, sucking in his bottom lip and gripping his jeans as your hand jerks him clean. He was hissing a string of curses before you go back to licking and kissing on his shaft, moaning like you just needed to be fucked by the movie star right here. Right now.

And in all perfect timing, he pulls you off of him even as his cock twitched hungrily.

“Oh my god,” he huffs, chest rising and falling, “slide your panties down for me..”

Not only does your stomach drop, and heat flashes through your body like an electric current. You stop to take in Timmy’s disheveled state with utter contempt but urgency. Your image of a quicky in this car could go so many ways.

He’s amused at your hesitation. Even from the race of all day — trying to pin him down for this to be it. The fire throughout you was at an all time high. Timothee was getting you off the car floor and making sure you were properly on his lap again. “Now, chérie.” his voice a low, a commanding whisper, reminding you exactly the kind of night you were about to have.

So when you complied, taking part of the very thin panties you’d been wearing under your dress, and pulling them over your heat, it was just for him, as he leaned back and watched you move. Licking over his lip for a brief moment till you were bare.

That tiny obedient action drives him absolutely wild.

“Good girl, You’re always good for me.. yeah?” your boyfriend grins, hand going to your hips again and your now soaked cunt lingers right over his dick. Wanting, starving for you. And you feel it everywhere. Without him even being in, your legs go weak, your breath hitches, and his fingers are already toying with your folds as your nails prime his shoulder and you slip him a soft kiss that has you both moaning. Then again, yet this time his lips only skim the corner of your mouth, but he doesn’t kiss you.

He loves watching you fall apart first. Loves the anticipation. Loves knowing that you’d let him stretch you crazy right now.

You have a frustrated groan as your head releases. He huffs out a chuckle. Holding back from rewarding you for just another second, but it all came with the consequence of the car jerking to a stop. Easily throwing the two of you into each other.

Timothée blinks, his head dropping back against the seat, huffing dramatically. “Are you serious right now ?”

The driver tones in over the speaker. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Chalamet.”

Your boyfriend was breathless, at a loss for words and running his hands down his face. All you could do was shake your head with a light hearted chuckle and start fixing your dress.

“Hurry before you get recognized, Timmy.” Your tone sweet enough just to get him hard again, but vexing enough to piss him off farther.

He glares at you. Eyes still blown with need. But he kisses your neck, tender and poised anyways as he quickly buttons his jeans. “You’re gonna pay for this though.”

You both practically stumble out of the suv, Timothée tugs his hoodie up to avoid cameras, but your hands never leave each other.

And the second your through the lobby, past security, past the elevator doors, there’s no stopping again.

[cece693]

I just like Hannibal crying...is that weird?? Like, there's just something beautifully poetic about this monstrous man who is still able to feel and show those emotions, in the face of something that does move him. Anyway, I just wanted to write something with a sad Hannibal and couldn't help myself. Be prepared, it's long and sad.

EVEN DEATH CANNOT SEPARATE US

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: sad ending, both characters are dead, you actually have a terminal illness, it's not specific though, use your imagination, hannibal dies because he can't fathom to continue living without you, I like how this turned out, mention of afterlife

The Baltimore townhouse is hushed in the late-winter dusk, firelight peeling slow amber across mahogany paneling and half-empty bookcases. It smells of eucalyptus and polished leather and, faint beneath it all, the sterile sweetness of the morphine drip that follows you now like a last, reluctant valet.

You sit in one of the Hepplewhite wing-backs, quilt tucked around your shoulders. Every motion has become deliberate: you fold your hands, you breathe, you listen to the crackle of cedar. Hannibal kneels at your feet to adjust the quilt as though it were ceremonial—perhaps it is. He smooths the fabric over your knee, tracing the bones beneath, catalogue-careful, a man committing sacred anatomy to memory.

“You should save that strength,” you murmur; your voice is frayed silk.

“So should you,” he counters, but the words lack their usual lattice of irony. When he looks up, his eyes are almost fever-bright. He is not wearing a suit tonight—only a dark cashmere sweater whose sleeves bunch at the elbows—and the small untidiness feels indecent, a bare throat in church.

A strand of silver hair has fallen forward. You lift a trembling hand to tuck it behind his ear. “I’m not afraid, Hannibal.”

“I know.” His fingers circle your wrist to steady you; the gentleness burns. “Neither am I.”

You could tell him he’s lying, but you don’t. Fear is too small a word for what lives behind his composure. He is a creature accustomed to eternity—cultivating it in cellars, plating it in crystal bowls—yet here you sit, proof that time can still spoil the very finest cut. That discovery terrifies him more than death ever could.

“Come here,” you say.

He rises, settles on the ottoman so your knees bracket his ribs. Your pulse drums weakly under his palm. The fire pops and a coal collapses—soft thunder, like applause heard from behind velvet curtains. Hannibal’s gaze drifts to the hearth; when he speaks again his voice is hoarse, low:

“Does it hurt?”

“It already does. Not in ways morphine can touch.” You give a rueful smile. “But that’s all right. Hurt means I’m still here with you.”

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “And when you are not?”

“Then the hurt is yours.” You skim his cheek with your thumb, feel the heat of unshed tears there—Hannibal Lecter, whose eyes have witnessed rivers of blood without once watering, and yet for you... The first tear breaks, slow as syrup. It charts a shining course along the fine line of his nose and drops to your quilt. Another follows. He doesn’t wipe them away; he lets them fall the way one allows candles to gutter after guests depart—a sign that the evening, at last, is over.

You try to memorize the sight: the tremor in his lower lip, the wet lashes, the velvet darkness of his irises. You realize you are smiling. “Beautiful,” you whisper.

He bows his head until his brow meets the back of your hand. “This is unbecoming.”

“It’s the most becoming thing I’ve ever seen you do.” Your lungs tighten; you rest, catching breath. Hannibal’s tears soak your skin, warm, startling. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Live. Live like you always do—gloriously, shamelessly. Don’t pickle yourself in grief. I wouldn’t stand for that.”

He lifts his head. “You would haunt me?”

“Relentlessly.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth, and you see the man you met years ago—the impeccable host with jokes folded between syllables like origami knives. Now the knife is turned inward. “Very well,” he says. “I will live. But I will not love.”

“You will,” you assure him, “because loving me taught you how. Even if you hate it, the lesson’s learned.” Your eyes sting; vision doubles. “And I’ll go knowing I moved an immovable heart.”

Silence settles, thick and reverent. Hannibal slips from the ottoman to the rug, drawing your hand to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. Instead, he rests it over his own heart, as though he means to press it through flesh, through bone, lock it there before the beat stops beneath your ribs.

The townhouse remains hushed after the last ember fails, but something enormous and wordless ripples in its bones—a tectonic shift in the house’s cruel, curated stillness. Hannibal does not rise. He feels the thin weight of you cooling in his arms and discovers, with surgical clarity, that grief is a blade he cannot grip by the handle; it cuts no matter how delicately he holds it.

It is obscene, almost comical, that the Chesapeake Ripper should finally understand loss in so ordinary a fashion. All the elaborately posed corpses, all the aria-sweet deaths he has orchestrated, and here—when confronted with a passing as gentle as candle-smoke—he is undone.

Sadness was always a flavor he served to others. Now it coats the back of his own throat like ash. It has no elegance, no aesthetic potential; it is simply weight. It drags his ribs inward until every breath rasps. The house feels too voluminous, every hallway an echo chamber of absence. His monster’s brain chases solutions—taxonomies, distractions, new hungers to hunt—but they dangle uselessly, gutted of savor.

Hours slide apart from one another like pages warping in rain. He studies your face as rigor settles, committing each micro-contour to the cathedral of his memory. Then, slowly, he begins the rites:

He braids your fingers with his and speaks to you in unhurried Lithuanian lullabies remembered from childhood.

He wipes the last tears from your cheeks, then allows more of his own to fall and replace them—an unbroken exchange, grief for grief, salt for salt.

He refuses a physician, a coroner, any intrusion. Instead, he dresses you in the midnight-blue silk you once wore to the opera, fastens the pearl buttons with hands that suddenly shake, kisses each knuckle when the tremor threatens to snap a thread.

At dawn he carries you to the music room. Mahogany shutters filter new light across the Bösendorfer. He props your body against his chest, one arm beneath your shoulders, the other coaxing a final nocturne from the keys. The notes drag like chains—dense, deliberate—and in them Hannibal folds everything he cannot articulate: rage at his own helpless biology, reverence for your courage, the terrible privilege of watching fearlessness turn cold in his embrace.

By twilight he understands: living was your last command, but obedience has never been his native tongue. To remain here, breathing, is to endure a famine no feast can sate. The concept of years—a month, even a day—spinning forward without your pulse beside his is intolerable, a mathematical obscenity he refuses to solve.

“I will not outlast you,” he murmurs against your temple, voice raw as scraped violin strings. “I gave you my fullness—my darkness, my devotion. What remains is only residue.”

He imagines the simple choreography of a final dinner: crystal decanters reflecting candle-flame, the bouquet of a forty-year Barolo softening the air. There would be music—perhaps that very nocturne, recorded and looping, a hush between phrases like a held breath. And then—quiet, clinical—he will follow your path, matching your heartbeat’s last count with a dose measured to the milligram. An ending of his own composition, stitched neatly to the end of yours.

Before he executes the coda, he wraps you in a shroud of black cashmere and lowers you into the crypt beneath the townhouse, a space he once reserved for rarer vintages. Now, it becomes a sanctuary of two. He seals the room, presses his palm to the cool door, and speaks—not an operatic benediction, but a single, naked sentence that tastes of iron and farewell:

“Wait for me.”

And he knows you will.

When midnight returns, Hannibal ascends the spiral stairs, the house sighing underfoot like an old instrument retired from concert halls. In the dining room, he lights three candles—one for the life you lived, one for the life he spent beside you, and one for the small span that will soon join them.

The monster, at last, is no more afraid of death than you were, for death is only the corridor back to your side. Every other appetite pales. Every instinct of preservation folds, effortlessly, into hunger for reunion.

[rhaenella]

CL16 | Is It Over Now? | pt.7

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and charles have been everyone's fave couple on the grid, but when you somewhat unexpectedly break up, you turn to songwriting to cope with the pain

face claim: léon

a/n: the finale... once again, all songs mentioned are either by taylor swift or léon. happy reading x

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

masterlist

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Liked by taylorswift, danielricciardo and 1,292,849 others

y/n: End & New Beginnings. ONE WEEK.

✨Is It Over Now?~Say Don’t Go~Bigger Than The Whole Sky~You’re Losing Me~Now That We Don’t Talk~Pretty Boy✨

View all 12,138 comments

user55: y/n’s latest masterpiece is incoming!!

user56: YES GIRL LETS GO

user57: omg finally 😱

user58: can’t fucking wait 💛

user59: babe are you realizing you’re releasing on friday the 13th 💀

user56: y/n is like “i’ve conquered all this year’s bad luck already, no one can stop me”

6 October

Liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 1,450,288 others

y/n: It feels like it’s been a long time coming and now it’s here, my new EP ‘End & New Beginnings’ 🤍 Been a few sleepless nights making this to be honest. Ups and downs like always. But now I’m just so happy to let go of it and let you have it, and hopefully you’ll embrace it and make it yours. 

To the incredible people who’ve been a part of this record, THANK YOU! Couldn’t have done it without you… 

Here’s to the end & new beginnings 🕊️

View all 14,159 comments

taylorswift: Perfection 🥰✨🎼😍💋

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

danielricciardo: ART.

Liked by y/n

lilymhe: Beautiful work sweetie, I can’t with how talented you are 🥹 You made me cry the entire 23 mins (and then again cuz it was on repeat)

y/n: Awww, thank you love 🥰 and I’m sorryyyy 🙊

alex_albon: It’s so so good! I didn’t cry tho…

lilymhe: Liar

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Wow 💕

Liked by y/n

yourbestfriend: You’ve outdone yourself once again, darling, love you

y/n: I love you more baby

user60: as someone who’s just gone through a terrible breakup too, i cannot express how comforting it is to hear these songs and realize i’m not alone

Liked by y/n

13 October

—

You let your phone drop to the bathroom counter, blinking slowly, unable to fathom the conversation that had just taken place. Had he really just said those things? Scrolling through the texts confirmed that yes, he had indeed. The bastard.

Charles had always been the jealous type. But attacking you like that when he had been the one to… It was absolutely ridiculous. Apparently he still couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grasp the depths of how much he had actually hurt you.

You’d loved him with all of your heart. Until he had ripped it out and hurled it to the floor, letting it shatter into a million tiny pieces. Yet, even then, you would’ve forgiven him. If only he’d apologised. If only he’d shown true remorse. But he hadn’t. And so you’d been forced to walk the path of mending your own heart, and move on with your life.

Perhaps a small part of you had hoped that he could be happy for you. That somehow, even after everything, you would be able to greet each other normally—that you could coexist peacefully. But as his texts just now had demonstrated, that wasn’t going to happen. Not right now. And definitely not next week in Texas. You sighed. It would’ve been too good to be true, anyway. Especially considering who you were currently seeing…

A light knock sounded at the door, startling you out of those thoughts. 

“Are you almost ready to go, darling?” a male voice asked, soft.

Right. Dinner. Celebrations. 

You had been in the midst of applying the finishing touches to your makeup and outfit before Charles had interrupted, quite literally shocking you to the core when his name had appeared on your lock screen. He’d been the last person you’d expected to hear from today.

You swallowed the bitter taste that Charles’ texts had managed to leave behind. He wasn’t worth it, you repeated to yourself. You weren’t going to let his shenanigans ruin a perfect night—a perfect date. You ran a hand through your hair and readjusted the necklace around your neck when the bathroom door creaked open behind you. 

Looking up, your eyes met your handsome, new boyfriend’s through the mirror. He was smiling, eyebrows raised in silent question, ever patient as he waited for you to finish up. You felt your pulse quicken at the sight of him, dressed to perfection in a dark suit, hair neatly tousled.

As always, his presence was able to reassure you within the blink of an eye, the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders relaxing as you gladly let all of your complex emotions fall away.

“Yes,” you nodded, a genuine smile spreading across your lips. “I’m ready.”

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THE END

but who is she with? well, there’s a little (and not so subtle) easter egg that refers back to the beginning of part 6 that will confirm certain things… have you spotted it?

thank you everyone for coming along on this ride! it’s been a hell of a lot of fun writing and creating this story 🥰 my apologies to all the y/n x charles shippers out there, but as our songbird said: here’s to the end and new beginnings…

Now, if you'd like, please cast your votes below :)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Tags: @sukisheadlights @eviethetheatrefreak @blueflorals @kiskso @dessxoxsworld @treehouse-mouse @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @clown-fc @stopeatread @vanishingcherry @bb-swift @leclercdream @scenesofobx @kagatinkita @allywthsr @evieepepi08 @viennakarma @riverjane-d @httpjeonlicious @madnesstaking0ver @futurecorps3 @celesteblack08 @sadg3 @simxican @glow-ish @spideybv28 @laneyspaulding19 @tswizzleismother @slytherinfolk25 @merchelsea @1655clean @urgirlnextdoorr @cixrosie @lightdragonrayne @lxclerc @hopexcroc @nichmeddar @imthebadguyyy

[iloveelvisss]

A Series of Unfortunate Events

When the Queen divorces the King

Pairing: 70s!Elvis x Wife!Reader

Summary: Elvis’ wife of seven years has had enough, and Elvis can’t fathom that.

Warnings/Triggers: Angst, Yelling, Arguing, References to past wrongdoings, Assumed Infidelity? References to manipulation, References to sex & lovemaking, Crying, Tears, Divorce Topics. I think that’s all? Lmk if you spot any I need to add.

If Elvis had any form of self preservation left inside his torn soul, he would’ve walked away five minutes ago, and saved himself the humiliation he was about to face. But no, he needed to be here. Right here. Right now. He needed to get her to understand. Get her to grasp where he was coming from.

He was manic, yes, but rightfully so… right? His lil’ satnin was up and leaving him. His button nose was serving him papers, and she just didn’t seem to be swayed, no matter how many ways he tried to go about it.

“Nellie, baby, please. We gotta talk. We can talk this whole thing out like adults.”

He’s grasping at straws. But what else is there to do? He cannot lose his wife. But when she doesn’t answer and continues through the house like he doesn’t even exist, he can’t take it anymore. “Cornelia Presley! Turn yer ass around and speak to me!”

There she is, he thinks, as she stops dead in her tracks— so abruptly that his chest would’ve ran into her back if he hadn’t been foreseeing this— and balls her dainty little hands into fists. He almost thinks she’s going to stomp her foot and throw a tantrum, but that would be below her and her newfound persona of oh so high and mighty Miss Campbell, wouldn’t it? No, instead, she stays facing away— to spite him most likely— and speaks in an octave he doesn’t recognize coming from her cute little mouth, “Talk about what? There ain’t nothin’ left to talk about as far as M’ concerned.”

Oh he’d do something drastic if he were a different man or raised by a different woman. She can’t just speak to him like this. She’s his wife. Elvis put a ring on that finger to accompany her perfectly manicured nails years ago, so therefore, she shouldn’t be able to talk to him in such a manner. But he knows if he goes through with any of the things he’s thinking, it’ll just drive her further away from him. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” he repeats almost like he’s testing her words out in his own mouth, except his tone is incredulous, “maybe the fact that my wife is tryin’ to leave me?!”

She scoffs, and damnit does he want to reach out and spin her around and teach her a lesson. But no, he’s a civilized type of man— a calm man. Or maybe that’s just the mantra he keeps telling himself inside his head so that he doesn’t act on the raging impulse to take her right this second against the wall.

“Elvis, I ain’t ‘tryin’, M’ leavin’. Simple as that. The divorce will be finalized soon, and then we don’t gotta worry ‘bout it no more. We’ll be done.”

Can she not see the pain she’s putting him through? The frustration taking residence on his face? He’s almost convinced she doesn’t even remember what they used to have. The time when it felt like they were literally connected— maybe by a string or some invisible force. He still feels it. That’s why every step she takes closer to that door, makes him want to throw himself at her feet and wrap his arms around her legs to keep her here. Where she belongs. “Ya can’t mean that, lil’ satnin… c’mon, ya’ve made yer scene. Ya have my attention, s’ time to quit this bullshit.”

She shakes her head, her golden little earrings jangling lightly, “It ain’t like that this time. M’ done, really.”

Why does she insist on bruising his already shattered heart?

She walks on, and Elvis swears he feels his heart shatter even more, the loose pieces scraping at his flesh. He has half the mind to throw her over his shoulder and lock her in their bedroom if it would just get her to stop this nonsense. They made promises to each other— vows— and it seems as though she’s more than content to break them.

Elvis trails after her, through the kitchen, up the stairs to their bedroom. Their marriage bed. His eyes zero in on it, and his mind flashes with all the times they’d made love in that same bed. The time their lovemaking created a person. He wants to pull her onto it and make love like the first time, but he doesn’t. He just weakly stands in the doorway and watches as she packs all her possessions into a little bag. He hiccups from holding back a sob.

“Nellie… satnin please,” He tries again, even though he knows in the back of his mind it won’t do him any good if she’s got her mind set on leaving.

She doesn’t respond— of course she doesn’t respond. And he doesn’t even know he’s moving until he’s suddenly right behind her and his hand is snaking around her waist like it did when they were just starting out. Her movements still, and she almost looks like she’s going to spin around and hit him. But she doesn’t, she just stands immobile inside his embrace, letting him rest his chin on her shoulder and stare into her eyes through the mirror atop the dresser. “C’mon, baby girl, I love ya… ya know that,” His hand slowly begins to rub circles on her tummy, and he feels that telltale sign that she likes it when she shivers.

“Come back to me… we can fix this. We can find ourselves, ya know that too, darlin’.”

She closes her eyes, and if the situation were any different, he’d be completely confident it’s because she’s basking in having him like this— having his full attention. That’s all she’s ever wanted, his love, and he never gave into her all the way. But he would now. He’d give up his career— his music— just to keep her and show her that he loves her.

He reaches up and wipes the singular tear from her face and gently kisses the side of her neck.

It almost seems like old times— happier times. If the wrenching feeling of pain and heartbreak wasn’t permeating from both of their very bodies. But she lets it happen. For a moment.

For a moment, Cornelia Campbell is Cornelia Presley again. For a moment, she lets her husband hold her and make all her pain fade to the furthest shelf in her mind. For a moment she doesn’t feel so alone and broken. For a moment everything feels right. For a moment…

Until the series of unfortunate events that brought them to this point comes hurtling to the forefront of her mind like a screetching car. And that final piece of her heart that somehow hadn’t fallen finally makes its way to the other pieces that are shattered and broken. She’d given too much of herself to this marriage. Too much of her heart and soul. And she’d gotten nothing in return except for her gorgeous baby daughter. She was tired. Exhausted and torn, all the turmoil of the last seven years weighing too harshly for her to even fathom staying.

So with an effort that takes all her willpower, she peels herself away from him and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She doesn’t even look up as she whispers almost inaudibly, “I can’t.”

And she leaves Elvis to stare after her as she takes his heart in her hands and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

There’s a momentary sense of calm— serenity even as the house settles and Elvis is left alone in his cold bedroom. And he stands there, his eyes stuck on the doorway, waiting for her to come back through it and tell him it was all just a bad dream. But she never comes, and then he’s left with the terrible realization that his home is really, truly silent for the first time ever. And so as he slowly sinks down to the soft carpet, he doesn’t even try to be quiet in his grief. He screams, and his tears stream out of his eyes onto the floor, making the carpet wet.

He is alone. He is alone and he only has his actions to blame for it. His lil’ satnin left him and took their baby with her along with his soul.

Heyyy, so I’m sorry for making something so depressing on here, but it was an idea and I had to role with it before I lost all motivation to write it. So here you go! Hope you enjoy <3 (Also, most important question from me to you, would you possibly like a part 2?? Cause I’ll most definitely write one, if that’s something any of you lovies want!)

Tags: @queenstarlight @jhoneybees (lmk if ya wanna be added!)

[mingtinys]

how flowers bloom and wither

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader , platonic! boo seungkwan x reader

apocalypse!au , exes to lovers , angst , hurt / minimal comfort

warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story

word count : 6.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).

Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long that the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses it as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.

He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.

But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.

"Chan? Lee Chan!"

And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.

Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.

"Oh my God, Chan!"

It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.

Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.

It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.

Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"

Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.

"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.

"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.

Wow.

You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.

"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"

It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."

"Are you hungry?"

Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.

"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."

We?

Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"

He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.

Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.

"You can't go around picking up strays."

"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.

"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.

Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.

"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.

When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.

The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.

When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.

Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.

Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.

"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.

He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."

He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," he breaths out.

"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.

Oh.

A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.

He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.

You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."

"No, actually, it's just me."

Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.

You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.

"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.

Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.

When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.

"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"

"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"

"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."

That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"

"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."

It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.

A second chance to be alive.

Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.

It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.

"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.

Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.

"Yeah, I think so."

Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.

In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.

"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.

"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why? How long were you?"

"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."

"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.

"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.

"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"

Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.

"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."

Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"

"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."

Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.

He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.

"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two. 

"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"

"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."

But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.

It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.

"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."

Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.

You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.

And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.

"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."

Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.

"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.

"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.

"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.

"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.

Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.

"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.

Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.

He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.

"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.

"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.

In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.

Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.

It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.

Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.

And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.

The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.

Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."

It only got worse.

The scratching.

It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.

There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.

After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.

Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.

It happened again.

Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.

Over his garden again.

The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.

Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.

You called it dehydration.

But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.

All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.

Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.

Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.

"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."

"Maybe it's not—"

"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.

"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"

Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.

"I can't remember."

Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."

Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.

He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.

"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.

"Anything."

He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."

"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."

"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."

"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."

He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.

Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.

And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.

The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.

Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.

Just another host.

Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.

Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.

But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.

So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.

He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.

And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.

"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.

"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.

Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.

But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.

When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.

The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.

You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.

"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.

You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And Chan makes it happen.

Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.

The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.

"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.

"That's close enough!" He calls.

Again, nothing.

Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.

Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.

Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.

"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.

"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.

There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.

He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.

It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.

For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.

"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."

You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.

"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"

"I'd never leave–"

"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.

But he wants to.

"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."

"Can you believe in me?"

Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.

Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.

He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.

Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.

You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.

There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.

[dadsbongos]

i eat your skin - f.megumi

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - cunnilingus (fem reader), title sounds like vore smut but it isn't i promise word count - 3.7 K / rating - R

Megumi braces his hands on his knees, brows pinched tight in preemptive annoyance. Satoru spindles over him, shadowing the younger man almost completely - and it only serves to irritate Megumi that he’d refused to sit down. Furiously determined to forever humiliate his former pupil, Megumi assumes.

Or, he would, if Satoru hadn’t actually agreed to give him advice about a little… situation.

“Alright, now when you see her, look at me- seriously, look at me, Megumi,” Satoru’s face is lethally drawn, usual bright grin tugged low and serious with furrowed brows to match, “Megumi, you cannot let her intimidate you,” Megumi opens his mouth, a vile retort slithers back down his throat when Satoru interrupts, “No, I know you, and you’ll feel all sick,” he mocks a frown, even pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, “You’ll get all nervous. But you cannot let her intimidate you out of it.”

“I’ll hardly die asking her out,” Megumi rolls his eyes, one hand lathering the sweat in his palms against his sweatpants and the other scratching the back of his neck, “Maybe this just isn’t a good idea…”

“And what? Be a miserable wimp the rest of your life?” Satoru folds his arms across his chest, “You’ve liked her since you were first years.”

“And?”

“You’re graduates now!”

“So?”

“‘So,’” Satoru mimics Megumi’s sulking nature, voice deep and neanderthal-ish in nature, “Be greedier, kid!” he flicks the younger man’s forehead, “You’ll die one day. You’ll die. Whether it be on a mission, or in your hospital bed as a diseased old man - you can’t stop it. So, why deprive yourself of something you really want when it all ends the same?”

Megumi can’t exactly pinpoint the reason he even came to his old legal guardian for help over, say, Nanami. He definitely should’ve gone to Nanami, at least he could’ve given Megumi genuine advice that isn’t some children’s show morale of “just tell her how you feel!” - he could’ve done that any day.

When Megumi opens his mouth to protest, Satoru flicks him again.

“You think your special one,” Megumi gags loudly at the title, and Satoru pays it no mind, “is gonna sit around her entire life not having fun and being young? Getting dates?” Satoru nods to himself when Megumi doesn’t reply, “Duh.”

“I want this to be special,” Megumi insists, both hands coming to rest in his lap now, he squeezes them together, lacing his fingers and imagining how yours would look with him instead, “I want- “

He wants and wants and wants and does nothing.

He needs to be someone you simply can’t fathom saying no to, he needs it so bad his stomach churns just like Satoru said it would.

“Alright, I know it can be difficult for you - not being me, after all,” a large hand claps on Megumi’s shoulders and he looks up to see the beaming face attached, “But trust me, kid, this whole idea of a ‘special’ confession is archaic bullshit compared to just being yourself.”

“I thought girls liked special confessions?”

“Sexist: not all girls automatically like the same things,” his former teacher shakes his head, sighing out each disappointed fiber trapped in his soul, “And if she doesn’t accept a plain, Megumi-style date proposition, then her shock and awe over a sick-as-hell graphic novel confession isn’t going to make for a healthy relationship.”

“Hm,” Megumi bites back frustrated curses, taking the words and molding them into a more conventional way that actually makes sense. He nods, “Okay.”

“Exactly,” Satoru stands back, giving Megumi room to rise from his bed, “Oh, but one thing that does help?” the older man grins wickedly, “Eat her out. Direct line to a woman’s heart is through eating her pussy.”

“Shut up,” Megumi huffs, pointing at his wide-open bedroom door, “Shut up. Shut up and get the hell out.”

“Jeez,” Satoru yanks at the already loose collar of his plain black shirt, “I thought we left teen angst behind. Just give it some thought! And also, I wanted to ask- “

Megumi huffs, falling back onto his bed, still pointing at the door.

“If,” and in true fashion, Satoru continues, maybe even a little louder (just to prove a point), “you wanted to watch a movie?”

“No,” Megumi immediately answers.

“C’mon! It’s this or paperwork I have to do.”

Megumi’s eye roll gives Satoru no more room for pleading, and so he stalks back to the living room. Dragging his socked feet over a shaggy black rug towards the door, he takes a final peek over his shoulder at the boy on his bed. Stupid mouth in a stupid pout and stupid nose forcing stupid crocodile sniffles, Satoru acts out a picturesque performance. And if his blindfold were off, Megumi is certain he’d catch big blue eyes framed by batting white lashes.

“No, “ Megumi rolls his eyes again, “‘m going out.”

…

Blushy top with faded blue bell bottoms and a shiny, thin chain that dangles across your chest, Megumi’s eyes flit away from your figure just as quick as they’d found you. Everything’s a little murky under the purple LEDs, but he thinks you’ve worn that before. He thinks you’re somehow more beautiful now. He looks away, snaking through a narrow, picture-framed hallway at Yuuji’s back to this house’s kitchen. There are no light strips strapped across the kitchen walls, simple and plain and unflattering fluorescent bulbs send a gentle cream wash over the walls.

With only a handful of straggling bodies leaning against peeling-edged faux wood cabinets and spotted countertops, there’s more room to breathe than in the hall. Red Solo cups from every teen movie nightmare decorate hands and unnerving corners. Some more anxious part of him wants to reach out and push every precarious ruby further back into secure landing, but he doesn’t.

Two women in complimentary spaghetti strap dresses flounce out of the kitchen with looped arms. They’re sunk into the plum tank until Megumi can’t see them at all anymore.

“Oh, like that!” you muse, nudging your chin towards a pair in matching floral print dresses that reach about mid-thigh, “Exactly my point.”

“That’s hardly 70s influenced,” the man in front of you - Jirou? Junto? Jouji? you don’t really recall - shakes his head, “Just flowers.”

“No, no, look at the trim,” you’re trying your hardest not to point but this guy just cannot pinpoint the details in your mind to save his life, “It’s flowy and mesh. Sort of. That’s a little more flower child era, right?”

“I guess, if your only experience in that fashion was movies,” you huff at the response and he laughs in the face of such exasperation.

“Whatever! You’re so difficult.”

“Hobby,” it’s so plain out of his lips. Like you should somehow be expecting that snark.

“Oh my God…” you can hardly believe someone could be so obtuse. A contrarian just for the fun of it, “And are you normally invited to parties for that?”

“Oh, no,” his tone, again, betrays some delusion that you should already know the answer, but this time you do already know. Who invites a conversation killer to an event? “I got dragged here by a friend. Don’t even know who the host is.”

You snicker, one hand smothering the sight of your mouth, “That makes more sense.”

Megumi can see the hand that binds, you usually don’t string it up around those you’re close with. Like Yuuji and Nobara and Maki and Miwa from Kyoto and your friends that live closer to the coast and the friends that don’t and your parents and him. So you’d think he’d know better than to let a big, gangly, clawed, green beast sprout and grow and suck away at his gut.

Even though that hand is a sign of some rising desire to be out of that conversation, he still hates being across the room when it happens. Because that’s still some semblance of a shining star behind the flesh. Some laugh or smile he’s not next to.

And it isn’t like he hates when you’re out with others. What he hates is being in the same room with someone potentially more captivating than he is.

He hopes you like him best because he’s the most familiar and drawing, and it’s disturbing when someone else might be more homely and more charming and more absorbing. He hates the curdling illness of jealousy and he hates to be this way when you two aren’t even together, but most of all he hates that maybe you’ll prefer someone else simply because they’re better at his craft than he is.

So Megumi watches and rots quietly with thick, spindling vines spreading and tangling him to the kitchen doorway as you talk to a guy whose name he doesn’t know. It’s pathetic and waning most unbearably.

“Stop staring, it’s weird,” Yuuji chastises, chunking part of his weight against Megumi’s side, an elbow shelved on Megumi’s shoulder, “Just go up and say something, if you wanna talk to her.”

“Yeah, it’s that easy,” Megumi jerks through the vines and into the hungry waters of a living room party with a snapping, starved crowd before finding the optimal spot: a plain wall with no posters or pictures to snag and smack down.

Yuuji trails after, his white shirt reflecting a blinding shade of lavender from beneath his puffer jacket. Much easier to track down than Megumi’s gloomy, funeral-grade attire. Yuuji capitalizes on the empty space so ugly at Megumi’s side, staking claim to the wall with a huff, “It is, by the way. You two are friends. Go tell her you’re here.”

“But then I’d have to,” Megumi’s mouth zips shut, head tilting as he snakes a hand through some imaginary crowd.

“I guess,” Yuuji wants to shake Megumi at times like this. He wants to shake you too, sometimes. But mostly he imagines squeezing Megumi’s shoulders and smacking him around, but he never does.

Maybe just the first part.

All out of love.

“Okay,” so Yuuji pivots, swerving in front of his best friend and taking one shoulder in each hand, “You need to do something or you’re going to sit here and be pouty, dude.”

“I’m not pouty.”

“Biggest lie in Tokyo, brother,” Yuuji purses his lips, eyes flitting to where you are, “I’ll get her over here if you really don’t want to.”

“Hm?” Megumi’s brows furrow, neck craning closer as if he could somehow mishear the man.

“Just pretend to be busy or some shit and I’ll brave the crowd,” Yuuji goes to walk away, suddenly pausing and placing a hand over Megumi’s heart, “And if I don’t return, sing songs for me by a nice lake every anniversary.”

“Whatever,” Megumi knocks away the hand but is already pulling out his phone to perform the charade. His eyes lock onto the screen and he soldiers on to not rip them away and give slight that this was planned.

…

“Do you think I could maybe get your number?”

“Oh!” no, God no - you wish you were better at saying that, “Uh,” it’s not even as if you dislike this guy, you just don’t think any conversation with him could amount past what it has.

Wow, you’re a pain in the ass! Yeah but it’s funny, right? Not if it’s on purpose. Especially if it’s on purpose! Sure, if that’s what you think. You do think it’s funny, right? Sure. Come on, it is! Sure.

And dry replies make you want to claw your eyes out more when you have to give them than when you receive them.

So when the bony fingers of Yuuji creep upon your side, it’s like the first drink of water after sifting through thick bowls and hills of sandy desert. He leans his head down into your peripheral, grinning brightly, “Miss me?”

“Yuuji!” you cheer, turning to… Junsei? and laying a flat palm under Yuuji’s chin, “This is my buddy, who I didn’t know was coming.”

“I texted you,” he pinches your side, “Fushiguro’s busy, so I’m fetching you for the night,” and you wonder if he might feel the stiffness of your muscles and the rigid air, “Sorry, man, but she’s got serious business tonight!”

“Oh,” Junzo! Junzo’s forehead crinkles, nose wrinkling at the bluntness of this cocky new stranger, “Uh…”

“See you around,” maybe it’s a lie, maybe it isn’t. You wave and let Yuuji keep you pressed to his side. You wait until you’re certain the surrounding affairs of other people drown whatever you could say to Yuuji, “Thank you for that. He was asking for my number and I just didn’t know what to say…”

“No,’” he shrugs.

“Oh, like you could’ve done that.”

“I could’ve!”

But Yuuji can do anything, so that isn’t fair.

“‘gumi!” you cheer upon getting close to the boy, arms splaying wide before wringing yourself around his neck, “I was worried you weren’t coming!”

He hesitates before having the misfortune to hear Satoru’s words once again. Be greedier. Be greedier. So he gently settles both hands on your back, pushing you chest-to-chest, “Yeah, well, Itadori wouldn’t let me stay in.”

“Poor baby,” you step back, and Megumi takes notice in how you maintain your hands’ position over his shoulders, nails picking at fluff on his shirt.

Megumi, regrettably, can still hear Satoru in the back of his head. Greedier, greedier, greedier. It chokes him up, the idea of selfishly taking you for himself. But what really grips him is the terrible way your gaze flits from his face to other men - unintentionally, he’s sure. But it drives him wild all the same.

“I hate big parties,” Megumi boldly cradles the bend of your waist with his hand, fingers splaying wide over the curve. He tugs you closer, thighs nearly brushing, “Crowd’s a pain in the ass.”

“Ah, no, c’mon, what’s that Great Gatsby quote?” who’s to say, he hasn't read that book, “‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate…’” you shrug, bottom lip tugging between your teeth when he doesn’t show any recognition, “‘At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’”

“You actually remembered that shit?”

You titter coyly, “Maybe I saw it on one of those book quotes videos. Maybe I remembered it.”

“Well, it’s a stupid quote. There’s too much noise at big parties, it’s hard to hear people.”

“You hear me just fine,” that’s just because he’s leaning closer and trying harder than he does for most people, “Besides, I like it. At big parties you can just fuck off and do your own thing, you know? At small parties there’s this expectation to be around everyone and interact with everyone and be having fun with the group.”

Finally, it seems to click, he nods slowly, “You like to get away from the crowd?”

“Yeah,” you scratch the side of your arm, then your neck, and it’s so odd how just thinking about how uncomfortable your skin is that you can get so itchy, “Hard to do that when the crowd’s five people and a dog.”

“Well,” Megumi can feel Yuuji’s stare, and it takes everything in him to not knock the kid up his skull, “If you wanna get away, I’m sure - uh,” he’s suddenly humiliated by his own hubris, “I’m sure there’s room… upstairs…”

You grace him with a patient nod, hands lowering from his shoulders to lace your fingers together, “I’m sure there is.”

…

“So…”

“So…”

Megumi nods, head slowly tilting so he’s staring up at you through his long lashes, “So.”

You lean closer, shoulder pressing and nose bumping against his, “So?”

The heat from Megumi’s cheeks wavers over you, his flesh ripe with crimson. You want to bite him. Leave a terrible mark that he couldn’t possibly cover up; maybe he’d let it bleed through his dark shirt. Maybe he’d let you lick it clean.

“You look nice,” he tucks his face down, heated skin now flush against your top. His brows furrow, uncertain, “Really nice.”

Megumi wonders what Satoru or Yuuji would do. They’re greedier than him by nature. More outgoing.

They would’ve done something years ago.

Suddenly, you grin. All sharp teeth and nails pricking over his thigh, through his pants. Your eyes stare down at him over the bridge of your nose, and you lean closer - smothering any space he’d initially put between your bodies.

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

Megumi’s eyes widen, warmth beating over his face and the back of his neck. He flails for a response, trapped under your piercing gaze, before finally settling on a response that he hopes pleases you.

“Do you want me to?”

You frown; something in his chest stings, a chord pulled awry. The tug of your lips is all a ploy, a mesmerizing color to disguise venom, “Don’t you want to, ‘gumi?” you pull away, leaning back with your hands pressed to the mattress below, “Don’t you want me?”

A cold breeze from this stranger’s open window takes up residence across Megumi’s sweltering skin. He hates it. He wants to get up from the bed altogether and slam the window shut. He wants to take you in both hands and sink himself into the softness of your skin. He thinks you’d be savory.

He wants to be certain.

So both of his hands mold to your hips, melting his exposed skin to yours.

Fingers dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, he bats his eyelashes and tucks his lower lip between fangs. He may draw blood. He cares not.

The oxygen is thin; hardly refreshing.

Megumi swallows the pooling want on his tongue, his fingers twitch against you, “Can I- “

“‘gumi…” you flatten yourself onto your back, hips tilting up into his palms, “Show me you want me.”

“Okay,” Megumi nods, air forced out of his throat through swollen hunger, “Okay.”

Once he’s gotten your pants off, Megumi presses open kisses against the inside of your thighs, following the swell to its natural apex. He digs the jab of his nose into you, lips impolitely fluttering against the seat of your panties before dipping his tongue out. Lolling the soft, soaked muscle over the clinging fabric, he feels his chest clench at how you rock your hips down into his face.

He feels one of your hands wind into his messy hair, carding through the softness. He wants to make you tug it - pull cruelly and grind against his face. Take what he gives and selfishly demand more.

Megumi groans heartily into your clothed cunt when the slickness of his saliva pulls your wetness from the cloth; when the unabashed taste of you meets his tongue.

He nearly rips your panties down your legs, settling it in a ball at his side. Heart leaping up into his jaw at the mere thought of getting his tongue into you.

Laving his tongue between your folds, Megumi licks up to your clit and circles the bud - his hips jerking down into the plush mattress when you jolt up and tug his hair. He pulls his head back only to pucker his lips and drool onto your hole, adding to the sloshing wetness before steadying his shaky fingers against you.

Sucking your clit into his mouth, Megumi begins softly. Caressing the bundle of nerves with his warm tongue, blending flat, broad strokes with precision dances of the muscle over you. Meanwhile, he slicks his middle finger into your hole and moans in response to your gasp.

When he’s sure you’re wet and stretched enough, he adds a second finger and curls them both upwards. The muscles in his arm will be aching tomorrow, but he shoves that to the back of his mind. He presses and scissors and dips inside you until the pads of his fingers find sponge, and he hits there, and there again. And again. And again. And again.

He hits there until you’re fully babbling, gushing against his swollen, pink lips and chin. And he’s starting to babble back.

Vibrations are loosely strewn together as ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘cum on me’ are bound against your clit as he nuzzles closer into your heat. Burying himself between your thighs and finding himself releasing a moan into your cunt when your thighs clenched tightly around his head. The fat of your thighs snug over his ears.

Releasing your clit from between his lips with a soft ‘pop’, Megumi flays his tongue onto the exposed nerve. Hot puffs of air leave him with each groan and whimper as his desperation to make you cum hammers over him.

Finally, you yank his hair again and snap your hips into his tongue; cunt sucking his fingers in even deeper. You squeeze around him, back arching, and his name singing from your lips.

Megumi unfurls his fingers as your cum splashes out onto his waiting tongue and chin, riding you through the hurls of pleasure until your twitching legs crash back onto the mattress. Slowly, he slides his fingers out of you before licking up your excess release from the divots in your thighs and your cunt.

Unwinding your fingers, you settle for soothing his stinging scalp with gentle pets.

Eventually sitting up, Megumi gasps for air as you do, staring down at his fingers. Shining with your wetness.

“Still hungry?” you tease, voice ripped at the edges.

“Actually?” Megumi shrugs, “A little.”

The cocky air has dissipated from your body. Once tense and lively limbs were now useless against the bed.

Megumi jams both fingers into his mouth and sucks off your cum.

“Insatiable!” you huff.

Rouge has overtaken Megumi’s cheeks - worse than before - and he can’t meet your eyes after having swallowed what remained of your soak. He leans over onto his elbow to avoid crushing you, “Only when it’s you… I don’t,” he waves his hand around, “do this often…”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Megumi has to hide his grin, almost embarrassed to enjoy being praised, choosing to take up time looking around the room you’d shoved him into.

Idol posters with one constant member litter the walls. Pink concert tickets cover the desk. And many pictures with the same two people overwhelm Megumi’s sight. He feels an unsettled chill scrawl over his skin.

“Todo is going to kill me,” he grimaces.

“Was it worth it?”

Megumi doesn’t take long to respond, already trying to think of where and when he can get you under him again, “Definitely.”

Megumi’s proper death is drowning via punani tsunami *thumbs up emoji*

[partycatty]

could you do one where Johnny is dating someone plus size and they feel insecure and johnnys all like “let me show you how beautiful your body is”

@crimsonbubble and i were just going apeshit over this last night, enjoy pookie 🫶

older!johnny cage > my goddess

warnings: uh. secks. worshippy. uh. thumbs up emoji.

notes: i will die on the hill that johnny pee pants is a lover of thick partners

[ masterlist ]

• are you dead-fucking-ass

• did you really just say you looked too fat in that dress.

• johnny looks at you like you insulted his entire bloodline, like you grew another head and ate it. cannot, for the life of him fathom that you just had the complete and utter gall to say that string of words together.

• johnny's mad, but not really at you. he's mad that your beauty isn't solidified in your head, like he didn't do a good enough job of reassuring you over the years.

• you pinch and pull at the chub spilling from your hips as the dress hugs your curves, turning to try and smooth down your back against the fabric. johnny, however, is taking every ounce of his strength to not pin you to the mirror and fuck you stupid.

• johnny spins you around by your shoulders, holding tight as his thumbs rub against your collarbones.

• "say all that again," his voice is darker than usual. "look me in the eyes and repeat all of that." his hands creep up to your cheeks, pressing into them gently.

• you try to downplay it all. "i just said i looked fat in th—" your voice is breaking out of shame, both for disappointing him and for feeling the way you do.

• johnny takes your words as his ticket to hike up your dress and grip the underside of your thighs in one smooth motion, picking you up with minimal effort and pinning you high against the floor to ceiling mirror. you're suspended in his grasp, mouth agape and flushed from his display of strength. he always joked that he went to the gym so he could pick you up with ease, and that felt truer than ever in the moment.

• he pushes his face into your panties, which are now eye-level to him. his nose presses in first, making contact with your now throbbing clit as his lips move against your clothed hole.

• "you are the most beautiful—" he tilts up to kiss your clit, making you jolt. "— gorgeous —" a kiss to your inner thigh. "— perfect —" he speaks through his teeth as he bites onto your panties, nudging them to the side to reveal your sticky cunt. his eyes focus on the way your pussy twitches and clenches around nothing, entranced for a good moment. "...what was i talking about?"

• you remind him of his trail of words, and he looks up at your flustered expression with a wide grin. you giggle shyly, turning into a choked moan when he puts your clit between his teeth through the smile. "right. my goddess. my prettiest girl."

• you know he means it, and you want to thank him for the compliment but he seems quite good at cutting you off, licking a fat stripe up your cunt to gather the accumulating arousal. you're already so turned on from being manhandled, you want to be embarrassed so bad but johnny wasn't having any of that.

• johnny couldn't decide if he wants to murmur praises or dive back in, instead combining the two as he speaks against your slick folds, the vibrations of his rumbly voice almost too much for you to handle.

• your thighs pathetically try to snap shut, to stop the onslaught of pleasure as he makes out with your pussy, but all they can do is squish against johnny's head, and he was quite alright with this. your thighs had to much to feel, to grab as they mold around his head. johnny wonders if he could just die here a happy man.

• "don't fight me," he begs weakly, lashes fluttering at you. "you taste so fucking good, doll."

• he looks back down at your cunt and the shine mixed with saliva and your fluid. he puffs a breath of cold air onto it just to make you whine.

• your hips chase his face, desperately wanting to grind against his nose which johnny happily provides, fucking you open on his tongue as your clit catches against his nose.

• if your legs could have given out, they would have by now, but johnny's firm grip on your plush thighs holds you up against the mirror, forcing you to take his mouth and everything he provides.

• your orgasm rides up on you as your hand flies down to tangle in his salt and pepper locks, tugging gently to tell him you're close. johnny chuckles and you arch against the mirror, where johnny takes the opportunity to latch his lips on your clit and suck with unending pressure.

• it was too much in one moment and you lurch forward, johnny's hands repositioning as you cum hard against his face. he moans into your cunt, letting you paint his face as it drips down his chin. his cock aches with need, but you come first — literally. you deserved it more than he did, in his mind, and truthfully he could cum from giving you head alone.

• as your orgasm shocks you in waves, you're torn back to reality when you notice johnny hasn't stopped sloppily lapping at you, in fact increasing his movements making you yelp and cry out in sensitivity. your whiny pleas and breathy cries do absolutely nothing to stop him as he tastes everything you give, and you cum again, embarrassingly quickly as it rides up on you out of a deep, deep part of your core.

• only when you pull him away by his hair does he stop, a dumb lovestruck grin on his weathered features as he proudly locks eyes, your arousal melting down his chin and completely covering the bottom half of his face.

• "you're so beautiful," he wistfully professes, his eyes soft and honest. "so, so beautiful."

• ten minutes prior, you would have protested, but now you knew better. that, and you were still pinned up to his mercy.

• "are you gonna let me down?" you ask with a sleepy grin, wiggling your hips against his hands. johnny smiles dumbly.

• "one more?" he asks, inching closer to your soaked pussy.

• "don't know if i can," your face burns.

• "you will," his voice is confident as it muffles into you. "i'll make sure of it."

• whatever event you guys had was promptly rescheduled...

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

Faerie Cookies are born with a song on their tongue, and a tune in their hearts – a gift from the trees, and the wind, and the moon. Music is baked into their very dough, which is why it is considered the purest form of communication, and why all their records are scribed in sheet music.

It is natural for a Faerie Cookie to hum their own melody when idle, almost compulsive, as if it cannot be contained by their body. Even Elder Faerie Cookie, wise and great, cannot resist the pull. When he serenades the sky, everyone stops to listen and harmonise, his voice strong and breathtaking even among the perfect tones of the voices of the Faeriewoods.

The only Faerie who doesn't sing is Mercurial Knight Cookie.

Really, in all the years Silverbell Cookie has known him, he has never heard a single note from him. He's always found it a little strange, compared to the neverending symphony that is the rest of the kingdom. Even compared to the other Silver Knights, who are more careful about following their songs' urges but still tap the rhythm along their weapons, Mercurial Knight is unique in his absolute lack of music.

Silverbell has only ever brought the topic up with him once, in a moment of pure impulse when he thought it was just the two of them.

"Why don't you sing?" He had asked, words blunt but softened by the sweet harmony of his own tune, melting into the sentence from his earlier humming. His bells had chimed along with it, stopping abruptly when he realised he had spoken aloud, with a little tinge of embarrassment. Still, he hadn't backed down, simply smiling sheepishly. "I've been meaning to ask. I don't think I've ever heard you before."

He hadn't said that it was strange, because that wouldn't have been very nice, but he had still heard it beneath his own words, despite his best efforts.

Mercurical Knight took no offense, though he rarely does with Silverbell. Instead, his expression had pinched slightly with confusion, glancing over at him. "Because there isn't any need for me to. My duty is to the Guardian. I cannot allow myself to be distracted by something trivial like singing."

It had been an earnest answer, and exactly the sort of answer Silverbell should have expected, but he had still found himself surprised. "But how do you ignore the call of your song? I know your oath is your highest priority, but I can't imagine always resisting its call."

Silverbell, himself, feels the pull of his melody at least once a day, if not more. To constantly resist it, he had thought, would surely drive him crazy.

"I don't have a song." Mercurial Knight had replied easily, as if that hadn't immediately shook Silverbell to the core, disbelieving. That was even crazier – no melody at all, not a single note floating within his head? Wasn't that lonely?

Mercurial Knight, who had become very familiar with Silverbell by that point, seemed to read his mind, the slightest amusement in his eyes. "It is as I always say. On the day the Silver Blessing was bestowed upon me, I cast aside everything. My flavour, my scent, and my song. Whatever it may have once been matters very little to me."

Silverbell had been unable to respond immediately, trying to fathom it. During his stunned silence, another voice had arrived to answer in his stead. "Does that not simply mean that the song you now carry is that of the Silver Tree instead?"

Silverbell had jumped a little, startled by Elder Faerie's appearance, and had hurriedly fixed his posture, well aware that he was still on duty. Mercurial Knight adjusted his posture too, though considering it had already been perfect before Elder Faerie's arrival, it hadn't made much of a difference.

Mercurial Knight had hesitated for a moment, before inclining his head in a slight nod. "If you say so, Your Majesty, then I must believe that to be true."

Elder Faerie, in all his brillance, had approached them with grace, a knowing look on his face. Of course, if Silverbell could tell Mercurial Knight had been doubtful, Elder Faerie certainly could.

"You may have not felt the urge yet, but not all songs surface frequently. Even I only feel mine on rare occasions." Elder Faerie had explained, almost gently. "The Silver Tree's song will surely come to you when the time is right."

It was Mecurial Knight, then, that had been at a loss for words, blinking slowly. He had glanced away a moment later to regain his composure, in a way Silverbell would dare say was shy. "...Thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty, but it truly doesn't matter to me. Silverbell was asking me about my song, that's all."

Elder Faerie had hummed in understanding, looking towards Silverbell for a split second, before returning his attention to Mercurial Knight. "Well, that doesn't make my words any less true." Then he had smiled, an elegant, mysterious curve. "There's no rush, of course, but I do hope to hear your song someday. You know, I have a feeling both of your voices would harmonise quite well."

Mercurial Knight had, somewhat helplessly, declared that he would be honoured to share his song with Elder Faerie if it ever arose, and that had been the end of it.

Or maybe this was the true end of it, because the opportunity to share his song with Elder Faerie had now been swept away by the winds of time, never to return.

Faeries do not mourn. To return to the soil beneath the Silver Tree is what awaits all of them, eventually, so they do not mourn. They only celebrate and honour the lives that were lost, and to do that, they organise a grand feast.

The atmosphere is light and jolly, a celebration of Guardians both new and old, and Silverbell is lingering by Mercurial Knight's side, a cup in his hands. Usually, he would have flitted off to mingle with the others by now, but after everything that has happened today, he feels like he should stay with him, at least for a few moments more.

The Silver Tree stands tall behind their backs, the evils within trapped securely once more, and its shadow falls upon Elder Faerie's final moments. Silverbell's eyes linger on the place where they watched him disappear. Inexplicably, it does not feel like he is gone.

A melody, low and stilted, imperfect, begins to drift in the air, curling around them. It takes Silverbell a moment to realise it, and when he does, he lets out a tiny gasp.

Mercurial Knight is singing.

He turns to watch him with wide eyes and, mortifyingly, they feel damp as he does. Silverbell doesn't cry – his voice is too high, and his eyes naturally dewey, so he hates to makes himself seem any weaker when he is a perfectly capable knight – but it almost feels like a near thing.

After all, music is the purest form of communication, and he is hearing Mercurial Knight's song for the first time.

It takes Mercurial Knight a moment to find his footing, but when he does, his voice smooths out, running rich like liquid silver. All Faeries have voices designed for song, so it is no surprise that it is beautiful.

Mercurial Knight does not look at him as he sings, steady but still quiet. Instead, he holds his glaive perfectly straight, his gaze lingering on an invisible grave. It is bittersweet, a gift come too late, but the song itself is not sorrowful, because the Faeries are not in the habit to mourn.

No, the tune is powerful and majestic, determined and confident. Before long, Silverbell finds himself drawn into it, his bells tinkling on beat as he sings along.

As it turns out, Elder Faerie was right, as he always is. Their voices blend together wonderfully, slotting atop one another as if they had been waiting endlessly for the opportunity. They sing, and sing, and sing, and though they barely look at each other, Silverbell feels closer to Mercurial Knight than he has ever been.

He hopes, somehow, Elder Faerie is hearing their duet. It's dedicated to him, after all.

[hydrangeapartridge]

The Last Day of a Condemned Woman (Veilguard Female Rook/Emmrich)

Beware spoilers for Emmrich's quest line.

Okay so I wrote a little something thinking about the day Johanna would receive her punishment and Emmrich and Rook would have to say goodbye to her. Set after the events of the game.

It's a bit sad but also domestic Rook and Emmrich!

Enjoy!

«Darling, have you seen my collar pin ? » Emmrich’s strained voice was heard from the bedroom, distant noises of his shuffling around reaching Rook’s ears.

« I believe it would be in the box where you always put it away, on the nighstand ? » She replied from the living room.

« I already searched there an it wasn- » Emmrich started before he interrupted himself, then grumbled something intelligible. « Nevermind, I found it ! » He told her from afar.

Rook chuckled to herself. Emmrich was obviously stressed. It was unusual for him to misplace his belongings. He was a very organized and tidy man ; except for the eventual stray papers and books that could litter his desk when he was really engrossed in his studies. So much so that when Rook moved in with him, she didn’t quite feel at home in the space that he had inhabited alone for years. But that was ancient history. Now his cosy but spacious residence in Nevarra was their home. And Manfred’s of course.

Emmrich was stressed but he had reasons to be. Today was a big day.

« Urgh, now he has memory impairement.. I cannot fathom how you decided to attach yourself to that senile sentimental you call ‘husband’ » Johanna’s voice echoed from her skull under the glass container that Rook carried her in.

Husband. That notion was familiar too now. It had been a few years already since Rook and Emmrich exchanged vows, first alone in the intimacyof the Necropolis’ garden where they first kissed, with Shroud’s Kiss flowers in her hands and hair, and then in style with the people they loved in the beautiful scenary of her native Arlathann.

Rook sighed at Johanna’s usual bickering but didn’t grace her with a reply. That onlt served to irritate the undead more.

« I heard you again last night you know ! How that decrepit weakling can go at it like that without breaking his osteoporotic bones is beyond me ! »

It wasn’t the first time Johanna said something crass of the sort, yet Rook still blushed, remembering the events of the previous night. What started with her gently holding her troubled husband turned into less chaste activities to keep his mind off things when he got frustrated that he couldn’t find sleep.

It was a delightfuly tender moment, and a good way to then spend a good night. But Rook didn’t really want to share that with a half-liche power hungry necromancer.

« Jealous Johanna ? » Rook grinned, regaining her composure and usual cockiness. « You won’t be getting any anytime soon I fear »

Johanna only huffed indignantly.

After a beat of silence, Rook asked more gently. « So, ready for the big day ? »

« You mean the day I finally get to leave that sickenly sweet home of yours ? » Johanna scoffed again.

Rook was used to her antics, that old lady didn’t know how to express herself in any other way.

« At least my ordeal will end there » Johanna dramatically added.

Those Necromancers really had a thing for the dramatic.

The corners of Rook’s lips turned down. « It would be okay to be afraid you know » She said, lower this time.

« Afraid ?! Me ?! » Johanna of course was offended. « Unlike Volkarin I am not a coward »

She paused and the silence felt heavy in the room.

« I’ll face whatever will come, like I did everything else »  Her voice came from the skull, quieter this time.

Rook’s fingers ran over the glass of Johanna’s highly warded prison, almost synmpathetically. After a long trial, as well as years of researches and discussions, the Liche Masters of the Mourn Watch adjudicated the case of Johanna Hezenkoss, as well as the punishment for her crimes. And the day of judgement was this very one.

After a ritual in which Emmrich was to participate, Johanna’s soul would be cut from any contact with the fade, and then, all maimed and powerless, would be imprisonned in a forgotten dark corner of the Necropolis, guarded by spirits and warded by the most powerful of spells, for eternity. As a mage, Rook likened her fate to being made Tranquil. A fate worse than death, and a life of suffering for a soul that wouldn’t be complete anymore. It was a fate she wouldn’t have wished upon even such an ennemy.

Dear Emmrich in all his kindness and idealism voted against that cruel punishment, but he sadly wasn’t part of the decisive majority.

« I’ll miss you Johanna » Rook half jested half confessed.

All these years they had kept her, for it was Emmrich’s duty to watch her. When they could have put her away in an abandonned room, they chose to keep her in Emmrich’s study. Guarding her was a duty he took very seriously (like he always did with work), and which also allowed him to regularly converse with an old friend (on the rare occasions where said friend was in a good enough mood not to insult him). Johanna had been part of their lives since the Veilguard, and seeing her go was like turning a page over years of their shared lives.

If Rook felt nostalgic, she couldn’t begin to picture how Emmrich felt on this day. Given how long he took to get dressed, it must have been worse than she thought.

« Of course you’ll miss me » Johanna retorted « I’m the only interesting person in this house ! »

Rook didn’t pay attention to her and asked Manfred to go check on Emmrich.

- - -

If the Necropolis could sometimes feel warm, intimate and inviting, the room where they stood felt as cold as ice.

Emmrich stood before Rook in his elegant gold and black ceremony attire. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and of his lips were deeper than when they met, from age and from smiling so much since then. There was more white now than grey in his hair, but he still looked most dashing of all the necromancers present. However Rook could tell his posture was stiff and his shoulders tensed when he carefully took the glass container that held Johanna’s skull in his gloved hands.

« Thank you for accompanying me today darling » He whispered as not to disturb the ambiant calm.

« Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss Johanna’s retirement party » She joked to try and alleviate the heavy tension in the air.

« You know you won’t be able to attend dearest »Emmrich seriously replied. She knew that, he already told her so, but she let it slide. « And it’s best you don’t. The ritual might be… difficult to handle for unprepared souls»

Emmrich was frowning and Rook knew he wasn’t eager to participate in the curse Johanna would be put under. She wished she could support him further. She placed one hand over his and squeezed gently ; she couldn’t do much more.

« Let us get this over with » Vorgoth’s voice echoed behind them.

Emmrich let out a deep sigh and gave Rook an admitedly melancholic smile. « See you soon darling »

Rook waved and let out a casual « Bye Johanna » trying not to let emotion fill her. Her goodbye got no answer.

Manfred stepped beside her and watched Emmrich walk to the other necromancers, observing, curious as ever.

« Sad ? » He asked.

He kept surprising Rook everyday with how much he improved in magic, language, and these days even grasping human emotions, trying to understand them in his own way.

« Yeah. Saying goodbye is always a bit sad »

Manfred nodded with a contemplative whistling sound.

- - -

The group of mages performing the ritual was already in place. All Emmrich had to do now was open the large ornated doors of the grand auditorium and join them. This would be over soon and he would go back home with Rook and Manfred and forget about the horror of it all.

Taking another slow shaky breath to calm his nerves, he went for the door handle when a short call of « Volkarin ! » stopped him, making him jump in surprise.

He eyed down Johanna’s skull, blinking twice then clearing his throat to regain his composure. « What is it Johanna? Last words or requests maybe ? » He asked kindly, ready to listen to her like he would anyone on the verge of dying. She did terrible things in the past, but he still made it a point to respect the final wishes of a sentenced soul.

Johanna didn’t answer immediately, and Emmrich started wondering if she was stalling. But then her voice came out, low and softer, just how he remembered it from their shared years as students.

« Will you be there until the end of the ritual ? »

Emmrich’s gaze softened « I will » He promised.

A beat of silence. Then a voice from inside urging him.

« Be more strict with the wayward company you dare call a family would you ? » Johanna said when he reached for the door again. He stopped but before he could retort, she whispered her last words.

«  Live long, and live well, you impossible man »

- - -

Rook was tapping her foot nervously when the large doors of the auditorium finally opened. Waiting for Emmrich had felt like an eternity. She kept worrying something would go wrong. Johanna was full of surprises, and it wouldn’t have been past her to try and get out of her sentence with a few dirty tricks. She was relieved to see only calm necromancers exit the room, unharmed. Everything seemed to have gone right.

Now to see in what state of sorrow she would get her soft husband back.

Emmrich was the last to exit, stepping away from the group carrying the funeral urn in which the remains of what once was Johanna were trapped. He didn’t spare a word to anyone and rushed to rejoin with Rook. He stopped before her, looking down, inhaling deeply before he straightened up, repositionning his already perfectly adjusted collar.

« It is done » He told her, nodding his head solemnly.

When he looked up to meet Rook’s eyes, she saw how misty his warm brown gaze was. She tenderly raised a hand to cradle his cheek and gently wipped an unshed tear from the corner of his eye.

Emmrich leaned into the touch for a short moment of indulgence, then sniffed and cleared his throat, stepping back. « The ritual was messy ; old books, bones, dust everywhere... » He mumbled, keeping his crying in check with a rub of his gloved thumb under each eye. Of course he would blame it on allergies. He probably didn’t want the others to see how affected he was.

Watchers were supposed to be at peace with loss and accept it with detachment. Emmrich’s tender heart never quite achieved that, but to Rook, it only made him more human and more lovable.

Rook took his hand and slowly traced his pulsepoint with her thumb. « My dear husband, the love in your heart overflows it seems. » She smiled just for him. « Let’s get you home to a nice warm cup of tea »

« Home ! » Manfred chirped in, excited. « Tea and biscuits ! » He raised his arms in the air. « With sugar ! » He then added, mimicking the sugar clamp he loved so much with his hand. The spirit’s show of enthusiasm made Emmrich chuckle, the sound still a bit wet from his tears.

« Yes my dears. Let us go home »

[starriiskyy]

Hello please give me all your gustholomule headcanons or just anything in general you want to ramble about :V

ty for asking me i decided to let my mind take me wherever it wanted to go so thats whatcha get

ok first off.

matt had a big fat platonic crush on gus for a while. he also wasnt sure of how he even identified romantically and decides to stay unlabelled in that sense. gus on the other hand id's as bi.

theyre both asexual because i said so

a lot of times i see people look at gustholomule and be like 'oh, theyre not gonna be very physically affectionate with each other' WRONG. LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. gus is mr. "im gonna hug all my friends all the time and constantly hold their hands because i love them" while matt is mr. "i wanna be someone's boyfriend so bad holy titan dear god i am yearning incarnate".

and matt is frowning in the birthday party photo from labyrinth runners because he's not used to being touched. has to warm up to and feel incredibly close to someone to be ok with it duh. and when they first start dating it is gus who usually holds his hands and stuff but once its been a while, 60% of the time its matt grabbing for his hand or giving him a hug. he wants it really bad. he just has a little way to get comfortable. which is why...

gustholomule doesnt get together until at least a year or two after WAD. yeah you heard me. they're too arospec and oblivious and their communication skills are way too bad for it to be any earlier than that.

yeah speaking of. They almost stop talking to each other completely during the pining phase. cause matt gets quiet when he has a crush and gus gets dumb. but gus thinks matts upset with him and that hes the problem so he starts pulling away. and then they both just become distant. its only when they both decide that they dont want to throw away the friendship like that that they are able to acknowledge their own feelings to themselves and to each other.

but god they are so annoying and extra when they are dating. dear god. stupid artsy nerdy perfectionist theater kids. gus is always finding a new petname for matt and always calls him the sweetest dumbest things that make him turn bright red every time. matt tries to make big romantic gestures and surprise him with fancy dates and stuff. they still spend a lot of time being friends too though, as thats the basis of their relationship. but when theyre trying to be sappy theyre sappy as shit.

yeah once he gets comfortable matt is surprisingly cuddly. hes also tired alot, which means gus'll just be sitting on the couch or on his bed or even on the floor and matt will just shamble over to him and lazily crawl into his arms. or theyll be sitting next to each other and next thing gus knows is that hes being held,, matt ends up being very big spoon,, whatever,,

matt thinks gus is the most gorgeousest person to ever exist and literally cannot fathom how pretty and amazing he is and although he relates to gus's feelings of hating himself for not being perfect he wishes gus understood just how perfect he truly is to him, because gus really brightened up his life so much as soon as he was part of it,, while gus thinks matt is so super duper cutie patootie pie and finds everything about him so so endearing and special and just wants him to be happy and comfortable so he can hear his giggles forever and ever,, because with how smart and loyal and funny he thinks matt is, he thinks matt deserves nothing less than that happiness.

they both have very similar experiences that led them to view the world in different ways, which makes them understand each other so, so well and learn new lessons about themselves and who they want to be from each other. this makes matt really good at comforting gus and being there for him, and this makes gus quickly become someone that matt trusts and feels valued from.

overall i genuinely think that they would be a good pair and bring out the best in each other (even though they literally already have in the show haha)

and that they would also be really cute and sweet as a couple.

thats what i wanna say for now. thank you so much for asking haha. wow this was long

[thebennettdiaries]

the oak king

( a little merry christmas to the Klonnie fandom )

Bonnie closes the door behind her, shutting away the cold (but more importantly the people). The world is so fast this time of year, moving with a sense of urgency that is counterproductive to its surroundings. There is so much noise, so many bright colors --- far too many expectations.

She doesn't want to be a part of it. At least not at the moment.

She is bone tired as she carefully sets her bag on the nearest flat surface. This room has been her home for close to three days now, a temporary stop on her never ending journey. As far as places to rest her head, she likes this one. It is cozy, just what she needs this time of year.

With her day's work done, Bonnie decides that she will slip into the bath and soak away any aches (any reminders of what she is missing). But first ---

--- just because she doesn't want to be a part of the madness of the world outside doesn't mean she will ignore it all together.

She reaches into her bag and pulls free the tiny branch of a fir tree sticking out of a pot. She had almost passed it by, resting on a table in an overcrowded Christmas market. But in the end, it had called to her and now it finds a home on the antique desk, giving it a view of the busy streets below where the snow is beginning to collect.

She runs a finger along it, feeling its dying strength as she does so. It should have never been clipped and stuffed into a tiny red container. It should have been allowed to continue its life uninterrupted. So, although she cannot fully restore it, she can do the next best thing.

Bonnie summons her magic, which has waned significantly after the day's demands. However, she just has enough left to tickle the branch back to its vibrant green. It stands a little taller, and for good measure, she leans in and blows. It seems to twinkle now, a more natural replica of its larger relatives littering homes all over the city.

For a moment, she stands there, thinking of all the Christmases that have come before this one. So many of them are filled with sadness --- missing her mother, missing her grandmother, worrying that death had been close by. Then there is that one she spent all alone in a pocket of the universe.

She has never really had Christmases worth remembering.

Her mouth is set in a firm line. She isn't sad now. She might be alone but this time she has chosen to be. She may no longer have roots but she is doing real good in this world. Besides, she knows damn well that Caroline will be Facetiming her to document every second of the Forbes Family Christmas (Bonnie rolls her eyes but deep down she knows she wouldn't miss it for the world).

She turns, leaving the tree to glimmer in its resting place. As she does so, she waves her hand and candles flare to life, basking the rest of the darkened room in a warm glow. She can already feel her magic stirring, beginning to rebound.

The hot water is filling the bathtub when her quiet is shattered by a knock at the door. She furrows her brows together as she slips her arms back into her sweater. She is done for the day. She is not interested in taking on anything else. She has earned this moment.

She waits a beat, hoping they will just give up and go back where they came from. When the knock comes again, more insistent this time, Bonnie sighs. So much for peace on earth.

She crosses the space in a few steps, intent on turning her visitor away. "I am not..." And then her voice dies. Her body tenses. It feels as if all the warmth she has created in her little room is pulled out the open door to lay at his feet.

A true ghost of her Christmas past.

Klaus Mikaelson stands there, looking at her in much the same vein she looks at him. Like he cannot fathom what he is seeing. It only serves to confuse her more --- because of the two, he is the one that has been dead for at least three years.

Then the moment is shattered and he gives her a wolfish grin.

"Merry Christmas, little witch."

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Flying Too Close To the Moon (a Baizhu character analysis)

Over a year ago now, in February of 2023, Genshin Impact's twitter account posted about a certain green-haired doctor from Liyue with a snake, announcing that he was at long last going to become playable. *narrator voice* Little did I know at that point just how much my life was going to be ruined changed by this man, something I never could have fathomed in all my time of playing before.

Today, by the time of Baizhu's birthday, almost a year since his release, he has never left my team and is one of my ultimate comfort characters... and at the same time, paradoxically, fills me with such intense feelings of dread, if I ever think just a little too hard about him for a little too long.

This is my experience with him.

From the beginning, I wasn't one of the people who had been anxiously awaiting for Baizhu's release. I'd always been curious about him, and thought he was beautiful (but lol who in this game isn't?), but there was practically nothing to know, and he appeared so little, so not being an existing fan, I didn't think much about him compared to other more prominent characters. With that first drip marketing, however, I was suddenly instantly intrigued:

"Regrettably, Baizhu cannot save all his patients — himself, for example. Herbalist Gui has mentioned that Baizhu's physical condition is extremely poor, and he often has to go back to his residence to rest after seeing patients. Even so, his smile never falters while in front of people. When Gui asked him about this, he replied, "If the doctor looks sick himself, how can his patients face their illnesses with confidence?" Day after day, Baizhu heals his patients. His ever-present smile hides the numerous bitter medicines he takes and the pain he suffers alone."

What's this, Baizhu is a doctor who is also sick himself? He has a chronic illness?? Finally I have a disabled character in a video game I can play as and relate to??? Not to mention the DELICIOUS angst potential the (absolutely devastating) last sentence held. Unfortunately, because my lazy ass rarely ever talks to npcs outside of quests, I was completely unaware of this very important little fact about Baizhu, learned via Herbalist Gui that had been in the game since literally 1.0, but to say that I was excited upon finally learning it now was an understatement. This changed everything, turning a character I had previously only had a passing interest in into someone I felt like I might be able to connect with, and a character I could truly call my own. Previously, my favorite Genshin character was Zhongli — he was my very first limited 5* and I started the game pretty much because I was interested in him lol — but just from this short summary alone, I had a strong feeling that Baizhu had the potential to surpass him, and become my new favorite.

My initial impressions from everything we knew about Baizhu pre-release (for how little that was) were that he was a kind, selfless doctor who didn't want others to see his weakness, but in secret was striving for immortality in order to save his own life from his severe illness. Qiqi seemed to be someone he observes to further his research in gaining said immortality, but his love and care for her still feels sincere, although he can never properly convey this in words because, to me at least, he's keeping himself at a distance from her and others so as to not hurt them too much if he passed away. Baizhu tearing out Qiqi's journal entry about him being a good person so that she doesn't dwell on and remember such things about him seemed to support this, as well.

Upon release, we also had Dainsleif's lines about Baizhu in his collected miscellany video, which made me emotional as well: Dain, someone who is cursed with and suffers daily from immortality that he never asked for, respects Baizhu's desire for immortality himself, because for him it would be freedom from the pain and suffering he already experiences, seemingly. Most people want immortality for selfish reasons, but for Baizhu, I thought, it's out of a desire to save his very life, and in turn save more people as a doctor in the future. It's human, understandable, and the mark of an incredibly caring and altruistic person, and Baizhu wanting to heal himself is something to be sympathized with, especially if you can relate to his pain.

This part in particular from his demo was so powerful to me: the defiance of his fate, of his death, and the display of his continued strength of will and resolve, and even skill in battle, no matter how physically weak he may be. Though he still has his doubts and his guilt, here he says "I will not die, I will beat the odds, and no one can decide my fate for me, nor can they shake my resolve."

All of this only made me love him more and more. I was hoping we would get to see his insecurities and fears about his condition and his possible fate, and that he would learn to allow himself to be cared for by those who loved him — to realize at least a little bit more that he will never be a burden on others, because the guilt over such things is all too real for someone with a disability or chronic illness. His non-spoiler voice lines were so comforting and hopeful, and I wanted his story to be hopeful as well, without going as far as to magically cure him like what unfortunately happened with Collei.

That was what I wanted. More or less, that was what I expected, especially with the copious other examples of the "overworked character learns they need to take a break and feel supported by the traveler" storyline in Genshin insert the waifu baizhu (waifzhu?) jokes here.

And then, I played Baizhu's story quest.

.....No image in the world can fully sum up exactly how I felt after that, but, well, I think Paimon here is the closest I can get.

I still remember it like it was yesterday. I remember standing there, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the pharmacy where the end of the quest left me, not knowing how to feel. Feeling completely numb. Feeling like I'd just gotten punched in the gut a million times over. Feeling sick. Call me overdramatic, too overly attached to fiction, whatever, but no words can possibly convey just how much the revelations about Baizhu in his quest fucked me up. I did not feel good for quite a few days after playing it, as it haunted me, as I turned it over and over again in my mind. Not just the information given itself, but how it was given; the entire tone of it all. At some point I was finally able to make myself cry, and it was only then that I felt at least marginally better. But I'd be lying if I said that I've ever truly and fully processed and let sunk in everything to do with Baizhu, even a year later.... and I doubt that I ever will.

Don't get me wrong: Baizhu's story quest is without a doubt one of the best story quests in the game so far, and that's not at all bias speaking. It's short, to the point, uses npcs effectively and in a way that helps develop the main character instead of taking all the spotlight over them, and it leaves setup for more story in the future. For a Baizhu fan, it's the best quality one could ask for. It's the most we've ever learned about him, the most screentime he's ever had, and it emotionally and tenderly shows exactly what kind of person he is, and why he is the way he is, and does the things he does.

It's also absolutely horrific, and to this day I'm still not entirely certain exactly what message the writers wanted the player to take away from it by the end.

The quest introduces us to a boy and his father, Ayu and Jialiang, the latter of whom Baizhu wishes to treat, partly as a personal favor to his late master and to said master's other past disciple, the mother of the family, Jiangli. Through Baizhu's handling of their case, and talking to Hu Tao, we learn that Baizhu is not only obsessed with attaining immortality, but that he supposedly uses less-than-reputable methods to heal patients, methods that he keeps tightly under wraps. This, along with all the strange research he does that seemingly has nothing to do with the medical field, has given him a suspicious reputation — the game subtly lampshading the fandom seeing him as nothing more than a sketchy snake doctor ever since the beginning — but no one has ever been able to dig deep enough to find any proof that he has any ulterior motives, not even Yelan; thus, the ultimate consensus is that he truly must be nothing more than a kind and benevolent doctor who has his patients' best interests at heart, no matter what else he's doing in the background. Upon Baizhu treating Jialiang for the first time, however, we’re directly confronted with this secret, dubious healing method he uses, and what exactly it means for Baizhu, as with all the masters that came before him.

To say my stomach dropped here would be an understatement, because I knew exactly what this meant. And sure enough, not a few minutes later in the quest, we get the dreaded truth:

Baizhu’s poor physical condition is not from natural causes; rather, he is as weak as he is because he’s made himself that way. Changsheng is a former adeptus he made a contract with, that allows the host to transfer some of their own life force from themselves to someone else, using Changsheng as the conduit. The contract is meant to strengthen the body of the host and extend their lifespan, however these advantages effects are outweighed by Baizhu, and all his predecessors before him, repeatedly giving away their life force to heal others, causing them to become frail and inevitably die young. The contract has always been used in this way, and all of its prior users all met the same untimely end; Baizhu is at no less risk of that.... which is why he wants to become immortal, so he can continue to heal people with the forbidden arte without fear of death.

This would already be a Lot as it is. Trading away one's life force to save another isn't exactly a brand new trope, but the idea of a doctor doing it over and over again to save lives when all else fails, even to the detriment of their own body.... It's the ultimate act of selflessness, of kindness, of sacrifice. It's touching. It's laudable. It's devastating, to a degree one can't even imagine.

Because Baizhu doesn't just stop there, as we find out at the end of the quest.

How do you expect me to read this—

and additionally this—

and also this...

...and not have it occupy my mind 24/7, sending me in a downward never-ending spiral of existential horror, for all of eternity?? just like Baizhu himself—

While it's heavily implied that all the contract users prior to Baizhu only ("only") used it one-way, to give their own life force to others, Baizhu has taken it a step further, and also been using Changsheng to transfer his patients' diseases and illnesses onto himself. This likely is a more effective way of "curing" some of them entirely, instead of simply delaying their symptoms' worsening with more life force, although he cannot take on the worst of them/terminal illnesses of course. But he has taken on so, so many, so many diseases and so many symptoms, all compounding and blending together to the point that Jiangli, another doctor just as skilled as Baizhu, cannot even distinguish them all or recognize some of them, that he might as well be terminal. Not only does Baizhu do this for the sake of his patients, but he's also using his body as a human petri dish, testing different diseases and poisons on himself to see how they interact with each other, both to create more effective medicines and understand the mechanisms of the human body better, and to perhaps find the secret to immortality.

This reveal at the end of the quest is presented as an awe-inspiring, poignant twist, that's meant to make you see Baizhu in a brand-new light. The animated cutscene is tear-jerking, bittersweet, yet beautiful, as we finally come to understand the full scope of just who Doctor Baizhu is, just how truly pure and selfless he is, and just how much he has sacrificed, and plans to sacrifice forevermore. Many people who weren't fans of Baizhu or were neutral on him had their minds completely changed upon this bombshell being dropped, it rightfully clearing away any and all misunderstandings about him somehow being a bad person, and fostering newfound respect for him. That's the best word to use for how the game portrays all this: respectable. Baizhu's situation is tragic, but his actions are nevertheless shown and seen as beautiful, and admirable. His self-sacrifice is to be praised, and honored, because he is doing it for the good of so many others, because his heart is just that big, and that caring. It's bittersweet, but Baizhu is determined, and we should respect his resolve.

But should we really?

Yelan would disagree, I believe. Which is ironic, considering that in her own story quest, Baizhu transfers poison into himself from Uncle Tian with her there, and she is none the wiser.

Just... really stop and think about the implications of what Baizhu is doing to himself, and the life he lives. Try to imagine it, how it would feel, to be inundated with that many diseases and toxins, to the point that all of your internal organs are diseased; to the point that you have every symptom imaginable, sometimes all at once. Now, take that, and imagine living that kind of hell with it progressively worsening, for all of eternity, as Baizhu wants to do.

You can't fathom it. To say that it's beyond human comprehension is an understatement. And yet, that is Baizhu's reality, every single day, and if he has his way, for the rest of time.

This is not okay.

What truly frightens me about Baizhu, is how.... empty he feels. He is kind, gentle, nurturing, and a bit flamboyant and mischievous at times, but he has essentially no personality traits or life outside of "being a doctor". All of his voicelines involve him giving health advice, or looking after us or others, or discussing the troubles he encounters in the medical field, or his hobbies, which involve... making medicine. While there's nothing wrong per se with a doctor truly enjoying their job — it's what makes Baizhu such a good caretaker, after all — their life and personality never revolves entirely around that. People have their own lives outside of their professions, that don't involve said professions, even the most enthusiastic and genuine of workers. But Baizhu..... doesn't have anything else. For Baizhu, being a doctor is all that he is.

Nothing is more subtly chilling than this joke Changsheng makes (that gets reinforced by Paimon later), where she calls Baizhu her "mannequin" — and especially the way that Baizhu doesn't comment on it at all, merely continuing to look like a guilty child getting scolded for being reckless. Because a mannequin is an eerily accurate description of Baizhu: he is not a person of his own, but merely a vessel for her power. "Baizhu" does not exist outside of his role as a healer; he has no other life, no other aspirations, no other joys and things to care about, nothing. Even though he's a pillar in Liyue Harbor that is beloved by the community, especially by the children, he's also in a sense practically a ghost: he is never seen outside of taking care of people in some way, because he never lets anyone see him at his sickest, and he has no sense of self outside of that role as a doctor. He is distanced from everyone, almost as though he was already immortal.... he could die at any time, frighteningly easily, and to him, no one would notice or care. As depressing as it is, even Qiqi, a literal zombie, is more alive and has a much more fulfilling life at this point than Baizhu does.

Many of Baizhu's voicelines are dripping with casual self-deprecation, and others with extreme hypocrisy, where he will express frustration and disappointment at others not being diligent in taking care of themselves, completely oblivious to his own extreme levels of self-harm and self-sacrifice. Of course, as mentioned earlier, feelings of inadequacy and being a burden are tragically not unusual for someone with significant health problems, but it goes far, far beyond this for Baizhu, before he was ever ill — all the way back to his childhood. Baizhu's hometown was struck by a plague when he was young, from which he was seemingly one of the only survivors, and his obsession with wanting to save each and every life he comes across that needs saving, no matter the cost to himself, is likely born from the trauma and extreme survivor's guilt that the event instilled in him. It was during this plague that he encountered his former master, and in training under and being influenced by him, he adopted these harmful mentalities (through no fault of his or his master, to be clear), without ever being given any other way to cope with his pain, other than to do everything in his power to never let anyone else die ever again.

Again, Yanfei sums it up best.

The true tragedy of Baizhu is that, although he wholeheartedly agrees with his late master's sentiment, and truly believes that he himself is headed down a different path from his predecessors, at the end of the day, he is no different from them, nor is his chosen path any different from theirs. As he states, those with the most altruistic and purest of hearts are the ones seduced by the contract, and he, too, has fallen victim to Changsheng's siren song: the allure of reaching beyond human means to prevent death. He believes he has found the solution to the conundrum of saving both the world at large and the one doing the saving, but he's merely fallen into the trap just like all the others: even if he doesn't die, he is still sacrificing himself, cursing himself to a fate unimaginably worse than death itself. After all, as he says, the contract can't erase pain from the world entirely, but merely transfer it from one place to another, and Baizhu is living proof of that. If his master could see what he's doing, he most definitely would be heartbroken at the "answer" Baizhu has found, because a life isn't saved if it's merely surviving, and not living.

All of this began from Baizhu, selfless and benevolent as he is, wishing to save a snake. Changsheng is a dear friend, a being so closely intertwined with his very soul, and his closest connection to his late master, and yet she is also the very thing that's killing him, and will inevitably be his doom, in whichever way that comes. Baizhu being who he is means he will never abandon her, and Changsheng will never leave him as well, her worry over the fate of her host overwhelmed by her fear of death and her desire to live on, which is how the contract has persisted for six generations. It is a toxic bond, and yet their care for each other is too great, both parties accepting the misery that awaits them. Changsheng knows that any of the cycles could be her last, but cannot help but seek out new ones in order to continue living — and Baizhu intends to make that "last" be a reality, by living forever, to make sure that Changsheng will also never die, but also that no one else can take on the contract after him. He wants his cake and to eat it too, wishing to save anyone and everyone — and he fully believes that he can. He believes that he is headed towards the light of the moon, escaping the flames of the sun.

But the moon is still ever-so-far away regardless. Perhaps even impossible to reach, if Teyvat's sky truly is fake. No matter where he aims, even if he isn't burned, Baizhu is destined to fall eventually, if he keeps going the way he is. Many people have tried to warn him, to convince him that immortality isn't what he deserves, to convince him of how much he's loved... but Baizhu is too stubborn; too, ironically, selfish in his selflessness. He insists he has everything under control, that he won't let himself die... but how can anyone believe that, when all the signs suggest that he's already on death's door? And even if he does get his wish, and be granted immortality, will he truly be content like he thinks he will, endlessly suffering with only Changsheng by his side?

I don't think the writers ever intended to glorify Baizhu's actions, or at least, I don't think it occurred to them that it could be read in that way. I do still mean it when I say he is one of the best-written characters in the game, because there is so much care given to him in his story quest and to his lore, even if, frustratingly and tragically, Hoyoverse as a whole doesn't seem to care about him at all. He's so fun to play as, and in isolation, it makes me very happy to have a canonically disabled playable character. But I'm also so, so haunted by him, and I think more people would be as well, if the game didn't gloss over the incredibly bleak reality of Baizhu and his symptoms due to the overall lighthearted tone of Genshin. I desperately need to see where they're going to take his arc, if they intend to at all, because there is so much potential for it, and right now it's very much up in the air. I don't want him to die, as I fear he's close to, but I need him to heal, and finally learn that he's done enough, and that he can finally, finally, stop. Stop torturing himself, and finally accept for himself all the love he's given others for so long now, and live. I want Baizhu to live more than anything, and not the way he is now, nor as a cursed immortal. I want him to live, and thrive, and truly, unapologetically, be himself (whoever that "Baizhu" is), and be happy.

He already has someone worth living for, right here, aside from Changsheng. He has a daughter, a family, who love him, not to mention an entire city, and and I dearly wish he could realize that. I wish he could know how comforting he is to me and so many others, and how important he is to us, not because of what he can do, but because of his beautiful heart. 💔

Happy Birthday, Baizhu. Thank you for being such an incredible healer on my team, and I hope we'll see you in Chenyu Vale one day :')💚

[kenobiwaned]

🦃 a big, meaty quote <3

So this is from my big fic. It still needs to be beta'd, but here's a snippet. It's the Half-Maia Celebrían trope with a twist because I was imterested in the idea of having a child NOT making Sauron a better person. Also I wondered what it would be like for Adar to raise the child of two of the people who had hurt him the most (even if Galadriel was sorry about the she had given him in the end).

All you really need to know is that Celebrían views Adar as her father and Sauron as some horrible cosmic irony that it shames her to share blood with.

Anyway, without further ado.

General tags for Sauron being violent.

‐--------‐----------------

“Adar always did undervalue himself,” Saruon muses. Celebrían stiffens, completely unsure of what to make of his tone. A few hours ago, the mere thought of her father had been enough to literally throw him into a torturous rage, but now he sounds almost fond. 

“What? Do you think that I do not understand him or the dreams he holds dear?” Sauron speaks with the same strange longing that she had noted when he spoke of her mother, but it is overset with bitterness. “Would that he had sought to fathom mine.”      

“Did you understand him?” Celebrían asks cautiously. “In the past, I mean.” 

All condescending arrogance again, Sauron says, as if it were the most natural observation in the world, “I understand them now. He is mine.” 

Present tense. 

Something within her snaps.  

“Really? If he belonged to you so thoroughly, then how did you wind up celebrating the end of the First Age with knives buried in your body?”

Celebrían nearly slaps her hand over her mouth. Why had she said that? Well, the answer is obvious. For untold years, he had thrown scraps of affection at her father to convince him that they had some kind of friendship. She suspects that somewhere along the way, Sauron got lost in the twisting paths of his deceptions and began to believe in his lies. The truth of the matter was that he had been grooming a slave, and Celebrían could never forgive him for it.

She is letting things get far too personal.

Before she can blink, she is being dragged by the hair towards the tools so meticulously hung up on the smithy’s wall. “I grow weary of this discussion. Tell me where you have hidden the ring.” 

Since Sauron is already angry, and Celebrían is seething, she doesn’t censor her reply, “Galadriel and Celebrimbor chose death, and Adar picked the Uruks. Now that we have met, I cannot say that I blame them—who could ever love something as grotesque as you?”   

One of her ribs breaks as he throws her into the slab that serves as a workspace. The force of the blow knocks the wind out of her. As she leans against the metal desperately trying to gasp for air, she feels a brief moment of discomfort that has nothing to do with her screaming lungs. Celebrían has never said anything so abjectly cruel in the whole of her life, not even to the pompous blowhards in the court of Lindon. Arradiel would be ashamed of her. Everything about Sauron seems calculated to bring out her base instincts.   

As she looks at the savage fury on his face, all she can think of is her father saying how infrequently Sauron lost his temper. How he had prided himself on his self-control. 

Maybe Sauron and Celebrían bring out the worst in each other.

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

soooooo, i don't know if you already did that and i just could not find or something, but i'd really love you to write something about julia dating the reader, like, her love languages, how would be the perfect date night, etc

there's not enough julia content for me

thank you so much in advance! ^^

You are so right about the need for more Julia Content

Julia x Reader

You cannot fathom the idea of anyone mistreating Julia

She’s just so- sweet. Even raising your voice at her feels like a crime punishable by death

You just wanna hold her face in your hands and squish her til she pops

But you won’t- you’ve been told you were too rough last time you tried to do that

The best way to describe the start of your relationship with her was….slow

She was slow to trust. Slow to allow you to touch her. Slow to even get into a relationship to begin with

But- you didn’t mind. You don’t have all the details of her previous partner, but honestly he sounded like a jerk

He never raised his voice or hit her or anything, he was just weird

Apparently he wanted her to tie her hair up to look like another girl

That’s where she stopped though

You’ve gotten bits and pieces of some other trauma though

Being harassed and stalked by an ex friend, and another friend of hers being killed and the body never being found

You just wanted to hug her when she told you that last part

When she did- you thought you might’ve died then and there

If she trusted you enough to let you hug her…it means progress was being made

As the relationship progressed, you started to see more of Julia

Not the timid girl you began dating, but more of the side of her that was comfortable around you

The side that would kiss you on the cheek, or cling to your arm

The side that told you about her ideal date over the phone one late night

“Why do you wanna know?..” You could almost hear the small head tilt usually did when asking a question. It warmed your heart to bits.

“So I can take you on it,” you exclaimed, grabbing a notepad nearby and balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear, “Now tell me, please?”

Julia hummed, debating whether to tell you or not, “What’s wrong with the dates we already have? I like them plenty.”

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” you waved your hand, though you know she wouldn’t see, “But I wanna do something special for our anniversary.”

“Oh shit that’s coming up?” You heard some shuffling on the other line, likely Julia sitting up in bed and rushing to look at her calendar, “Fuuucckkk it is! How did you remember that?”

You grinned, “I’m a genius hun, now tell me!”

“Fiiinnneee-“ Success!, “It’s stupid though..”

“Noooooo!” You objected, leaning back against your bed frame, “Come on! It’s not dumb! I bet it’s wonderful.”

“Hmm…okay- I’d…really like to go to a petting zoo.”

You blinked, “That’s it?”

“Is it bad?”

“Not at all!” You sat up a little, “What’s so dumb about petting a bunch of cute animals?”

“I guess I just worry about that ya know?”

“Well stop it!” You knew that wouldn’t stop it, but it’s worth a try, “Wanna know what you can get me for our anniversary?”

“Uhhh…flowers? Food?”

“Nope!” You shook your head, grabbing the phone from its spot between your ear and shoulder, “You can’t worry or apologize for anything the entire day!”

“What?!” She objected, “But that’s gonna be so haarrddd..”

“Don’t care, it’s my gift!”

“Can’t you just stay over and I give you a different kind of gift?…”

You felt your face heat up a little. Tempting as the offer was, you were stagnant on her not worrying or apologizing for something out of her control.

“Maybe next year—“

Your heart fluttered at the sound of Julia laughing on the other line, “Okay- okay…I guess I have a date to look forward to.”

“Yup! I’ll leave you be now, I know you’ve got studying to do.”

“Can’t I procrastinate more? I like you better than studying..”

“Sorry babe, not happening. Loveyoubye!” Julia started to object but you hung up. You can apologize for that later. You scribbled down various things on your notepad, the plans for the perfect date!

It was clear to you that Julia’s love language was quality time

She liked being around you, and indulging in your hobbies was how she showed her love

Whether it be physically being there, or calling every night before she went to bed- or had to cram for school.

It made you happy- seeing her this way.

Excited to be around you, comfortable enough to hang off of you in public, to let herself love you

And you’re glad she did