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tobeholyistobeempty · 2 months ago

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G’mornin, bonnie. | john soap mactavish

You wake up from a one night stand — ready to gather your shit and run just like you always do after a night of bad decisions — but turns out, Johnny has other plans for you.

cw: 18+ mdni. smut. slight dark themes ie. stalking. john price has a kid and is a great wingman apparently. reader afab. teacher!reader. morning after a hookup. domestically menacing johnny with a permanent shit-eating grin. first time attempting to write his accent so i’m sorry in advance. piv. voyuerism!kink. rip to johnny’s neighbours. creampie.

for the absolutely lovely @spurbleu. thank you for offering me this challenge. i hope i did him justice 🤍 i’m so sorry i’m so late ilysm

You wake to something warm.

It washes over you slowly — spring streams pouring into fragmented consciousness, urging you from the depths of slumber with a gentle lull. Coaxing. Warm like summer sun internalized, flowing through your hair — hazing the room in a golden film as your eyes peel open with rapid blinks, and confusion hastily nullifies it.

You shift, becoming aware of what your body is subconsciously telling you. Warmth. All of it adding to the growing discombobulation. The lingering heat between your thighs. The cocooning comfort of sheets that aren’t yours. The odd familiarity of a room that’s too bare to be recognized. The grace of a bed that’s glaringly empty save for dark sheets wrapped around bare, aching legs.

It takes you a minute, but your memory eventually resurfaces — gasping for air at the smell of coffee and the hum of movement from the other room.

Johnny.

Hard to forget that name after you’d spent the night screaming it. Your body knows before your mind does, muscles humming with the memory of hands that held too tight, a mouth that took its time. You inhale. Coffee again. A lure. A leash. It tugs at something instinctual, something inside you domesticated — until you glance at the clock sitting on an empty nightstand and realize it’s almost 9 am.

Shit. You should have been long, long gone by now.

You exhale, cursing your constant stupidity as you drag yourself out of his bed and up to your feet — fogged vision scanning the floor, brows creasing as you realize you’re wearing nothing save for a long white shirt that surely isn’t yours — and your clothes are no where to be found.

Oh. Right.

Your clothes barely made it past the front fucking door.

Another exhale, forced from shaking lungs. You’ll have to go out there. You’ll have to face him, grab your clothes and change. It’ll be awkward, but it’s not like you haven’t been here before. Not like you haven’t been through this with past vices. It’ll be fine. It’ll be easy — you all but convince yourself. And within seconds, you’re halfway down the hall, practising your fake smile and empty thank you’s when the smell grows stronger.

Your stomach grumbles with the force of it as you step into the kitchen and —

Fuck.

Johnny stands at the stove, shirtless in grey sweats, bathed golden by the early morning light. It clings to his skin, drapes over the planes of his back, the ridges of his spine. His hair is a mess, wrecked and mussed — a souvenir from your hands as he fiddles with something in a pan, humming hypnotic under his breath.

And it’s then that you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

Because this? This is wrong. This is not how this goes. You don’t wake up like this, wrapped in the scent of coffee and breakfast, staring at a man who should’ve already been nothing more than a memory.

Your breath sticks in your throat, limbs made of cement as he turns. Catches you standing there.

And grins. “G’mornin’, bonnie.”

You blink, the exertion of it painful. You should leave.

Instead, you exhale. “You’re making breakfast.”

His lips twitch, amusement and archaism synchronized swimming in his ocean eyes. “Aye. Tha’s usually what it’s called.”

He is so at ease here, it’s unnerving. You can feel it, see it in the way he moves. Unfettered. Relaxed. It makes a knot of tension bindle between your shoulder blades — because this is familiar to him, but not to you.

Two plates. Two cups of coffee. You should leave.

“You—you don’t have to do that.”

Johnny just shrugs, turning that canvas of a back to you — red parallel lines catching under karat coated rays. Your own painting on display — you find yourself admiring it as if it wasn’t created by last nights drunken fingers.

“Ye thought I’d jus’ kick ye out?” He flips eggs in the pan. Your chest aches. “Ye were tryen t’sneak off first then?”

Your lips press into a thin line — indignant as you force your eyes to the floor. “Admittedly, that was the plan, yes.”

He tsks, shaking his head like that’s the most disappointing sentence he’s heard all week before he glances over his shoulder at you again — all beaming blue eyes and grins.

“Shame. Poor things nae used te bein taken care of, is she?”

That indignation spreads, grows a vine around your throat. Twists your tongue. “Well, I mean—I don’t—“

Johnny cuts you off with a hum. Or, more like you cut yourself off, because you have absolutely nothing to say to that and what you did offer seems to be more than enough of an answer for him.

“Ye think too much, bonnie.” Something sizzles in the pan — you watch the veins in his arms shift against whiskey skin as he lifts it off the element. “All tha’ time plotting yer escape, ye coulda’ been enjoying breakfast.”

Christ. You really should leave. You should slip back into the skin of someone who doesn’t stick around for things like this. But it’s like your feet have grown roots, burrowed beneath his floorboards. You blame it on the smell of coffee, the warmth of the kitchen. The way his fucking muscles flex as he moves.

It’s all nurture to something long rotted in your soul.

“It’s not like I was expecting breakfast.” You mutter, tugging his shirt down your thighs before crossing your arms across your chest. “Wasn’t expecting any of this, really.”

Could you be anymore fucking awkward about this?

“Tha’ right?”

You can’t see it, but you can hear the grin on his mouth. It should scare you that you are beginning to predict him — expecting something smart to come out of him next.

“Didnae expect the shag either, but ye still took it real well.”

Perhaps it should scare you more that you were right.

You clear your throat, but the heat is already rushing down your spine. Settling somewhere inconvenient. He just gives you a quick glance, lopsided leisure tilting his lips as he turns with a plate and coffee cup in hand, gesturing with his head toward the table.

“Come o’nae, I won’t bite ye.”

————————-

Turns out, Johnny MacTavish is real easy to talk to. Too easy.

Mostly because he doesn’t stop talking, but nonetheless, it whiplashes you. You came here expecting the usual routine — get in, get out, leave nothing behind but the scent of mingled sweat on strange sheets — but the one-night stand has somehow stretched into morning and now you’re sitting at his kitchen table, fork scraping against porcelain, coffee steaming — actually talking like this isn’t just borrowed time.

He tells you about Scotland. About real pubs, the kind where the floors stick to your boots and old men sing ballads in voices ruined by smoke. He talks with his hands. His shoulders. His fucking eyes — restless and full of movement, always wandering. Blue. Though that hardly cuts it — the colour of a storm sky split by lightening. Cool in the shallows and rich in the depths.

They hold contradiction well. Like they’ve seen enough of the world to be cynical but still manage to burn bright enough to keep that warmth kindling under your skin.

Perplexing.

That’s the word that sits on the tip of your tongue as you stare at him. Wondering if he was truly just another notch on your bedpost, would you still be here, trying to make sense of what you missed in the dark last night.

“So,” he says, ripping a piece of butter soaked toast in half. “Ye always bolt after?”

You pause mid-bite. Then your mouth moves dumbly. “After what?”

Johnny smirks. “After ye ride a bloke like yer life depends on it, scream his name loud enough tae wake the dead, and wake up wearen’ his shirt.”

“Jesus—“ you choke, grateful you at least swallowed your food prior to him starting that sentence, otherwise he’d be halfway to giving you the heimlich right about now. “You don’t do subtle, do you?”

“Aye.” That grin grows over the rim of his mug. “Subtlety’s a waste on a woman like ye.”

Before you can’t think better of it, you find yourself grinning back.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flick away to catch the sunlight.

“Ye dinnae’ strike me as the half-measures type, bonnie.” Then they wander back to yours. “Means ye like a man tha’ says what he’s really thinken, tha’s all.”

That makes you pause, and you try to tell yourself you’re not blushing. It’s the warm sun at your back, or the coffee sitting thick in your belly. It’s certainly not those eyes — still on you, unashamedly, taking in whatever it is they see behind your own.

“You think you know me?” You try to make it sound as casual as possible. You know you don’t accomplish it.

“Aye.” A lazy nod. “I do.”

And that — that makes you squirm. Makes you drop your eyes to his hands as they sit against the sides of his coffee mug. Capable fingers calloused with strength, a few bruised knuckles. Your gaze drifts up to the veins on his forearm, and you stop yourself before you stare too long.

“Why?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d asked it out loud until his lips quirk like he was waiting for it.

“Wha happened te all yer self-preservation?”

You blink. Your tongue is heavy, but you make yourself use it.

“...self-preservation?”

He leans forward, arms on the table between you.

“All it took te keep ye here was a little forward hospitality. Ye got no blasted clue who I even am — yet yer still here, asken questions ye shouldnae be asken in a voice tha doesnae belong te someone looken te run.”

And you don’t know what to say to that, because admittedly it knocks everything off kilter. Leaves you wrong-footed. Lands a little too close to being right. There is safety in one-night stands and running before the sun breaks. There is safety in not learning anything about the man you share a bed with for a night if you don’t have to. You’ve been good at it. Practiced it like a bad habit.

You didn’t realize, until now, just how easy it’d been for Johnny to make you break it.

“I said I know ye,” he whispers. “Because I do m’research on who I share m’bed with.”

He leans back in his chair after that — and your eyes follow. Milliseconds stretch to seconds which stretch thin to what feels like minutes before you find some sort of wherewithal to move. You don’t want to know what he means by that, and you don’t want to look too deep to find the answers — the incrimination dunked just beneath the ocean tides in his irises.

“You are so bloody full of it.” You surprise yourself by not stuttering, staying steady as you stand. “I—I have to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Aye, I am.”

His eyes find yours again before you head for your clothes still scattered all over his living room floor. You swear to all kinds of unholy things that you feel the heat against the back of your skull as the flashes of last night flood your memory — his tongue on your cunt, your nails in his skin, his name on your lips—

“Ye’ll be back though, aye?”

You pause somewhere by the window, turning to note the morning light painting his hair a hundred different shades of gold. There’s an easy smile on his mouth, no trace of last night’s drunken humour in his expression.

“What?”

His smile stretches to something devilish, and you are so not used to the feeling it elicits. Not used to being charmed. Being disarmed.

“Y’like a man who says what he’s thinken.” He wets his lips. You can’t look away. “And what I’m thinken, bonnie, is tha this willnae be just a one time thing.”

He rises, then, and you get the unsettling, stomach-punching feeling that he knows. That he can see the words spinning up and dying on your tongue, can see the flush rising up your neck knowing it’s something he put there.

“Ye want te leave, go right ahead.” Your pulse thrums as he draws closer. “Just know tha when ye come back. I’ll be starven.”

Asinine, you tell yourself, but your heart is in your throat — that suffocating something licking up your spine and curling beneath your sternum. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Time. Work. Reality. The real world standing just beyond the exit of whatever the hell this currently is.

You decide, then, that you actually do want answers.

“You—you researched me,” you find your voice, though it doesn’t come easily. Drags itself up from the pit of your throat, scraped raw by the claws of confusion . “I don’t—”

Glass touches your back through the thin veil of his t-shirt as you take a step back, snow white fabric still lazily draping the curves you let this man get well acquainted with last night. A stranger who wasn’t all that estranged, you realize.

“Relax, lass,” his voice drops to a soothing pitch. Something suiting for the cornered animal you currently feel like you are, as he steps closer again. “I didnae run a background check on yer whole bloodline, if tha’s what’s got ye hackles up.”

You clear your throat, sun beating at your back through the glass. Suffocating.

“Then tell me. What you meant.”

Tongue over teeth, he nods, palms going up. Playful as a puppy, if the puppy was rabid.

“I jus’ know who ye are. What ye do.” A pause, glimpsing down at the way your chest is rapid firing, before flicking back up. “Know someone whose kid ye teach. Speaks real highly of ye, actually.”

There’s no amount of blinks that can make those words make sense, yet you hope 10 might do it.

A parent of one of your students is talking about you. To Johnny MacTavish.

“I’m s-sorry?” You’re stuttering, now. Goddamnit. “Who? What’d they say?”

He exhales, props an arm on the glass beside your head and crosses his ankles as his body brackets yours — watching the silence drag. Watching you ruminate in it.

“S’nothin bad, bonnie. Quite the opposite.”

You’re staring at his mouth. “Johnny, who was it?”

He makes you wait, the bastard. And then—

“Price.”

The name punches the air from your lungs. “What?”

Johnny’s smile turns smug. “Captain’s kid. Ye teach ’em, aye?”

It hits you somewhere between the grin and the way he leans in. Captain.

“Price,” you repeat softly, the name tilting sideways in your mouth. “John Price?”

He stills. Just slightly.

“Aye, Captain John Price.”

You blink once, twice, brain whirring. He’s referring to him like an official superior. Routine. That means he’s either a cop. Or detective. Or FBI. or Military—

“You work with him,” you murmur.

“Work, kill, drink. Depends on the day,” he says, that thick Glaswegian accent wrapping around the truth like it’s not heavy. Military. “Didnae put it together, did ye? All tha time I was sittin’ across from ye. Ye never asked what I did. No idea I had credentials.”

You huff, stunned. Unsure what to say. Less unsure what to feel. “Christ.”

“Oh, now yer sayin’ His name,” that smile is back. Rankles you in a way you never knew until him. “Where was tha earlier when I had ye on yer knees—“

“Johnny,” you warn. “Keep talking or I’m leaving.”

He laughs, easy, leaning in until all the air feels like it’s his.

“Didnae have te dig deep, bonnie. Prefer te do all the dirty work m’self.” Eyes narrow, at that. He just keeps going. “Capn’s kid. Jamie. Talks bout ye like yer some kinda’ fairytale. Real sweet. Price said he’s never seen the kid so bright-eyed about school.”

The name finds your ears with a soft ache chained to it. Jamie Price — broad-shouldered for a ten-year-old, barely spoke unless coaxed, drew galaxies on the backs of worksheets when he thought no one was watching.

Gentle kid. Brilliant, too.

Johnny shrugs, that easy, terrible shrug like it’s all nothing. “Price asked me if I knew ye. Ranted on about how ye treat ‘em. Said he overheard ye talken to someone about the bar ye frequent. Said ye had a backbone, a kind heart, and the sort of stare tha makes grown men straighten up like schoolboys.” Blue eyes glimpse your lips, again. “But ye ain’t ever been treated right.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’re still pressed against the glass, still unsure if you’re more flattered or frightened.

“He said that?”

The amusement falls off his face, something stern replacing it, and nods.

“There’s some things tha just stay with a man.” He shifts closer. Doesn’t touch you, though. Doesn’t need to. “He said it. Like he was tellen me not te fuck it up.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a weak exhale, like your body doesn’t trust relief just yet. He swallows, continues.

“I just cannae figure it out. Pretty thing like yerself. Real good with kids.” He breathes the last part thick, like it curls in his throat and tugs. Like it does things to him. “Bit of a wild ride, clearly. And somehow — yer alone. Settlen’ for quick fucks instead.”

You don’t answer immediately. You can’t. You just peer up at him, breathing made heavy by everything you’ve learned and everything he is.

“Choice, Johnny.” You whisper. “It’s by choice.”

“Aye. Choice.” He whispers back, other hand finding the glass beside your head, knees knocking as he leans in impossibly closer. “But all those men who let ye walk. Who didnae fight for ye, they’re fools.” He’s close enough your lips almost brush. No grin on them, now. Just gravity. “I’m no fool, love.”

It’s all hitting you at once, in the same place you’re pressed — against the cool pane of the balcony door. It was all set up. Johnny pulled the entire night from the ether thanks to a man you hardly know. Captain John Price. You’d only ever thought of him as John — the friendly, albeit quiet man who showed up to parent-teacher meetings with stories in his eyes. Said little. Watched everything. A ghost in your mind until now — until Johnny pieced it all together with soldiers determination and an easy tongue.

Sat beside you at the bar. Didn’t come on too strong. Didn’t press or sound too rehearsed. Made it real easy to believe it was all a coincidence.

How foolish you had been to not see through the performance.

But now, the shows over — there’s no final act. No audience to entertain. The masks have come off, and you hear it. The sincerity in the way he says I’m no fool. Like it’s not just about last night but about tomorrow and the one after that. Like he’s telling you he’ll fight for you and he’ll mean it. That this isn’t just a night. That he doesn’t want it to be.

And you’re still reeling from it when your hands find the heat of his chest. Curling around his neck without ceremony, pulling him in the final inch.

He’s kissing you.

Not like he earned it, but like he means it — and you’re kissing him back, hard, moaning as his teeth find your bottom lip and tug. He pulls back before you’re ready for him to, and your head slumps back against the glass. Breathing. Trying to will the ground back into place beneath you as he traces your jawline with his thumb.

“What else,” you croak out as he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and exhales. “Do you know about me?”

He hums, pressing closer, hips pinning your ass to the glass as you drag your digits down his chest, tracing scars like braille.

“Enough,” he answers, fervent fingers dragging the fabric of his shirt up your hips, torso. “Enough te drive me insane.”

You feel the moment your heart stutters — mouth parted with nothing to fill it but a gasp as your bare ass is exposed against his glass balcony door — giving neighbours and street dwellers a goddamn good view should they be glimpsing up—

“Wait. J-johnny.” He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink as you catch his wrists, pleading for reason. “Your neighbours—“

“Donnae care.” He mutters, tugging the fabric up over your head. “Let the bloody bastards watch.”

You don’t want to know what sound slips from your throat at that, but you’re sure it’s some ugly, gorgeous thing. Torn somewhere between lust and indignity as he moves — one hand bracing against the glass beside your head while the other wrestles with the waistband of his sweats, shifting until you can feel him — hot, heavy, throbbing — pressing low against your stomach.

And maybe there’s a moment where you think you should tell him you can’t do this. Something because of the neighbours or the noise or the glass sticking to your back. But his hand finds your face, eyes flooding you like atlantic as he leans in to kiss you before lifting you up, legs curling around him— teasing with false thrusts, dragging his tip slow and sinful over your clit just to swallow the noises pulled from your throat. He doesn’t need words to silence your protest but manages all the same as you’re rocking against his shaft in tandem — one hand holding his lips to yours and the other gripping his back until you’re slick and half out of your goddamn mind with need.

And if you thought he’d be gentle — well.

He doesn’t ease you down. Doesn’t waste time. Just slides into you in one heavy thrust until you’re stretched to your edges and his name is caught on a sound you don’t recognize.

“Johnny! Ohf-fuck!”

He curses, teeth grazing your jaw, hips driving forward like he’s punishing you. Or maybe himself. Probably a little of both. Regardless, there’s nothing easy or soft about this — the kind of frenzied effort that takes you apart and leaves you hoping he’ll stitch you back together. Makes you realize you needed this — the pressure, the friction, the drive deeper into your belly with every excruciating inch as you choke on the sounds he’s drawing out.

You can’t control the pleasure that pours out of you, dripping like honey over his lips as you grip the back of his neck—

“Oh—f-fu—ohgod—“ you can’t find the right words, though you’re not even trying to anymore. It’s better than a dream. Better than last night when it was all alcohol and adrenaline. This is raw. Real. And you realize, through the fog, just how easy it was to get lost in him. To let yourself. Even with nothing but the sound of his voice and the skin on his back to hold onto. “J-johnny—fuckingdeep—yes—“

He sets a frantic pace, teeth sinking into his lip like he can taste the curses you’re whispering against it.

“S’good. S’tight, mmfuck.”

Feral. Best word to describe this. Gnawing you from the inside out, leaving your thighs quivering as you fight to hold onto him, back slicking against the glass as he buries himself so deep you can barely choke out an inhale.

“M’gonna—ohmygod—“

You’re going to cum. You can feel it in the way your belly knots and your thighs tense. His smile gets lost in the crook of your neck as he grunts — not daring to slow down or give you a moment to breathe. Instead, he just slips a hand around your throat, pinning your head back to glass that’s just as humid as you.

And when his eyes finally find yours, they’re a million shades darker than they were five minutes ago. All the blue eclipsed by dark, midnight hunger as he devours like you were served to him on a silver platter.

In some metaphorical way, you know you were.

“G’on. Make a mess of me, bonnie. Know ye need it.”

You want to look away. You can’t. Not when he squeezes your throat like you’re his. Not when he rocks deep and hard and your blood is singing for more. Your pulse thumps wildly and you wonder if he’s trying to slow it with his fingers as he tightens his hold.

And so you moan, because it’s all you can do — while the words you whimper as he thrusts hard enough to make you keen don’t sound like you. They sound like someone he owns.

“Ohfuck, Johnny—yesfuckyesyes—“

It hits you like the shatter of stained glass.

Your mouth falls open, soundless at first, a broken gasp caught somewhere between your throat and tongue. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the glass as you tremble, drowning in it, orgasm dragging you under like a rip current — teeth clenched, thighs shaking, fingernails digging so hard into Johnny’s shoulders you’ll leave marks. You want to leave marks.

“Christ, lass. Tha’s it. Tha’s fucken it, baby.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. He fucks you through it, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing your high to the end of the world — like your pleasure is the only map he’s following. You’re crying out now, helpless and shaking and soaked, clenching around him so tight it borders on painful — more for him, you think — as he grunts, one hand bruised into your hip and the other braced against the glass, eyes locked to yours as you fall apart for him.

“Tha’s it, bonnie—” his voice is wrecked, sweat dripping from his brow. “Jesus Christ, s’tight—fucken’ look at ye.”

And you do.

Your head falls forward, forehead against his, eyes burning with the kind of emotion you don’t dare name as you watch him drive in and out, slick coating everything flesh. You sob a noise against his mouth, some choked half-curse, and he swallows it with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and possession as his thrusts grow sloppy — rougher, more desperate, chasing his own breaking point.

“Can I—fuck—can I cum inside ye pretty cunt?” He pants, voice hoarse against your jaw. “Tell me no. Christ, I’ll pull out, jus’ say it—”

You don’t say it.

You just grab his face, kiss him hard, and whisper; “don’t you dare.”

That’s all it takes.

He groans — a guttural, broken sound — and slams into you once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you. Hips twitching, mouth open against your neck. And for a moment, the world goes still. Nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. The steam on the glass. The thrum of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes. Let yourself float. You don’t know what this is — but you know it wasn’t just a fuck. Not with the way he’s still holding you. Not with the way you’re already aching to let him do it all over again.

It’s a few moments before he pulls out. Another few before you find your head.

“Christ,” you breathe, rubbing your face as he fixes himself back to modesty. “I can’t believe I—”

You cut yourself off, because what’s the point. Johnny doesn’t move, just watches you with that maddening calm — sweat still cooling along his temple, chest rising and falling slow like he’s got nowhere better to be than right here. Looking down at you the same way he did when he sat beside you at the bar.

Like he’s well acquainted with the taste of your name.

“I told myself,” you try again, “that this was a one-night thing. Just a fuck. Then breakfast. Then I leave.”

His gaze never wavers. “So why didn’ye?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t make you sound like a fool. Until you give up caring.

“Maybe part of me still thinks you’re bluffing.”

“Bluffen,” he echos, leaning closer — eyes soft like snow. “Ye think I sat down beside ye at tha bar for just a fuck? You think I made ye breakfast just to be polite? Nah. I did it cause’ I already knew I wasnae’ about te let this be just once.”

You exhale — stepping back like you’re reclaiming ground, but the glass is at your back and his voice is in your blood now.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “This is mad.”

“Aye,” he agrees, extinguishing the space. “But I’m no’ lettin’ you bolt just ‘cause it scares ye.”

You blink at him. “And if I try?”

Lips at your temple, he grins.

“Go ahead. But ye best put all tha practice te good use, bonnie. Cause’ I’ll find ye.” His fingers trail up your side, electricity coursing. “And each time I’ll fuck ye harder than the last. Leave ye walkin’ funny and thinken’ of me every hour after.”

Those fingers pause, and you jolt, a shockwave behind the ribs as his words drive through you. It’s maddening and it’s sick — how fast reason betrays you. How fast you clench around nothing, aching like he’s made good on that promise. Like part of you wants to be hunted, dragged back by your hair and wrecked until all your rules blur into white noise.

It’s nonsensical. But all men before him were dull — a realization that makes your mouth dry. And all you can think about is the way his voice dragged over that sentence.

The way each time implies he’s already counted them.

“Quite the promise.” You reply.

He smiles all teeth and truce — and you know you’re already too far gone. He knows it too. Judging by the way he hums, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

And adds. “This wasnae’ chance. Wasnae’ luck. I came for ye because I meant te. And m’stayen’ for tha same reason.”

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youngheejay · 6 days ago

Text

Burden of the Vow

Jay x fem!reader [married] Synopsis: Every marriage has its ups and downs. But will they be able to protect their marriage from this burden?

Contains: heavy angst (beware), happy ending, smut, fluff

It all happened so quickly.

It sounds so cliche but that’s how it was.

Quickly, in a blink of an eye.

It could’ve been prevented. Of course. You should’ve been more careful.

“Mrs. Park?”

Your vision focused on your doctor.

“I asked you if you know when your husband is coming.”

“I-“ your voice cracked, the lump in your throat was too big, you weren’t able to speak. You just shook your head.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” She looked at you with soft eyes as she empathetically rubbed your arm, “are you sure you want to wait for your husband?”

You nodded.

“And you’re aware that waiting will risk the chance of complications? The longer we wait the higher the chance that you’ll get an infection. It can cause serious complications and can even lead to your death.”

You nodded again.

The doctor sighed.

“I will have to ask you to sign this paper. That you’re agreeing to the risks and are willingly waiting.”

You didn’t even read the paper that you signed. You didn’t notice when the doctor left the room. You just stared at the clock.

10:42 am.

It happened at 9:26 am. One hour and 16 minutes had passed.

So much had happened.

“Miss…” Heiran, the lifelong housekeeper who Jay grew up with—or who raised Jay, as he would say—entered the room.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t reach him.” She said timidly, as if she was feeling guilty.

You just nodded. He always muted his phone when he’s in important meetings. And the meeting today was the most important one in his life. Of course you had to ruin it for him.

“Sunghoon,” you rasped weakly. But then you quickly shook your head. “No. We can just wait. The meeting is too important,” you whispered faintly.

Heiran furrowed her wrinkly eyebrows, “Ma’am.” But you just shook your head and turned in the bed, your back facing her and the door where she was standing at.

Heiran left the room with a heavy heart, with shaky hands she searched for Sunghoon’s number. Hopefully he’ll pick up the phone.

The bell ringed but after a while it reached the mailbox. She tried again. Again the mailbox. Then again. Again, mailbox.

She sat on the chair as she held her phone tightly in her hands.

“What happened?” Her husband asked panicked, panting from old age as he sat beside her.

“Honey!” She cried as she threw herself on her husband. Her husband consoled her, “shh… everything’s alright…”

“Everything happened so quickly.” She hiccuped, “it’s my fault. She even told me she was feeling off yesterday night. I told her she’s worrying too much.” Her shoulders shook in her husband’s embrace.

“It’s okey… it’s okey… it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault,” his raspy voice soothed her.

Suddenly, the phone on her lap began to vibrate. She quickly looked at the caller—Sunghoon.

“Do you want me to…?” Her husband offered. But she shook her head, she needed to be brave. For Jay. For you.

“Ma?” Sunghoon spoke as soon as she took the call. “Is everything alright? Why did you call me so many times?” Worry already laced in his voice even though he didn’t know anything yet.

The only thing he could hear was a hiccup through the phone.

“Sunghoon- Sunghoon-ie” she sobbed.

“Ma? What’s wrong? Is everything alright?? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?” His panicked voice echoed in her ear. She shook her head. “No.” She sobbed.

“What’s wrong?” He repeated desperately, his heart hurting hearing the woman who raised him cry.

“Y/n- y/n, she-“ she couldn’t go on as a heartbreaking wail escaped her throat.

“What’s with y/n? Is she hurt? Ma, please.” He begged her to tell her what was wrong.

“Y/n- she- her baby-“ she sobbed, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Her baby?? Is she okey? Is she giving birth?” He was too clueless to think about anything negative.

Heiran always loved Sunghoon’s innocence and cluelessness. But in that moment she wished he would’ve understood without her pronouncing it.

“No, Sunghoonie-“ she hiccuped, “her baby- her baby died.”

He fell back on the chair he was previously sitting on. He whispered a small, “what?”

She wailed loudly.

His phone slipped onto the table with a loud thud.

He messily grabbed his head, his heart clenching in pain, “what?” he repeated.

“What happened?” He asked in disbelief as he clicked on the loudspeaker with a shaky hand.

“Her- her placenta partially separated from her uterus. It happened not even two hours ago when she said she was in- p-pain. When we arrived at the hospital the doctor announced the baby’s death.”

Sunghoon closed his eyes painfully. He didn’t want to imagine what you’re going through right now.

“I- I can’t reach Jay. Sunghoonie- please tell Jay. You have to tell him. Before his family tells him.” He immediately understood what she meant.

“Do they already know?”

“No- I’ve been wanting to tell him first. But he’s not picking up his phone.”

“Okey.” He nodded, “I know where he is.” He looked at his watch briefly. “His meeting is here, in the same hotel where we’re staying, Ma.” He hurried to the hotel door.

“Tell him quickly. They will find out and if they find out-“

“I know, Ma.”

“She’s- she’s- y/n- she is in pain. They gave her medicine but she’s- she’s in a shocked state. She needs Jay. You need to come quickly. She’s waiting for him,“ she hiccuped.

“Okey. We’ll come quickly.” His voice cracked but he didn’t have any time. He needed to hurry up.

Hastily, he went to the elevator of the 5-star hotel. Where was his meeting again?

He rushed to press the button, hoping he remembered it correctly.

When he stepped outside the elevator he was met with several businessmen. His meeting had ended. Sunghoon pushed past the people and found the meeting room.

There he was. Politely shaking hands with a man and laughing at his joke.

He doesn’t know it yet.

“Jongseong,” he called for him. Jay raised his eyebrows when he heard his name, turning his head to Sunghoon. His face twisted in confusion, his eyebrows furrowed, expressing: what the hell are you doing here? I’m busy, bro.

But when Sunghoon shook his head, standing with a distant away, eyes shaky, Jay had a bad feeling. He bid his farewell to his new business partner, excusing himself. The meeting room now left empty, except for the two friends.

“What are you doing here, Hoon? I’m busy. Don’t you have your online meeting-?” Jay began as soon as he reached Sunghoon’s earshot.

Sunghoon cut him off, “did you check your phone?”

“Not yet, why are you-“

“Jay.” Sunghoon cut him off yet again.

He looked at him with pity in his eyes. How do I tell him?

Jay furrowed his eyebrows, sensing Sunghoon’s seriousness.

“What’s wrong?” He asked cautiously.

When Sunghoon’s eyes filled with tears Jay quickly realised there must be something wrong. His mind played different scenarios.

He shook his head in denial, “is it the baby?”

When Sunghoon didn’t answer him, his tears now pouring down his face, Jay somehow understood.

It felt as if the floor began to shake. The air was suctioned out from his lungs. He collapsed on the floor, kneeling as his breath cut short. Sunghoon quickly went to him, holding him in a tight embrace. Jay’s shoulders began to shake, “tell me I’m wrong, Sunghoon.” His voice shaky.

Sunghoon shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His tears fell on Jay’s shoulder.

Jay cried out loud. Sunghoon had never heard him like this before. His wails were ripping his heart apart.

Then everything went on in a blur.

“No. No. No.” he shook his head in denial, his hands ripped at his hair, tears falling on the ground.

“We have to go to the airport,” Sunghoon told him through tears. Jay continued to cry, his head continued to shake.

“Jay.” Sunghoon called him as sternly as possible. But it was just a weak attempt.

“You have to go to y/n now. Alright? She’s waiting for you.” He gripped his shoulder but he wasn’t listening. Sunghoon stood up from the ground, grabbing his friend’s arm, “come on, Jay. We can’t lose time.” He tried to sound stern. He tried to be strong for his friend. But his own tears continued to pour down his face.

He held onto him with a firm grip but Jay weakly shook his head. “No, no, no,” he sobbed. He didn’t have the strength.

“My baby…” he whimpered.

And that’s when Sunghoon lost it. Jay sobbed and wailed as he held onto Sunghoon’s arms, shaking his head over and over again.

“No, no, no. My baby,” he repeated, his chests heaving with every breath. The sound of his wails echoed through the room, raw and ragged.

Sunghoon patted his back, his own tears never stopping, “we have to go home now, okey?” He wiped his face as he tried his best to be strong for Jay.

The aching pain in your heart woke you up from your dream. Your closed eyes filled with tears. A single teardrop rolled down your temple, landing on your husband’s arm.

You slowly opened your eyes. The nightmare felt so real. You let out a small whimper. The tightness in your throat made it throb painfully.

Jay stirred slightly in his sleep, his breath heavy and deep against the back of your head. More droplets of tears wetted his arm underneath your head—a makeshift pillow ever since your usual pillow became uncomfortable and no other were suitable, except for his arm for some unexplainable reason.

You quickly put your hand on your swollen belly, accidentally grazing Jay’s other arm which was loosely wrapped around your hip, his hand dangling over your pregnant belly.

Your heart raced as you waited. Waited for any movements, any sign of your baby being alive. No, it can’t be. No. Your body began to shake. My baby. Jay’s arm was now completely wet with your tears.

Then. Before your breathing could get out of control, you felt a faint push against your palm, which was right under Jay’s loose hand. It was so light, any other person would’ve missed it. Except for a concerned mother.

The baby kicked only once and so faintly, as if to say: “Mommy don’t worry, I’m okey.”

You closed your eyes, relief washing over your whole body.

You rubbed the spot on your round stomach, whispered softly yet still shaken from the nightmare, “it’s okey, baby. Mommy just had a dream. Go back to sleep.”

You closed your eyes, not to sleep but to calm your nerves and racing heart down.

After a few moments, you couldn’t help but cry again. The nightmare had scared you so much. You tried to not make any noises, your hand clasped your mouth as your shoulders began to shake lightly against your husband’s chest.

The night went on and the only thing that filled the dark room were your faint whimpers alongside Jay’s soft snores.

You turned around in your husband’s embrace, the pain too unbearable. You needed his comfort right now.

“Jjongie,” you croaked in a whisper. When he didn’t react, you put your head closer to him, cheek pressing against his naked chest as you listened to his rhythmic heartbeat. “Jay,” you repeated desperately. His eyes fluttered opened, “babe?” he rasped tiredly.

That was all it took for you to sob loudly.

His eyebrows furrowed, arms tightened around you immediately in a protective manner. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t register what was going on, his brain fogged with sleep. The only thing that he noticed was your shaking figure.

Your hand clutched onto his bare chest—he always had the habit of sleeping in boxers only—nails digging into it as you continued to cry. “Babe, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is the baby hurting you?” He bombarded you with questions, his concern grew bigger and bigger. He tried to look at your face but you only buried your face into his chest in response, shaking your head. His hands glided over your body, looking for any injuries, caressing your stomach. When he couldn’t find anything he grasped your cheek and forced you to look at him. “Baby, why are you crying?” His eyes wide, worried.

“Is it the baby?”

You shook your head, your cries didn’t seem to stop. Jay pulled you into his chest, hand caressing your head as he tried to calm you down, “shh…” he hushed quietly, “I’m here. I’m here. Whatever it is,” he kissed your forehead gently, “I’m here.”

“It’s okey… I’m here, baby…” he patted your back, his heart clenching, wondering what made his wife so sad. When you finally calmed down, he tried again: “what made my poor wife cry so much?” He cooed softly. You hiccuped, pouting: “I- I had a dream.” Your voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. He hummed, his hand now holding your cheek to wipe away the tears. “Aww… my baby had a nightmare? Is that it?” He cooed, you nodded in reply. “What did you dream, darling?”

You looked up to him, misty eyes shaking as your lips turned downwards. He nodded, encouraging you to speak further.

“I- I dreamed that the baby died.” You bursted in tears as you hid your face in his neck again.

His face fell. He was lost at words, his own heart sank at the mere thought. The crease between his eyes deepened as he tried to hush you once more, now unsure himself.

“Love…”

“I-“ his voice cracked. His eyes blinked rapidly to suppress his tears. You couldn’t see him cry, he knew you would get more upset if you saw him cry. “It’s okey. It was just a dream,” he tried anew.

“But it felt so real,” you sniffled, “in the- in the dream you were somewhere else. And the baby died while you were away. In my belly. I was all alone. I can’t remember more but it felt so real, Jay.”

“Shh… it’s okey baby,” he rocked you in his arms as you shook in his embrace. “Baby, look at me,” he spoke softly, “hm?” He murmured softly.

With red puffed eyes you peeked at him. He kissed your reddish nose, his hand clasped yours which had been digging into his skin. He cautiously put your hand on his cheek, firmly holding onto it. The soothing tone of his voice echoed through the nightlife: “Tell me my love: am I here with you?” You bit your lip as you nodded apprehensively.

He put your hand on your baby bump, “is the baby here with us—with you?” You nodded again, this time firmly and swiftly. As if any other option would not be acceptable.

“If I’m here, and the baby’s here, then what do you have to worry about?” He kissed your forehead tenderly, your eyes closing automatically as his kiss melted the tension and worries away in you. “Nothing. Alright?”

“Okey?” He rubbed your baby belly to calm you down. And maybe to check for himself that the baby was fine.

“The baby is fine.” He murmured against your forehead, “right?” his voice small, you didn’t catch his uncertain undertone. You nodded your head softly, “the baby talked to me.”

“Yeah? What did he say?” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He kicked me and told me he was fine, that I shouldn’t worry.” A soft breath escaped Jay’s lips as relief washed over him. He laughed softly, “see? Even the baby thinks you’re worrying too much.”

You smiled softly, now a little shy, “yeah… maybe I do.”

“But that’s what good mommas do, right?” He pressed a kiss to your temple, your heart fluttered at his compliment. “Mhm,” you hummed. He is right, I’m gonna be a good mommy. “And good daddies take care of worried mommies,” you whispered lovingly, kissing his chest. He pulled you closer, a faint smile spread across his face.

Suddenly he moved down to meet your stomach. Your top had already been ridden up, and he pushed it higher to reveal your swollen belly completely.

“Hi, baby.” He whispered softly against it, his hand caressing it in soft motions, “mommy is a little scaredy-cat, isn’t she?” You slapped his shoulder, “hey!” You looked at him with an angry frown. He laughed teasingly, “but it’s okey. That’s why she has me. I protect her from everything that she’s afraid of.” He kissed your stomach, “and when you grow up into a strong healthy man it will also be your responsibility to take care of your mommy, alright?” He waited a few seconds as if he waited for a response.

“Na, na, na, young man. Do not argue with me.” He spoke sternly. You laughed out loud, “are you scolding our unborn child?” His eyes glistened as a goofy grin spread across his face, “gotta teach them young who’s the boss.”

He turned his attention to your baby again. “Hey… why are you always so quiet when I’m the one talking to you...?” He pouted softly. “You always talk to mommy but not with daddy.” He rubbed his nose underneath your bellybutton. “Maybe because I don’t scold him when he didn’t do anything wrong?” You ruffled his hair.

“I’m sorry baby. Daddy didn’t mean it like that.” He pushed the bridge of his nose into your stomach, “hm? I will give you all the toys in the world but don’t be angry with me. Please?”

The baby kicked right at his nose. Hard. “Ouch!” He hissed as he held onto his nose, “he kicked me!”

“Yeah I felt that too,” you groaned at the pain, “he never kicked this hard before.”

He looked at your belly with a fake frown, “Now your appa is real mad. Go to your room!”

Your laughter echoed through the bedroom. “I always wanted to say that,” he grinned at you sheepishly. He peppered your stomach with tiny kisses.

He then sighed softly as he snuggled with your belly: “gosh, I can’t wait until he’s here.”

Enjoying the moment and cuddling closer, his eyes fluttered shut.

A voice pulled Jay out of his thoughts. He snapped his eyes open. He had been drifting through a memory.

“Jay…” Sunghoon began cautiously as they were sitting at the gate, waiting for their departure. Sunghoon just got off the phone with Heiran, his face expressed more worry.

“Heiran said… y/n will have to deliver the baby naturally…”

“what?”

“The doctors said that’s the normal procedure when- when you’re in a situation like that.”

Jay rubbed his face, “how is that even possible when she’s not even going into labour?”

“They will give her a medicine to induce the labour…” Jay nodded, his head understood but his heart felt heavy.

“Heiran said she’s refusing to do it until you are there. The doctors said she’s- she’s risking a serious infection and it could cause serious complications. The longer she waits the more likely complications will occur and will cause serious damage. She-“ he pause for a moment, “she could die but she’s stubborn. She wants to wait for you.”

Jay’s heart hurt. He couldn’t imagine it.

“You should call her. Tell her she should do it without you because,” he glanced at his watch, “the earliest we’ll be there is in 6 hours.”

Jay nodded absentmindedly. His vision focused on the floor. His mind racing. His heart burning with sorrow.

Sunghoon dialed Heiran’s number again.

Jay wasn’t listening to their conversation until Sunghoon gave him his phone, “it’s her.”

Jay just nodded, his throat tightening. He closed his eyes as he took the phone. He needed to be strong for her. She’s the one in pain not me.

“Y/n…” he murmured softly yet raspy.

Silence. He didn’t hear anything.

But then, there was a small whimper.

“Y/n…” he repeated as the tears rolled down on their own. “I’m coming, okey? I’m coming as fast as possible.”

You began to sob.

“Y/n, baby, listen to me. You need to be strong right now, okey? You have to hold on. Until I’m there, okey?”

Your sobs got louder and louder.

“It’s okey, baby, it’s okey…” he mumbled gently. God, he just wanted to hold you. Be there for you.

“I’m coming, alright? I’ll be there quickly.”

“Jay-“ you choked, voice rough and broken.

His world began to spin.

He leaned forward in his seat, his shaky arms supporting him on his thighs.

“Hm~” he hummed, broken, trying to hold it together for you.

“Yes, baby,” he tried again when he couldn’t hear you respond.

He continued when you didn’t say anything: “Baby, don’t worry, I’m coming-“

“I’m sorry.” You choked, cutting him off.

He pressed his eyes shut as his tears poured down his face. “No baby. Don’t say that.” He rasped in a shaky tone.

“it’s my fau-“

“No.” He spoke sternly, his tone didn’t allow any argument.

“It’s not your fault. And I don’t wanna hear it. I’m not allowing you to think that. Got it?”

You just whimpered in response.

“I love you so much. We’ll go through this together alright?”

You just continued to cry. Ripping his heart into pieces.

“Baby… listen to me. I’ll be there in 6 hours, okey?”

You hummed.

“But that’s too long. You have to go into labour without me, okey?”

“No.” You shook your head, face scrunched in fear and sorrow.

“I know, baby, I know. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

You just nodded your head, your throat hurt too much to answer. “I know you’re afraid, but baby, listen. I- can’t lose you too. I can’t come home and be told that my wife didn’t make it. I-“ he let out a choked sob, his tears fell on his trousers, “I can’t lose you, too.” He shook his head, refusing to think about it.

“Please baby. I’m begging you.”

“I’m tired.” You whimpered quietly.

Jay opened his mouth to argue, to tell you to not be stubborn for once, to listen to him, to just do what’s good for you. But something in him told him to just accept your wish. You knew the best what you needed—what your body could endure.

“Okey,” he yielded softly. “I promise I’ll be there as quickly as possible. Try to rest a little, alright baby?”

“I love you so much. You’re the bravest woman on this earth. I will call you again before we take off alright? Until then, rest.”

You only hummed in response.

“Can you please pass the phone to Heiran, baby?”

“Jongseong-ah,” Heiran’s aged, rough voice echoed through the phone.

“Can you make sure y/n doesn’t hear us?”

After a while of rustling, he heard her again: “yes?”

“Ma…” his eyes brimmed with tears. “What happened?”

“She-she woke up in pain and she told me the baby was not moving.” Jay felt as if he forgot how to breathe. He should’ve been there.

“I- I told her that happens sometimes but she looked so scared and her pain worsened. And then she started to bleed. I called the ambulance—it all happened so quickly. When we arrived here the doctor announced the baby’s death. They said her placenta partially loosened from her uterus and the baby didn’t get any oxygen over night.” She hiccuped.

He closed his eyes as he tried to process everything.

Sunghoon rubbed Jay’s back.

“The doctor said that this can happen suddenly and can’t be predicted,” she added with a shaky voice.

The guilt of not being there was taking over his mind.

“They told her that she has to deliver the baby naturally because it’s the safest option. Since y/n is not bleeding anymore and her condition is not too unstable a c-section would be unnecessary. Her-her labour also has started but it’s too mild. She said it’s just throbbing sometimes,” she took a deep breath, “they wanted to give her medicine to induce it more. The doctor said she had to do it now otherwise she’ll get an infection. But y/n said she doesn’t want to do it without you. She seems to be in shock.”

"Okey..." he whispered, voice raspy. He didn't know what to respond. The new information made him realise that it was his fault.

During the whole flight his head hung low. He was deep in thought and sorrow.

I should've stayed. I should've taken care of her.

He failed to protect you. If he just didn’t leave.

“Do you have to leave?” You pouted as you sat on your bed, watching Jay pack his suitcase for the business trip.

“Baby…” he sighed softly, “we already talked about this.” He kissed your forehead as he walked past you to grab his laptop from the nightstand.

“No. You talked, I listened and cried," you snapped at him, annoyed, "I don’t want you to go.” You stated firmly.

“It’s only going to be for 5 days. I’ll be back before you’ll know it.” You didn’t seem to be convinced as you walked up to him, hugging him from the side, your big, round belly getting in the way. “But I don’t want to be alone.” You frowned.

“That’s why I asked Heiran to come and take care of you.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulder as he kissed your head.

You pulled away, your frustration couldn't be hidden anymore, “but I don’t want anyone else to take care of me! I want you to be here! What if something happens and you're not here?!”

He shut his eyes as he tried to calm down, not wanting to fight with his pregnant wife, “nothing will happen, baby. It’s only for 5 days. You know I have to go.”

“You don’t have to! You’re literally choosing your business over me! Your wife who's carrying your child! I can’t believe I married a greedy man!”

He furrowed his eyebrows, his face expressed his hurt feelings, “that’s not true, y/n. The meetings were set before you were even pregnant. I already cancelled the ones that I could cancel and shortened the trip by two weeks. I’m sorry to leave you but I promise it’ll be quick.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, trying not to show him that you were about to cry as you left the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To the guest bedroom. I don’t wanna sleep next to you.” You slammed the door.

You woke up to Jay softly caressing his fingertips over your cheekbone, "good morning, angel," he whispered softly to not startle you.

“I’m leaving for the flight,” he was crouched down in front of your bed.

You turned around, giving him the cold shoulder.

“Baby… please, I can’t leave while my wife is angry with me."

Good, then I'll stay angry so he won't leave.

He put his warm hand on your shoulder, "please, princess. You're making me sad."

"And you're making me sad, too." You mumbled, he could barely hear it.

You felt him lie behind you, one arm wrapping gently around your waist while the other slipped under your neck, curling over your shoulder to rest firmly on your upper arm, pulling you closer. His hand on your belly was warm and soft, his thumb tracing small circles on the skin where your top had ridden up.

"I couldn't sleep without my babies." He nuzzled his face into your neck.

"Good." You uttered coldly.

He smiled softly, "my girl woke up feisty today," you felt his lips move against the shell of your ear, "I like that," he murmured seductively. Your pussy throbbed at his deep, hushed voice. You ignored it as you tried to push his arms away. Your efforts were useless as your sleepy and pregnant state made you way weaker than before—not that you had any chance against him before pregnancy.

The hand on your stomach wandered lower, right under your bellybutton where he teased and aroused you by caressing your skin softly. But his touch was way too far away to actually give you any form of pleasure. "Jay..." you whined, your hips wiggling in annoyance.

"Yes, baby?" His voice sent shivers down your spine as he nibbled at your earlobe. His hand which was on your shoulder grabbed one of your tits, squeezing it, slipping your top under it so he could touch and play with it properly. You sighed at the feeling, "feels so good..." You closed your eyes to enjoy the spark pulsing in your blood. Suddenly his other hand slipped under your shorts, brushing lightly over your panties. Your hand grabbed his forearm, "please... Jay..." you sighed, completely wet and aroused. Your pussy throbbed so hard, it was beginning to eat you alive.

"But I thought you were mad at me?" He made a show of pulling his hand out of your shorts. Your nails digged into his arm, "no! I'm not mad," you frowned. Your face turned to him as you pleaded at him, looking all cute and sexy at the same time, "please?". He wanted to devour you right at the spot.

"You know I can't resist my sexy wife," he kissed you harsh, tongue slipping into your mouth as you moaned into the kiss. His hand slipped under your underwear, his fingers gliding over your wet, slick pussy, "Jay~" you moaned. "Put your leg over mine," he rasped into the hot kiss. You tried to do as he told you but struggled due to your big belly. When he noticed, his slick-wet hand slipped out of your panties and helped your leg to adjust over his, leaving a trail of your juices on your skin. "Are you comfortable like this?" You impatiently nodded your head, "touch me, Jay."

“So impatient…” he muttered although he obeyed you immediately. His hand went once again underneath your panties, massaging your pussy softly and faintly. You whimpered, "more..."

"Yeah? My sweet little wife wants more?" You nodded pathetically, "please, Jay. Want you inside me." His middle finger slowly slipped inside you, testing the waters as he circled it inside you to stretch you out. Then his ring finger slipped inside, both of his fingers curling right into you as they found the spongy spot. "Jay!" You moaned, "it feels so good!" He continued to pump his fingers in and out, pushing and circling them inside you as the wet, splashing sounds of your pussy filled the room. "Oh my god... I'm gonna cum." You sighed, sensitive from pregnancy. You were in heaven. His fingers made you forget why you were even mad at him. "W-wait." You pushed at Jay's arm slightly. He immediately halted his actions, eyes widened in panic, "what? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop?"

"No... it's just I know I will be too exhausted for a second round. Wan' your cum inside of me," you panted, your walls continued to pulse around his fingers on their own.

"It's okey baby. I don't have to cum," he kissed your shoulder, "I will be fine, just want to pleasure my wife."

"No," you whined, "I want you. Please. Wanna be close to you before you leave." You could hear him debate internally. You bit your lips, your arousal dazed your mind, "honey. The doctor said it's fine. Now, put your dick inside me before I crash out."

"Okey, okey," he carefully pulled his fingers out of you and slipped you out of your panties and shorts in one go. He unwrapped his arm around you in order to take off his slacks and boxers. You had turned around slightly, your eyebrows furrowed at the observation you made, "when are you leaving? You're already dressed." You couldn't stop your pout as you watched him take off his dress-shirt, too. "I'm leaving in an hour," he pecked your pouty lips as he hovered over you, arms supporting himself on either sides of your head. His hard dick pressing onto the side of your ass as you were still laying sideways, "come on, baby, don't be mad anymore, hm?"

Your pout deepened, eyes glistening with tears, "I'll miss you."

His heart melted, "I'll miss you, too." He kissed you passionatly as his hand reached for your leg to lift it up. He was settled between your legs, one leg rested comfortably on the mattress, angled to make room for him, as he lifted the other into the air, holding it tightly so it wouldn't slip. "Relax, baby, I'm holding you." He whispered against your lips. You trusted him instantly and relaxed your muscles. He grabbed his hard, throbbing dick into his hand, pumping it a few times, and guided the tip into your entrance. Instinctively, you tried to turn on your back in order to spread your legs further, but he put the hand that was holding his dick on your shoulder to stop you from moving. "Don't get on your back, baby."

"Oh right," you remembered you weren't allowed to lay on your back because of the baby. He kissed your cheek, waiting for you to adjust on your side, "comfy?" he asked as he pushed your hair out of your face. You nodded as you reached for Jay's hand that was settled infront of your face on the pillow.

He slowly pushed into you. You sighed. His thick firm cock filled you up so good. You felt so content having him inside you.

“Fuck, why are you still so tight baby,” he grunted as he tried not to push his whole length in. “Put a whole baby inside you and your cunt is still swallowing me in.” His hand let go of your leg, only to curl it in his arm, adjusting it properly as he started to roll his hip into you. You eyes fluttered, “oh my god, Jay…”

“Yeah? Feels good baby?”

“Hmm,” you whimpered. “Deeper,” you pleaded.

His cock went deeper in you, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly, “ah!” You moaned at the pleasure. “Fuck,” he rasped as you clenched around you. Your arm reached for Jay, he understood immediately as he leaned down, his abs slightly grazed your swollen belly as he nestled his face into your neck. “Fuck baby, stop clenching around me.” He groaned as he tried to hold himself back to pound into you aggressively. You whimpered in response, “it feels so good, can’t help it.”

With only a few more thrusts your walls tightened around him hard as you reached your high. “Jay!” You screamed, shaking, ecstasy rushing through your blood.

He cursed under his breath, “fuck-“ as he continued to thrust into you. You whimpered as you pushed at his shoulder, “too much- Jay-” you choked.

He lifted his head to press a hot kiss on your lips, trying to distract you, “you got this baby. Just a little more. You’re a good girl, hm? Can take it. Be my good little wife and take it.” His breath cut short as he tried to resist the urge to go crazy with you. He lost his rhythm as he got closer. “Fuck-“ he groaned into your neck as he finally came inside you, “fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He kissed your skin, biting it lightly as his body shook from his high, “I love you so much.” He kissed you as he pulled his cock out of you, careful not to hurt you. You scrunched your face at the feeling, your hand tightening its grip on his hand.

You smiled at him lazily, sleep taking over your body, “love you too, jjongie.”

“Not mad anymore?” He smiled at you sheepishly. You shook your head, lips touching close to his, “but I will still miss you, jjongie.” Nuzzling his nose against yours, he whispered with a melted heart: “will miss you too, baby.” He laid beside you to cuddle with you, pulling your head to his chest and caressing it lovingly. His other hand went to your stomach which was snuggled close to his own stomach, patting it in a soft rhythm.

After a while, when he got up to clean you and take a—yet again—quick shower, he halted in his motion. There you laid in the bed, looking so soft and warm like an angel. Your swollen belly gave you a delicate look. He felt as if he was falling in love with you all over again. The sight of you being pregnant with his child, exhausted in the after glow of making love together caused warmth to blossom in his chest—making him all tender and fuzzy. He was the luckiest man on earth.

“I will be back very soon, okey?” He whispered quietly, not wanting to disturb your half asleep state. You hummed tiredly. He pressed a tender kiss, both on your forehead and baby bump as he left the room, gently shutting the door.

Gosh, he already couldn’t wait to be reunited with his wife and his baby.

Regret flooded Jay’s body. With a violent bump he smashed his head against the airplane window.

Sunghoon looked at him concerned. Unsure what to say.

Jay knocked his head repeatedly. Fuck.

If I had never left them this would have never had happened.

—————————————————————————

Yeah I lied here no happy ending. Maybe in Part 2? Comment and share your thoughts and feelings ❣️

Wanna read my other stuff? Here’s my masterlist

Comments, thoughts, feedback, requests, reblogs are more than welcome 🙏🏼 I need it to be motivated to write more. so please, if you wanna read more tell me what you felt/thought about this fic (and of course my other fics if you read them)

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yes-no-maybe-soo · 2 months ago

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What Sylus can do with his Evol

(That we know of. Will be updated sporadically as new info comes out)

A few notes:

1. Sylus' Evol is Energy Manipulation. Which is a bit vague to interpret just what that encompasses, but if we take it to mean all form of energy then the implications of his powers become staggering and honestly pretty terrifying. Quite literally everything around us contain energy. As per Einstein's famous equation, E=mc², mass itself is a form of energy, ie simply having mass means an object has energy. Meaning that there might be no limit to what Sylus can control and manipulate, and this is supported by the original CN text of his anecdote, where his Evol is described as essentially all-encompassing and all-powerful.

2. This post is merely a list compiling all (or nearly all) that we have canonically seen Sylus do with his Evol. It is purely for enjoyment and to hype up our man. I will not go into details on the physics behind his power or anything like that – that I leave to more intelligent minds than mine. I'm just a gremlin who likes making lists and looking at details and (sometimes) connecting dots. Math and physics? Worst subjects in school ;-; would rather sit through 89 consecutive rounds of Find Tobias than one half hour of math.

3. If I missed anything on this list, don't hesitate to point it out to me!

4. I want to give huge thanks to @kookieluvs for kindly sending me the direct (fan) translation of Sylus' anecdote! It goes into more detail on Sylus' Evol than the localization (where things sadly seem to have gotten lost in translation) does, and really gives you a sense of how truly powerful (and frightening) it is. A link to the translation is included above, and I highly recommend you check it out!

Without further ado, here is the list of what Sylus canonically can do with his Evol

✧. Disintegrate fully grown men in a matter of seconds

Nothing is left behind of these men. No blood, no matter, no nothing. As though they never existed in the first place.

(He has also done the same to inanimate objects, like bullets)

✧. Create extremely powerful energy charges

The man actually punches a crater into the ground oml

✧. Create energy bursts

✧. Infuse his energy in weapons

✧. Create black holes(?!?!)

...do you see what I mean when I say that this power is lowkey frightening af?

✧. Transform his body into pure energy

Great for when he needs to dramatically leap off skyscrapers or old cathedrals. Taking the elevator or the stairs is for lesser men. Gotta make a memorable first impression, you know?

✧. Teleport (himself and others)

✧. Heal wounds in an instant

These wounds can range from minor cuts to bullet holes. Meaning that he can repair deep internal injuries and bleeding.

✧. Mend shirts

Yes. I'm deadass. Look at the images above.

✧. Evaporate blood

And presumably other liquids.

✧. Halt fatal internal diseases

We see him do this – rather brutally – to the twins in Mischief (World Underneath Story). The twins had 3 months left to live before that. They're alive and thriving over two years later.

✧. Summon people and objects to him/Levitate them

He will occasionally do this with plushies in the claw machine too, if you let him play and if he is feeling extra helpful. A (small but still important) portion of my affinity comes from Sylus summoning plushies in a color I hadn't gotten yet.

✧. Control and restrain others' movements

✧. Manipulate Objects

Another example of this is him shutting the doors in Philip's shop in the main story. Or unlocking the handcuffs in Midnight Stealth.

✧. Put out lights

He does this in chapter 3 of the anecdote

✧. Seal off entire areas

Does this as well in the same chapter as above

✧. Strangle

What he does to Sherman in the main story

✧.Change colours of flowers

And presumably of other things. I gotta be honest, this right here is to me one of the most insane things he can do because of what it implies about just how crazy powerful and encompassing his Evol truly is.

✧.Make seeds sprout and bloom without soil

He does this in chapter 1 of the Wildlight Chronicles. The flower crumbles and wilts seconds after he makes it bloom, but still, he made it happen. Which is very impressive. Like MC points out, channeling energy into and changing something as small as a seed takes a lot of control and precision. Another major thing that I want to add on to this is that this confirms that Sylus can force a living organism to speed through the different stages of life, manipulating and changing them. Or to put it simply he can age them up. And if he can do so to one type of organism... who's to say he can't do it to other? IE animals and humans. And maybe he can even do it in reverse? This is not confirmed but it is interesting to think about and makes me ponder about his claim in Beyond Cloudfall of being able to raise the dead... maybe it is tied to his Evol after all? Or maybe his Evol powers are somehow tied to his demonic powers? 🤔

✧.Purge metaflux

MC and him use their resonance to clear a metaflux contaminated lake in Chapter 2 of the Wildlight Chronicles.

That's all I have for the strictly Evol driven powers (I have more than likely missed something, in which case I apologize 😔 I am only human. A very tired one at that. But like I said, there probably isn't a limit to what Sylus can manipulate anyway so... writing down every individual thing would be... a lot dhdjfj).

However.

I am not done.

I still want to quickly discuss a few more of his powers, because this man still isn't OP enough ig. But I put them in a sort of separate category since I am pretty sure they are not tied to his Evol but rather to his aether core and his demonic powers.

Anyway, to start off

Sylus can control/invade minds

This is only really touched upon in the anecdote as far as I can remember.

Those affected by this lose all awareness and consciousness of their surroundings for as long as Sylus wants them to. We learn that some of the victims were never quite the same again after. These details make it clear that this is not strictly mind control, but something deeper and more terrifying – a complete and total invasion of it.

Sylus can see people's innermost desires thanks to his aether core

He reveals this to MC in LAR.

Sylus can transform into a dragon

99.9% sure of this. Check out this post for more of my reasonings.

Sylus (or Stayrus) can resurrect the dead

"Even if your desire is to resurrect the people of the Ivory City, it's still within my capabilities" word for word what Sylus/Stayrus says in Beyond Cloudfall (Chapter 3). We don't know whether Sylus at present still has this ability or if it is affected by the tether/shackles that restrict his powers.

Which reminds me of one final thing...

All of the above that I have listed (excepting the final one), have been performed by Sylus in a nerfed state. He is unable to use his full powers due to above mentioned tethers/shackles. It's still a mystery when, how, and by who they were placed within him.

Sure would be nice to have some extra lore right about now don't you think, Paperfold?

Anyway, Sylus OP as fuck. His only true weakness is the love of his life. How that will play out only time will tell (actually I can tell you right now. They will marry and live happily ever after with their baby girls and with Mephie and the twins. The end. Trust.).

With this, I am finally done with this post. I hope you guys enjoyed it ♡

I myself will finally go to bed

_(´ω`_)⌒)_

#sylus #lads sylus #sylus lads #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylusmc

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authorhjk1 · 1 year ago

Text

Home

Mother and Daughter

(Kwon Eunbi X Winter X Male Reader)

With tears in her eyes, Minjeong quickly unlocks the front door. She hates it. She hates school. She hates the other girls. She hates the guys. She just hates it!

"Welcome home, dear!"

"Hi mom."

Minjeong is able to hold back a sniffle as she heads to her room. Her mother, busy with making dinner, had her back turned towards her. When she turns around, expecting her daughter to tell her about her day, she is surprised that she already left.

Inside her room, Minjeong throws her backpack onto the bed. With clenched fists, she kicks a dirty sock under her bed. Why does she have to watch this shit everyday? A boy and a girl messing around during the break? Both of them sharing meaningful glances in class?

"Argh!"

Minjeong stops herself from kicking her bed. She tries to calm herself down by taking deep breaths. This wasn't the first time she had to watch one of her friends make out with a guy from school. So why did it bother her so much today?

She shakes her head in annoyance. What does her friend has that she doesn't? Isn't Minjeong funny? Isn't she polite and caring? Isn't she pret-

Minjeong's eyes fall on the mirror. Is that it? She sees her sad face in the reflection of the clean glass. Is she unable to find a boyfriend, because she isn't pretty enough?

"Oh man!"

Minjeong lets herself fall face first onto the bed.

What is she supposed to do then? All her friends are bragging about boyfriends and...and... and sex...

Minjeong shakes her head. That's exactly the reason why she finally wants to have her first time! She hates feeling this way! She blushes when it's a topic of a conversation. She wants to know how it feels.

Raising her head slightly, she glances at the mirror again. What is it with her? She is desperately trying to ignore the obvious. The thing, or rather things, she can't change.

She is, well, naturally pretty, if you can call it that. Rather cute than sexy, but that isn't so bad. Is it?

Minjeong's eyes finally land on her cleavage. That must be the problem. She hates her chest. Why does she have to be so small? She sometimes hears the guys talking about the girls in her class. Allegedly they even made a list, ranking all the girls.

"I'm definitely last."

Minjeong groans in annoyance.

Why isn't she growing bigger? Her friends all look way better than her. Especially Karina. She is Minjeong's best friend. But in moments like these, Minjeong hates her guts. Why does Karina have it all? A beautiful, sexy face, a big chest, full thighs, a round ass.

"What is wrong with me?"

Minjeong kicks her legs into the mattress, feeling like the ugliest girl in the world.

"Minjeong-ie!"

She hears her mom knock on her door.

"What is it, ma?"

"I made us dinner, sweetie."

"A minute!"

Minjeong tries to pull herself together. Looking at the mirror again, she checks if her eyes have become red from crying.

Eunbi watches her daughter sit down on the other side if the table.

"Are you doing alright, honey?"

"I'm fine, mom."

Eunbi raises an eyebrow in suspicion, but she doesn't pressure her. At least not now. She has always taught Minjeong and her brother to respect other people's boundaries, so she always leads by example.

But throughout the unusual quiet meal, Eunbi starts to become more concerned about her daughter's condition. Minjeong just pokes at the meat on her plate, instead of actually eating it. How is she supposed to cheer up her daughter?

You come to mind.

"Are you excited for tomorrow, Minjeong-ie?"

"Tomorrow?"

Minjeong raises an eyebrow in confusion. She doesn't even remember what day it is, too busy thinking about how to become more attractive. Should she eat more? That way she could make her chest a little bigger maybe. But she doesn't want to get called fat at school. It's a dilemma.

"What day is tomorrow?"

"It's the 10th."

Eunbi gives Minjeong a meaningful look.

The tenth...

"(Y/n) oppa!"

Minjeong is suddenly smiling brightly. She almost forgot that you would come home tomorrow. After not having seen you in person for almost half a year, Minjeong is longing to hug you for hours, once you are back.

"Exactly."

Eunbi smiles as well, happy to see her daughter being finally in a good mood.

"He will come home late though, so you will see him on the day after tomorrow."

"But..."

"No but. You have school."

That's something Eunbi always prioritizes. School. It sucks for Minjeong. She hates school. But she gets why her mother has that obsession with school.

After her husband left her, Eunbi had to take care of both of you, while needing to find a job as well. Because she didn't go to college or anything, it was hard for her to find a well paying job. Once you were old enough, you started working at a sporting goods shop, having been interested in soccer and sports, since you can remember.

You were able to help your step mom out enough to make up at least a little bit of the damage your father had left. But your already bad grades started to suffer even more. And eventually, you dropped out of school.

That's why Minjeong doesn't argue further with Eunbi about staying up late and welcoming you. It's not like you are gonna run away, before she can even see you.

"Talking about school... How is it going?"

Eunbi rests her chin on her hand, looking at her daughter.

"I-It's alright."

Eunbi notices how Minjeong is suddenly very interested in the food in front of her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything is great, mom."

Minjeong manages to smile at her, before looking down again.

"And how is it going with your love life?"

Eunbi winks at her sheepishly.

"Mom!"

"What?"

Minjeong looks at her puzzled mother, embarrassed that she was going to take it out on her.

Eunbi always told the both of you to be open minded and always listen to other people's perspectives. And that includes relationships as well.

"I-I don't have anyone."

"Oh, that's alright, sweetie. You are still so young."

"No I'm not. (Y/n) is only a year older than me. And Karina and the others all have boyfriends already."

"That's true."

Eunbi nods, now realizing where her daughter's sour mood might come from. But that's not something she can actively help her with as her mother. Respecting Minjeong's boundaries, Eunbi decides to not press her further. If she needs advice or someone to talk to, Minjeong knows that Eunbi will be there for her either way.

While Eunbi starts doing the dishes, Minjeong goes back to her room to finish her homework. Math. Something she could totally live without.

As she tries to read the next task for the next problem, her mind seems to be somewhere else.

"Come on."

Minjeong grumbles, annoyed with herself.

She eventually finishes her homework. Later than she hoped though. Realizing that she has to go bed now, because of school tomorrow, Minjeong starts to get ready for bed.

Debating on what pajama to put on, she looks around her closet. They all look ugly to her today. She really hates this. How can she be sexy, if she doesn't even have sex clothes?

Suddenly Minjeong feels this tingly excitement creeping up, when she remembers the purchase she made a month ago. Today isn't the first time she hated her body. It's more like an every day occurrence. But the last time it was this bad, Minjeong got herself something to make her feel better about herself.

She takes her chair from the desk and puts it in front of her wardrobe. Her mom is not gonna come into her room today anymore, already having said good night. Minjeong gets on the chair and then on her tip toes, trying to reach the parcel at the back.

Once she got her hands on it, Minjeong opens it, taking out the underwear that's hidden inside. She is so glad that she was able to buy it online. If she would've had to buy it in a store, she probably wouldn't have had the confidence to do so.

A smile creeps onto her face as Minjeong puts the box back to its rightful place, before starting to put on the lingerie. Karina told her once that she got something similar in black for her boyfriend. Hers is peach colored though. She feels the smooth fabric hug her skin as she slowly puts it on. After a couple of moment, she checks herself out in the mirror.

White stockings wrap around her slim legs, making her look a little thinner than she usually does. The peach garter belt around her hips is actually more of a tiny skirt. Minjeong is able to see a hint of her lace panties, even without needing to lift it up. The small bow in the front is a little darker than the rest. The same goes for the short strings that connect her belt and her stockings. Minjeong's stomach is fully exposed and she can't help but let a hand wander over it. She is proud of at least that part of her body. Not everyone looks as fit as she does. But the bra still looks a little too big for her.

Minjeong sighs in disappointment. It has the same lace patterns as the skirt, but she is unable to fill it completely. Why doesn't she have her mother's genes? She always envies her. Her mother has had a couple of boyfriends throughout the years. They were all unable to focus, whenever Eunbi wore a low cut top. But why can't Minjeong be like this? She wants to turn all the boys' heads in class, when she enters the classroom.

But looking into the mirror a little longer, Minjeong realizes that she isn't as ugly as she thought she is. She might not have the biggest chest. But apart from that...

Minjeong gets on the bed, finally, at least a little bit, comfortable in her own skin. She mindlessly lets a finger run along the straps of her bra, looking up at the ceiling. Her naked thighs slowly start to rub together. Suddenly, Minjeong is horny. She doesn't even remember what she thought about a moment ago, after she lied down. But the increasing heat in her lower area makes her reach out for her laptop on the desk.

With shaky fingers, Minjeong types in the address of the porn side she usually goes to. It always feels wrong and dirty, whenever she opens it. But she can't stop.

Minjeong scans the home page, looking at the new videos that came out, after she watched something last time. Her cursor finds itself on a video she hasn't watched before.

Once the video starts, Minjeong quickly skips past the annoying scenes of the woman, showing off her body. She reaches the point where the guy fucks her doggy style. Minjeong watches how the woman's tits sway with every thrust. Jealous, but turned on even more, Minjeong finds her right hand rubbing her lace panties. She is wishing so desperately to be that woman. She finally wants to get fucked like her. She wants to be able to tell everyone that she isn't a virgin anymore.

Eunbi yawns as she steps out of the bathroom. She feels small butterflies in her stomach, thinking about you, coming home tomorrow. She hasn't talked to you properly in so long. She wants to tell you how proud she is. What a great man you've become.

Wondering what the two of you should do together during your stay, Eunbi passes Minjeong's room. She stops in her tracks, when she hears light moaning.

"Fuck my little pussy harder!"

She furrows her eyebrows. That's not Minjeong, is it? Is that why she disappeared so quickly into her room when she came home? Is this the reason, why she acted like this during dinner? Is she hiding her boyfriend from her?

Eunbi is disappointed. She hoped that, when the time comes, Minjeong would tell her about everything. Curiosity slowly starts to creep in.

"Maybe just a quick peek."

She slowly turns the doorknob, before looking inside.

"Mom!"

Minjeong is thrown out of her blissful moment, when she hears the door crack open. Horrified by realizing that her mother just saw her masturbate, she quickly closes the laptop and covers herself with her sheets.

"Baby..."

"Go away, mom!"

"There is nothing wrong with doing this, Minjeong-ie."

The young girl's cheeks flush red. This must be one of the most embarrassing moments of her live.

"I-Please leave."

"Minjeong-ie, I want to us to be as close as we've always been. You don't have to be ashamed by what you are doing. It's totally normal."

"R-Really?"

"Yes. I do it too."

"Mom!"

Minjeong covers her ears, not wanting to hear about her mother's sexy life.

"Don't be so childish. We can talk about this like adults."

Eunbi finally opens the door completely, before stepping inside.

"You look really pretty by the way."

She slowly walks over to Minjeong.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

With a warm smile, Eunbi sits down on the edge of the bed.

"The colour matches your skin really well. And your body is just perfect. I'm still surprised you haven't found anyone yet."

"Mom..."

Minjeong seems more sad than embarrassed now.

"I-No one likes me. I'm not pretty enough."

"How could you say something like that?"

Eunbi's heart brakes as she gasps in surprise.

"You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen. You are by far better looking than all the girls your age."

"Oh please, mom. I will never be as hot as you."

Eunbi can't help but feel a little warm inside at her daughter's compliment.

"Don't say that. Everyone is pretty in their own way. Tell me something that I have that you don't. I'm sure you can't-"

"Y-Your chest."

Minjeong's shy comment makes Eunbi look down on herself. She glances back at her daughter, who is lying on the bed, looking up at her with a sad look on her face.

"Oh come on, Minjeong-ie. Yours aren't as small as you think."

Eunbi reaches out and feels her daughter's tits.

"They are maybe not as big as mine, but bigger doesn't always mean better."

"It does."

Eunbi shakes her head.

"You are not ugly, just because you don't have a big chest. Your face is so gorgeous. And you take so much care of your body."

"You are lying. You could sleep with any guy you want. The guys in my class won't even look at me."

"You are lying to yourself. Who wouldn't want to be intimate with a girl like you?"

Eunbi cups Minjeong's cheek with affection.

"Everyone it seems like. No one likes how I look."

"That's rubbish."

Eunbi unconsciously lets her hand wander over Minjeong's body.

"If you think no one is paying attention, you have to dress a little more provocatively. Your own body is not the problem."

"You mean dress more sexy?"

"Exactly."

Eunbi takes another look at her daughter's outfit.

"This lingerie looks so good on you. Anyone would want you."

"But I can't walk around in lingerie at school, can I?"

"That's true, honey. Why don't I show you tomorrow how I dressed, when I went to school? It was good enough for your father, you know?"

Eunbi winks at her daughter playfully, her hand resting on her midriff.

"Fine. But can you please leave now? I-I want-need to..."

Minjeong trails off. Still embarrassed to voice her need for pleasure.

"Of course, baby. But don't watch stuff like this. It can make you addicted and it's just not how sex works."

"Then how am I supposed to..."

Minjeong's cheeks redden once more.

"Just think about a guy you like. Or something you want to experience."

"What do you think about, when... when you, you know?"

Eunbi ponders for a moment. She would've said that she takes herself back to the best moments of her own sex life. But that would hit a nerve right now. She is finally on the same wavelength with her daughter. She doesn't want to give that up now.

"I think about actors, or singers, you know? Maybe a guy I've met in the mall. Something like this."

"And what do you imagine doing with them?"

"Well..."

Eunbi thinks for a moment, if this isn't a little too much. But she finally decides to be honest.

"I usually just imagine them having sex with me. I usually start by kissing. And then, they ea-eat me out, you know?"

Eunbi can't help but be a little shy as well. This is the first time she talking about how she pleasures herself. With her daughter no less.

"I wish I knew how that felt."

Minjeong's confession makes Eunbi's heart ache.

"And how do you, you know?"

Minjeong rests her hand on her own panties. Eunbi can't help but notice the proportions of her hips and waist. How is her daughter not getting laid 24/7?

"Well, I sometimes use toys. But I usually do it with my hand, like anyone else."

"I see."

Minjeong looks away, but Eunbi feels like there is more she would like to know.

"I sometimes have trouble fin-finishing. Especially without the videos. C-Can you maybe show me?"

Her daughter's desperate eyes make it impossible for Eunbi to say no.

"Of course, baby. Give me some room."

Minjeong scoots to the right side of the bed as Eunbi starts to rid herself off her jeans. The younger one can't help but stare in envy at her mother's body. Every part of her seems to be made for perfection. Minjeong can't find a single flaw on her mother's body.

When she slowly pulls down her black panties, Minjeong takes in the sight of her mothers vagina. A weird feeling overcomes her. Is that where I came from?

It weird to think about it, so she brushes the thought away, when Eunbi finally sits next to her. Both of them rest their heads against the wall behind her bed.

"You have to warm up yourself first. So don't go in immediately. Start by teasing yourself."

Minjeong watches her mother as she starts to play with herself. Her fingers circling around her snatch and around her clit as well. She let's her own hand wander down her body, until it disappears inside her panties. She tries to mimick her mother's movements.

"Try to find something that feels good for you. I usually do this."

Eunbi forms a V with her pointer finger and middle finger, using it to slide up and down along her clit. Minjeong follows her movements once more. A deep sigh escapes her mouth at the new found feeling.

"That's the part where you start to think about someone. Think about a guy you like. How the two of you would kiss."

The both of them start to enter their own worlds, lying side by side. Minjeong catches herself altering the shape of her mouth as she imagines herself kissing the hottest guy at school. Karina's boyfriend.

"Once you are ready for the next step, start to push your fingers inside of you. You should be wet enough by now."

Eunbi follows her own words, letting two of her fingers enter her snatch. A deep moan escapes her mouth as she thinks about the last time she had sex. Meanwhile, Minjeong winces as she tries to put two fingers inside of her as well.

"M-Mom. It's not really working."

"Are you not doing it right? Let me try."

Without thinking, Eunbi lets her own fingers slip out of her, before she reaches inside Minjeong's panties. Minjeong moves her hand away, feeling her mother's fingers resting on her lower lips.

"If you've never done this before, try one finger at first."

Eunbi sinks a finger into her daughter's pussy.

"Mommy."

Minjeong moans as she feels her mother's finger move inside of her. Her walls tighten as she feels it glide along them.

"You're really tight, baby. Guys like that."

"R-Really?"

The younger one can't help but smile.

"I'm gonna try two fingers now, okay?"

Minjeong nods, watching her mother's hand inside her panties. Another moan escapes her, when a second finger joins the first.

"Oh god."

Another breathless moan escapes Minjeong's mouth. Eunbi told her to imagine herself with a guy she likes, but she is unable to do so. Her whole body and mind are focused on the two fingers inside of her. Minjeong catches herself slowly grinding against her mom's hand, letting out small whimpers.

"That's a good girl."

Eunbi said that a thousand times before. But this time, she feels dirty saying it. She realizes what she is actually doing. She is fingering her own daughter. She watches how Minjeong's eyelids flutter with every stroke of her fingers. How her back slightly arches off the wall. Her thighs rubbing against each other.

"Mommy."

That word sounds so dirty to Eunbi's ears, when Minjeong releases it in another needy moan.

The sight of her daughter shaking and moaning around her fingers proves too much for Eunbi. Her left hand finds its way towards her own pussy. And eventually, she starts to finger herself and her daughter at the same time.

"M-Mommy. This is the-the best."

Minjeong can't help but mewl. Her eyes are still closed, her empty hands trying to hold onto something for stability. Her mind gets overwhelmed by the pleasure that radiates from her mother's fingers inside of her.

Eunbi starts to finger herself faster as she feels her daughter's walls hug her fingers more and more. She has never done something like this with anyone before. The warmth that starts to rush through her body is something different than usual. It awakens something more primal in Eunbi. Her vision becomes a little fuzzy on the edges as she keeps fingering her own daughter.

When she looks at her, she can see Minjeong squirm on her sheets, begging her mother for more. Eunbi licks her lips, feeling the younger girls juices on her fingers. She eventually submits to her urges.

Eunbi removes her fingers from Minjeong's cunt, earning a disappointed and needy moan. She edges herself even more, moving her fingers to her mouth. She tastes her daughter's pussy juices on her finger.

Minjeong's eyes widen, when she sees her mother licking her fingers clean, before she starts to reposition herself. She ends up between Minjeong's legs, pulling down her panties.

"Mommy..."

Even Minjeong herself doesn't know what's going on with her own body. She can't help but buck her hips towards her mother's slightly parted lips, eager to feel another person's mouth on her pussy.

"Please..."

Her needy plea makes Eunbi finally throw all caution out the window. Flattening her tongue, she uses a big swipe along the length of Minjeong's pussy, to lap up her juices. The slightly salty taste hits her taste buds.

Minjeong's hands find themselves in her hair as she holds on for dear life, feeling her mother's tongue exploring her most intimate part.

"Mommy."

She can't help but say that word over and over again.

Eunbi starts to eat out her daughter, succumbing to the pleasure of her fingers, which still move inside her own pussy. The thoughts that tell her how wrong this is are being pushed to the back of her head. Her lust takes over. She wants to show her daughter how this feels like.

Mother and daughter moan in tandem as one eats the other out. While Minjeong's moans echo through the her room, Eunbi's stimulate the younger ones pussy even more. Her humms make her squirm on her sheets.

"So good, mommy."

Minjeong loses herself in a world of unknown pleasure. She has never felt this before. She feels how the warmth, starting out from her pussy, starts to spread through her body. A tingling sensation with it. Almost like waves. They rush through her, elevating her from one plateau to the next. Each gives her another spike of ecstasy. Another idea of what heaven must feel like.

"M-Mommy, I-I..."

Minjeong loses the ability to speak as she also loses control over her body and mind.

Eunbi watches in awe as her daughter orgasms in front of her. Wave after wave rushes through her body from head to toe. Each one stronger than the the previous one. Minjeong's hips lift off the mattress in a failed attempt to contain the pleasure within her.

Minjeong becomes undone in front of her mother's eyes. Eunbi, unable to look away from her daughter's climaxing body, eventually reaches her own high. She buries her face in the mattress. Shame and embarrassment are mixed with raw pleasure and love. She never even thought about doing this with her own daughter.

"Mommy...."

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

Hi guys!

I tried to write something a little different than usual today. I got the idea for this from someone I text with on Wattpad. There will be more chapters for this, I hope you will look forward to them.

Stay healthy!

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #male reader #kpop gg #aespa #winter #aespa girls #aespa winter #aespa smut #winter smut #kim minjeong #kim minjeong smut #eunbi smut #eunbi #kwon eunbi

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fruitisthenewvegitable · 2 years ago

Text

*Dies immediately*

I read this about a week after it came out I think, but I haven’t reblogged it, and I think more people should know about the trust au.

It’s really good, and some parts *cough* chapter 7 *cough* can be a bit hard to read at times, at least for me, but it’s so unimaginably good!

I hope your hiatus is going well, and I’m exited to see what you make when you get back into the whirlwind that is writing stories :]

time enough for counting

heyyyyyyy sorry

cw: jimmy is still dead, mourning/funeral stuff, loneliness, brief mentions of blood/being killed

I haeve left the artefaktes in the hands of the living gods. Taeke holde of them bothe and defeate Exor.

Scott rubs his eyes, sits back in his chair. He's read through the Alinar's cramped cursive instructions in the back of the book over and over again.

Because they are instructions, strangely enough. As far as Scott can tell, Alinar wrote his entire plan to defeat Conal in the back of this book, as frustratingly vague as it is.

Written several times throughout is 'mine apologies fore any person who is nowe fighting an daemone, as I have been vayge in my writing. I feare that this booke myte fall into the hands of the enemie, and fore this purpose mine detailes are sparse'.

The details are kind of sparse, but not as badly as he'd expected. For one thing, Alinar details exactly what kind of mountain he'd locked Conal in, specifying that it isn't the exact location that matters, it needs to be a strong holding place connected to Aeor's power. And there's an entire spell written for making a crystal that should be able to trap Exor's Champion. Not that Scott is capable of that kind of magic, but he could give it to Gem and she could probably create it.

The actually frustrating part is the artifacts. Alinar won't describe them, or where they are, or how to use them. He just cites the same 'taeke holde of them bothe and defeate Exor' whenever he mentions them, and twice he writes that he left them with 'living gods', whatever that means.

Scott's pretty sure he has one of the two artifacts already. He'd found the golden antler crown in that cave, and he knows it dates at least back to Alinar, if not before. The scholars that have examined it have declared it to be of magical properties, and he knows that it has a strong connection to one of the only living gods that he knows of.

So he has the antlers. But there is zero description of what the other artifact might be, or where it might be, or who it was given to.

And Scott has no clue where to start.

It's his most important work to focus on, but his councils never give him time to work on it. He is, after all, running a war right now.

The forces of Mythland have joined up with those of the Lost Empire to launch a targeted attack on the Ocean Kingdom. fWhip's still biding his time, sending out spies (which frequently get caught by Lizzie) and little armies to test the waters at various borders. Scott's work so far has mostly been in setting patrols for his own borders, and sending soldiers out to aid the Ocean Kingdom—not desperately needed, but a good show of their alliance. But having all those forces concentrated on the Ocean Kingdom? Giving the other empires plenty of time to prepare their defenses?

Why Xornoth wants to take down Lizzie is entirely beyond Scott.

It's actually been a minute since he spoke with Lizzie face-to-face—two weeks, to be precise.

Fourteen days since that meeting.

Fourteen days since Jimmy's death was confirmed.

Nine days since Scott released an official mourning statement, mostly written by somebody else who had no real idea of what he and Jimmy shared.

And three days since Ilphas gently suggested working with Lizzie to plan a memorial service for Jimmy.

The court, far too late, has ruled that he and Jimmy remained betrothed despite their eschewing of the betrothal law, due to the state of emergency. So added to his mourning robes is a veil, simpler than those he and Jimmy wore during the betrothal period, plain black cloth with a matching hood.

Mourning vestments are generally worn for a year when the death was of someone close, such as a parent or spouse. Or, in this case, fiance.

Scott's stuck in a mockery of the betrothal he hadn't been able to finish for an entire year.

And now he needs to plan a funeral for his love.

Before he can chicken out, Scott grabs his communicator from his new satchel that hangs off his chair.

The satchel was a gift from the Codlands and had arrived the same day the Cod Empire fell. It's hand-stitched, from what he can tell, with a design in blue of a leaping stag and a cod forming a circle on the side, the main bag a demure brown. He finds himself, sometimes, running his thumb along the stitches of the cod in a self-soothing motion. Since he received it, the bag has barely left his side.

It's a humble gift, one certainly not fit for a king. But Scott sees in it the hard work of someone, or several someones, who only wished to show their appreciation and acceptance to the fiance of their beloved Codfather.

Scott carries it as if it holds the same amount of worth as his crown, and his advisors know better than to say anything about it.

Have you any time for a visit to make memorial plans?

He sets his communicator down, flips to a new page in the ancient book. He has an Old Elvish to Elvish dictionary, but it takes forever to even parse through a paragraph of the original story. And this is less the classic tale of the Two Stags and more a history of Aeor, and while that's very helpful and educational, it's stupidly difficult to understand.

His communicator buzzes before Scott can even begin reading.

Tomorrow.

Right then.

Scott should probably inform his council.

Scott stops in the church on his way out of town—strange, for him, but he's trying to show his dedication to Aeor—and just wanders through the hall of paintings there: depictions of Aeor, and Alinar, and other heroes and times.

He halts, meandering, before a large portrait of Alinar that's never seemed to draw him in in the past. He remembers being a child, here in the hall on his way to his religious studies, walking far slower than necessary just to gaze at all the art but passing over this one with little consideration.

In the painting, Alinar sits on his throne, the whole hall laid out before him. His chin is held high, his robes lavish and deep blue, his crown of antlers shining gold. The hilt of a sword sticks out behind the back of the throne, a brown streak of paint against the beams of light filtering in through the grand windows behind Alinar.

Alinar himself is missing his left arm—a common depiction of the king, one that Scott read a scholarly debate about several years ago. The generally accepted theory is that it represents the distance and early death of his closest friend, a desert nomad tribe leader known to the elves as Lisdes—one of very few non-elves that has been granted a presence in the most glorious of heavens for his heroic works. Other theories include that it is a representation of the civil war fought under his reign—when Conal, his own twin brother, rebelled, it was like losing his arm; or that it is a representation of Alinar's control in many parts of the world, with one hand overseeing the elven colonies of the east (long gone) while the other rules from home.

There are many theories, but none have been found true, especially since the depiction isn't universal. Somewhere around fifty percent of the artists that have created a likeness of him do so without the arm, but the others include it. For all anyone knows, one artist forgot the arm and everyone else decided it was so meaningful that they needed to copy it.

The last one is unlikely. There's a folk tale of Alinar and Lisdes journeying together to a mountain of fire to retrieve his lost arm, so it probably had its beginnings in something other than a painting. Whatever it was, the truth has been lost to time.

In this painting, there is no one near Alinar. There are groups of people milling around in the hall below his gaze, but none of them interact with him, or even look to him.

Scott's always thought, looking at this, that Alinar was rather haughty.

Now, he sees him as lonely.

This portrait was painted only a couple of hundred years after his death, titled simply 'A King'. No embellishments of the ancient hero, none but those painted: the crescent moon halo hanging above his head, the jewels hanging from his robes, the carefully-detailed chain earring looping down around his long ear.

He's a king.

Nothing more, nothing less.

An elf with the role of leadership.

Adorned in gold and rich cloth, secluded above the other elves, looking down almost mournfully upon his people.

It's funny, Scott thinks, that he's never related to this painting. He'd always preferred the one two paintings down, of Alinar plunging a golden sword into a one-eyed monster, a pillar of light shining down on him from a moon above him.

That one seems to hold less wonder than it always did.

In that one, he can't help but see the pain in Alinar's determined eyes.

How much did he lose in his journey to become a hero?

His brother. Citizens of his kingdom. His best friend.

More, maybe, that was never written.

Never remembered.

Will Scott's losses be remembered?

Will Jimmy be more than a quick mark in the history books?

In the 109th year of his life, King Smajor was briefly engaged to the ruler of the Codlands. The ruler was killed in battle.

To an outsider's point of view, that is the maximum relevance that Jimmy has had on Scott's life.

Jimmy isn't some hero, as Lisdes was. He's just . . . just Jimmy. And his time here was short.

Far too short.

Maybe even insignificant. He established—what, ten years of peace in a country destroyed by war for hundreds of years prior? Only for it to be conquered again?

Who is going to remember the only person Scott truly loved?

Now, for the first time in a very long time, Scott sees just how far ahead the road stretches.

If they defeat Xornoth, he will have to survive hundreds of years without Jimmy. He will have to watch his beloved fade from the memory of mortals, as the world changes and he is alone.

Alinar is always alone in the paintings.

And then, after he dies, there will be nobody to anchor any part of Jimmy to this world.

No one lives forever, but even Jimmy's death will not last.

Scott turns away from the hall of paintings, adjusting the veil covering his face. He needs to plan a memorial worth a place in history.

He leaves Rivendell and sets out for the Ocean Kingdom, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

He can't help but think, in future paintings, he will always be portrayed alone.

Scott's shown to a meeting room when he arrives (after he's led to a set of rooms to change from his travel wear and throw some water on his face), and as he waits, examining the carvings on the table, he's reminded of another Ocean Kingdom meeting room, from months and worlds ago, when he had waited half-asleep to request an alliance.

He thinks, maybe, that he was in love with Jimmy, even back then. Back when he knew practically nothing about the man, some part of his soul deep within knew that they belonged together.

Which is a stupid and cheesy thought, as true as it may be. After all, he'd been so worried about Jimmy that he hadn't gotten much sleep in days. What kind of person does that without having feelings attached?

There were so many things to love about Jimmy, too. His sense of humor, the dimple in his cheek, his strong hugs, the kindness in his every action, his perpetually tangled hair, his loud laugh, the soft smiles he reserved for Scott, the feel of his lips. . . .

And he's gone.

And Scott knows that.

And now he has to live with it.

"Hey."

Scott looks up; Lizzie stands in the doorway, dressed in a simple grey dress that hangs off the shoulders. She gives him a small smile but makes no move to join him at the table.

Scott, of course, stands. He inclines his head in a bit of a bow, straightens his crown where it's set carefully over his hood.

"It's good to see you," he says, after what's probably been too long of a time. He waits for Lizzie to step within, but she still lingers.

"I wish they had been under happier circumstances," Lizzie says. "Apologies if I have to be pulled away, my armies are active at the moment."

"All going well?"

"Very," she replies. "As it turns out, it's a little difficult to attack an underwater empire when you can't breathe underwater."

Scott chuckles politely. That makes sense.

They stand in silence for a few more moments before Lizzie sighs.

"Look, Scott," she says. "I don't really want to sit here and talk about my little brother's death. Can we walk?"

Scott hurries to obey, shoving his chair in and tripping over his own robe. Lizzie waits patiently by the door, begins walking as soon as he gets out of the room.

"Not to—not to bring the conversation down—" Scott says, lengthening his stride to keep up (for someone who's only five foot something, Lizzie moves fast), "but . . . isn't that what this meeting is about?"

"Hm?"

"You just said that you don't wish to talk about—about Jimmy," he says, willing his voice not to crack. "But—"

"Joel actually offered to take care of it," Lizzie says. She halts, turns to look out the large windows of the passageway they've been walking down.

Scott stops beside her. They're in an underwater portion of the palace, and out the window is the sea.

A school of fish swim by, right beside the window, beyond them the clear blues of a sun-filtered ocean. Scott watches the waves on the surface (they're only just below) lap back and forth, adding a gentle sway to the floating bits of seaweed and the little bubbles.

"Mezeleans do a three day mourning period," Lizzie says after a moment. "Joel felt bad. He wanted to do more. So he asked if he could plan the service, since he doesn't have a forty day mourning period like us."

Scott blinks. "Sorry, forty days?"

"Yes," says Lizzie. She turns to Scott. "Is yours different?"

Forty days doesn't feel near long enough. That means Lizzie has only—what, three more weeks of mourning? And then she has to go on with her life, as if Jimmy never existed?

"For a betrothed, the elven tradition is one year," Scott tells her, watching her face for a reaction.

Her eyebrows raise, her eyes flick over to his veil before turning back to the sea.

"The court made its decision, then."

Scott nods.

They stand there, silent, staring out the window.

"I can't even imagine a year," Lizzie says at the same time as Scott says, "Only forty days?"

Scott mutters an apology. Lizzie shrugs.

"It gives us enough time to remember the dead, then go on to celebrate their life," she says. "Not long enough that we dwell, but long enough that we honor them. The grief is too heavy to carry it for so long. How can you even survive a year of it?"

"We lead a long life," says Scott. "Most elves live to be a thousand years old. A year isn't so long a time in the grand turning of our lives—can we not give it up for our loved ones?"

That's what he's been taught, at least. Standing here at the beginning of it, a year feels like an awfully long period of time.

He can see the appeal of forty days, even if he can't even imagine it. And worse, Joel—three days. As much time as he spent sequestered in Gem's secret library. That was the entire length of Joel's mourning period.

And suddenly, Scott remembers something that he's been carrying around for the past two weeks.

"I have something for you," he says, reaching for his shoulder bag. Right, he'd left it in the set of rooms that he'd freshened up in— "I found it at Crystal Cliffs—"

"I have something for you, too," Lizzie interrupts. "I thought it looked kind of elvish, but I wasn't sure—"

"Can we stop by my rooms, and I can get it?"

Lizzie nods. "Yours is in the Grotto, we can go on the way—"

And with that, she's off at almost a run, back down the way they came.

Scott follows, robes billowing around him, each step a hard slap against the prismarine floor, as compared to Lizzie's almost silent feet. She stops at the set of guest rooms that Scott had been led to earlier, and he grabs his satchel off the hook just inside the door before she takes off again, to the end of the hall, and down down down a long spiral staircase.

Scott follows, legs beginning to burn. In Rivendell, he usually just glides down cliffs or long staircases. He isn't used to the tight spirals here, no room to spread his wings to their full length.

They go down at least five levels. Scott doesn't really like being underground—even Gem's hidden library had been a little too close for comfort—but he swallows back his discomfort and follows, as Lizzie leads him through a dimly lit hallway and then into a dark, smooth tunnel, walls a beautiful deep blue.

The tunnel's made of glass, he realizes about halfway down, after trying to figure out what material could have been used to create such a mesmerizing blue-ish darkness. It's glass, and through the other side is the depths of the ocean.

As impressive as it is, Scott's not sure he likes that. Water all around him, ready to flood in if the glass breaks under all the pressure? Doesn't really sound like his idea of fun. He can't exactly swim all that well—his feathers get waterlogged instantly and he tends to sink fairly quickly. He found that out when he was around sixty-five or seventy, and Xornoth tried to drown him. Good times.

But he follows Lizzie through the tunnel, trusting that she wouldn't take him down any path likely to break. And trusting a bit more, perhaps, in her ability to save him if he does end up drowning.

Then Scott steps into the room at the end of the tunnel, and feels his eyebrows practically hit his hairline.

This is beautiful.

A cave, small but open, lit by lanterns hanging from the craggly ceiling, lined with shelves and stools chiseled out of stone. The cave sparkles, as if the rock that forms it is actually crystal, or rather, that little specks of gold are woven in so well with the stone that the sparkle has become indiscernible from the rock.

The shelves carved into the rock hold all manners of preciosities, from ancient crowns to sparkling jewels to seemingly ordinary items that glow with a magical sheen. Fishnets hang from the cave wall, and from those fishnets hang exceedingly fine pieces of armor and clothing, some so bright they seem to be a patch of starlight, others made of materials that look like they oughtn't be clothes (is that a dress made of driftwood?). Scott sees a tiara made entirely out of sapphires wired together, a pair of gloves sewn of what appears to be a spider's string, a bundle of bejeweled fish hooks, and a clearly enchanted scepter made of glass all on the first shelf, but Lizzie bypasses all of these things without even a second glance and leads the way to the left side of the cave, where she draws back one of the nets.

She turns after a moment, raises an eyebrow to see Scott still standing in the entryway.

"Right, you've never been down here," she says after a moment of staring at each other. "Welcome to the Grotto, home of the Ocean Kingdom's treasures! Ignore them, though. This is for you, over here."

Scott's kind of afraid that he'll knock something over, considering the fragile items on the shelves and stone stools and the size of his wings. But he inches his way through anyhow, keeping an eye on his every side. His thumb runs along the stitches of the cod on his satchel as he steps sideways around a glowing red rock on a pedestal, each movement careful until he reaches Lizzie.

She's holding back the net on this part of the wall to reveal behind it a little alcove, which begs the question of other alcoves all through this room, hiding who knows what. Scott steps forward, peers within.

Inside this little stone alcove is a pair of soft, blue leather boots, tall and folded over on themselves, the laces a faded white. A script that he instantly recognizes as Old Elvish (a bit of a shock to find here, surrounded by so many unfamiliarities) is pressed into the leather, trailing around the foot and up the back of the boots.

They almost seem to glow.

Scott feels something heavy in his chest, as if his breath has weighed all the way down to his stomach.

They feel . . . powerful. Magical.

Gingerly, Scott picks them up (something ancient pulses out through his fingers as they wrap around the soft leather), turns them over to look at the soles. He's not sure what he expects to find—a label? A size?—but the sole is blank, just barely scuffed from wear.

They haven't been used much, then. Barely-worn.

These boots are the other artifact. Scott's sure of it.

He doesn't know how, or why, but he knows.

He's holding boots that Alinar himself wore. Alinar wore these to face off Exor's Champion.

Was Alinar afraid? Did he stand there, palms sweating, feet flexing in these very boots, just gathering the courage to attack?

Did he think he would survive? Did he doubt himself?

Thoughts that Scott's never had before just push into his mind. In the stories, Alinar is always calm in battle, assured in his power, wise in his rulings.

But now that Scott is almost literally in his shoes, he can't help but wonder if Alinar ever felt the doubts he's feeling. If Alinar felt the pain of his losses so profoundly that he wasn't sure he could go on. If Alinar was scared his plans wouldn't work and he would lose the war, lose everything. If Alinar ever was tired of the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

"They felt powerful," Lizzie says. Scott starts—he had forgotten she was there.

She's right. They are powerful, even if he doesn't understand how yet.

"I think," he says, putting his thoughts behind him, "that these are very important."

He doesn't say anything else about them. He doesn't say that he thinks they might end the war. He doesn't say that he thinks this is it, he thinks he has both the artifacts now and that means it's time to take down Xornoth.

Instead, he asks, still somewhat in awe, "Where did you find them?"

Lizzie shrugs. "Well, you know the Mezelean mourning period?" she says. "Three days of total isolation. We thought it was best, since I am the queen consort of Mezelea, that I participate in it as well. So those three days I spent down here, cataloguing the treasures. I don't know what many of them are, after all. I found those right there in the wall. When I tried to touch them, they . . . they burned me."

Scott looks at the boots in his hands, then back at Lizzie. "And you didn't warn me?" he says incredulously.

Lizzie seems unrepentant. "I figured you knew what you were doing."

"What I'm hearing is that you were going to let me get burned."

"That doesn't matter. So—what do they mean?"

They could mean everything.

Scott just shrugs, though, and shifts them to one arm so he can reach into his satchel with the other.

From his satchel, he pulls the ancient book he'd found, with the unfamiliar writings and the little bag hanging from the spine.

(Unnoticed, the smaller book that was tucked inside slips from between the pages of the book, falling deeper into Scott's shoulder bag.)

"Gem found a secret library," he explains, handing Lizzie the book. "We thought this looked kind of Oceanic. Can you read it?"

Lizzie takes it from his hands carefully, studies the cover.

She goes entirely still.

"What is it?" Scott prods.

She doesn't respond. She doesn't even seem to hear him, eyes scanning the cover of the book. Trance-like, she reaches for the little drawstring bag, squeezes it gently in her palm.

Before Scott can repeat his question, Lizzie turns to the stool beside her, sweeps off the glowing wooden staff resting there without a second thought. Scott hops back as the staff clatters against the stone ground, shooting sparks from both ends.

She lays the book on the stool, but doesn't flip it open. Instead, she picks up the pouch, hanging by the cord, and pulls it open. She peers inside, then tips the pouch over onto the stool.

"What is that?"

"I . . . have no idea," Lizzie says.

The 'that' in question is some kind of ball, a little wobbly like jelly, blue and flecked with gold and green. It's not quite round, parts of it sprouting with something like seaweed, little leaves poking out in a couple of different places.

It looks gross, if Scott's being honest with himself. He can just imagine the way it feels, squishy and weirdly sticky but not and—urgh, he never wants to touch it ever. It definitely is the kind of thing that would make all of his hairs stand on end and shivers run up his spine. He wants to gag just thinking about it.

"I wonder how long that's been in there," Lizzie whispers, sounding almost awestruck.

"Well, Gem's library hasn't been touched in hundreds of years, probably," Scott says. "So a while."

"Do you think it's crunchy?"

"Why would it be crunchy?"

"Parts of it look like seaglass." Lizzie, daringly, pokes the ball. It jiggles.

"Why would you touch it?" hisses Scott, just barely suppressing his gag reflex. "Great, now you probably have diseases."

"Say I were to take a bite out of it."

"Do not take a bite out of it."

"I'm not going to! But say I were. Would it be slimy, or chewy? Or crunchy."

"It doesn't matter, because you aren't going to eat it."

"Don't tell me what to do, Smajor."

"Oh, for Aeor's—" Scott cuts off the curse with a little sound—not a scream, or a screech, nothing undignified like that would ever leave his mouth—of fright as the staff on the floor shoots out sparks again, almost seeming to aim for him.

"Your god is mad at you for invoking his name to stop me from eating the thing," Lizzie says somberly. "He wants me to eat the thing."

Scott puts his hands in the air, still holding the boots. He shouldn't try to argue, it'll only make her more set in her ways. "Look, when you die after eating it—because that thing absolutely will kill you, look at it—tell Jimmy that I tried to stop you, and you made the choice yourself."

Lizzie lets out a snort of laughter, something that both relieves Scott (it was an okay joke to make, they're both starting to heal) and scares him (he just mentioned Jimmy and he isn't crying, he made a joke about his dead fiance, it should hurt more than it does).

"Of course. Any other messages to pass along before I experience this delightful new fruit?"

So, so many things. He oughtn't take this seriously, really—they're just kidding around, Lizzie isn't actually going to eat that thing.

"Just tell him I love him," he says, going for a light tone. It falls flat, sad, and Lizzie just looks awkwardly at her feet.

"If I could've changed anything, I would have," she says after a moment. "That warning message you sent? Hours after I got it, we received word from the Cod Empire that the attack had begun. I can't help but feel . . . maybe I should've gone to check on him. Called him to the Ocean for some reason. But . . . . maybe that wouldn't have really made anything better, would it?"

Scott opens his mouth to protest—Jimmy being alive would make things quite a bit better, in his opinion—but Lizzie continues.

"You haven't been there, Scott," she says mournfully. "The Codlands. It's . . . it's bad. And whether Jimmy was there or not, they would've been conquered. At least, with Jimmy's death, they feel like they have a purpose to keep fighting. Keep going. They think if they annoy Sausage badly enough, he'll just give up on them. If Jimmy was here right now, I don't think they'd have the motivation. So if anything good comes of Jimmy's death . . . I hope it's that."

Possibly the most bleak and depressing thing Scott's ever heard Lizzie say, and it absolutely makes him want to cry.

He's not going to cry, though. Despite the fact that Lizzie said the words Jimmy's death twice just then, and said that maybe good would come of it, Scott isn't going to cry.

Instead, he hefts the boots in his arms, and Lizzie, still looking away, picks up the book again and loops the cord hanging from the spine around her fingers.

"You have the boots," she says, voice a bit thick. "I have the book. Sounds like a deal. Want to shake on it?"

Scott does his best to smile. "Of course," he says, shifting the boots more to his left arm and extending his right.

Lizzie's hand meets his, cool and soft, his thumb brushing against a scale on her knuckle.

Maybe it's his imagination, but as his hand grips hers, something sparks up his arm.

Something electric courses up through his veins, up his arm and through his shoulder into his throat and down to his toes, and Scott doesn't move, frozen by the feeling, but Lizzie's hand jerks a little and he looks up to see her wide-eyed, a frown creasing her brow.

They stand there, hand in hand, unmoving.

All is silent.

"That felt important," Lizzie says in a hushed tone.

"That was some sort of deal with destiny," Scott agrees, looking down at the boots in his grasp, the book in Lizzie's.

These are both something very, very crucial.

And now to get to work.

He isn't able to get straight to work, though, only managing to find two books on artifacts and their qualities before he receives a summons to Jimmy's memorial service.

It's held at the Overgrown, and Scott arrives in his best mourning vestments, the Cod-made bag on his shoulder. Ilphas accompanies him, along with three guards.

Lizzie is seated beside him, at the front, hair braided behind her and dress long and layered, gently melding from light grey at the top to black at the hem. Joel sits behind the pulpit, anxiously shuffling papers for the eulogy, dressed normally but for the black sash across his purple coat. Katherine is across the aisle, her normal lavender dress replaced by a blue floral-patterned one, flowers weaved into her hair.

Shelby takes her seat behind Scott, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, dressed in a brown three-piece suit. Gem sits beside her, squeezing Scott's shoulder briefly, wearing her normal but in black.

Pearl finds a place behind Katherine, wearing a sunny yellow shirt under a grey dress, her sunflower crown sparkling on her head. The place beside her, reserved for Pix, remains empty.

The next three rows seat their various guards and advisors, one row left open for the three leaders that had to be invited, but know better than to show up. Scott won't hesitate to kill a man at his fiance's funeral, and he imagines that there would be a bit of a line behind him to pummel the dead bodies.

And behind them, the chapel is full of various minor royals that had been able to make the trip. Scott recognizes several elves, a Mezelean duke, and a representative from the Grimlands who seems very uncomfortable beside the fae that he's seated between.

There are also, to his surprise, near the back of the seats, a handful of Cod people, their finest clothes shabby and their heads bowed.

Scott turns back around in his seat when he catches Ilphas glaring at him. It isn't proper to be peering over his shoulder at all those who file in. He's a king, his job is to look kingly.

So he stares, blankly (hoping he looks at least somewhat enigmatic), at the pulpit.

And the service . . . the service is nice. Joel gives a nice eulogy, and Katherine says a couple of words, and about halfway through the service, the group of Cod refugees perform a traditional Cod song of farewell, which absolutely brings tears to Scott's eyes.

But it doesn't really feel like Jimmy. Jimmy was awkward, and hotheaded, and loud, and funny, and full of so much love. And even though Joel calls him an idiot three separate times during the eulogy, Scott just feels like the whole ceremony is too stiff and polite for it to be right.

And then Lizzie stands up, and makes her way to the pulpit for her closing remarks.

She gazes out among the people, chin held high and eyes solemn. When she speaks, her voice carries all the way to the back of the airy chapel.

"I knew the Codfather better than anyone," she starts, regal and measured. "I knew his character, his dreams, all his likes and his dislikes—or, most of them. Some of them I had no interest in knowing, but I'm sure Lord Smajor can tell you all about them."

A light chuckle ripples through the crowd. Scott feels his cheeks go just a tad bit paler. Lizzie catches his eye to give him a bit of a smile before turning back out to the congregation.

"I knew Jimmy," she continues. "And I know that my brother would never run from a fight. He was brave, and stubborn, and maybe a little stupid—which I can say, because he was my little brother. It was that bravery, that stubbornness—that loyalty that he had, that kept him from backing down. Even at his last moment."

She pauses, eyes on the back of the crowd. "Jimmy fought until the very end," she says, the words strong. "Even as the sword of a Mythland soldier drove past his armor, he fought. Even as his lifeblood spilled from him, he fought. Even as he fell to his knees, he fought."

Her voice is shaking suddenly, not with grief, not with anxiety, but with anger—hot, radiating anger. And Scott's face is wet, the veil sticking to his cheeks, a lump in his throat that he keeps trying to swallow away; he'd made it this far without crying but he hadn't heard those details and he can't control the tears.

Where did Lizzie get details about Jimmy's death?

"My brother fought for your freedom, and died for your freedom," declares Lizzie fiercely, tears sparkling in her eyes. "I would therefore urge you to defend your people, your country, and fight back against the evil of this demon! Don't let Jimmy's death be in vain. His people are currently in the captivity of Mythland, subjected to poverty and brutality, and if there is anything that we can do to keep the memory of the Codfather alive it is fight. Fight for their freedom, for your freedom, and for the eternal freedom of all who have already lost their lives in this war. Fight for Jimmy."

And on that dramatic note, she steps away and sits down. Scott can feel (not quite hear, more the sight of her shoulders shaking in his peripheral) her breathing heavily beside him, somehow managing to sound angry without even making a noise.

Silence.

Not a member of the crowd so much as coughs.

After a long moment, Joel stands again, steps up to the podium.

Scott expects him to be anxious, awkward. He can't well look around behind him, but he can imagine that quite a few of both Katherine's and Pearl's people would be unhappy with that speech, as both empires have currently declared neutrality in the conflict. He expects Joel to make some sort of vague statement about how everyone is doing their part, and maybe remark on how bold Lizzie's words had been with a nervous little laugh.

Joel doesn't do that, though. Joel levels his steely gaze at the crowd and says, words precise and cut-off, "Thank you for your words, your majesty. I'm sure that we will all find them enlightening and instructive."

Joel's mad, then. Scott's seen Joel's performance anger, his blustering and shouting and shaking of his head. He's never seen this frigidity, so perfectly the opposite of Lizzie just moments ago.

He's a little bit glad he turned down Joel's invitation to speak. He doesn't know how he would have competed with the two of them.

"Thank you to all who attended, especially those refugees from the Codlands. Our hearts and swords are with you in this time of loss."

Joel takes another moment just to look out over everyone, face stony, eyes cold. He nods sharply.

"Have a good evening."

Nobody moves. Scott resists the very strong urge to glance around.

Then Joel steps away, and Katherine stands up, and there's the great bustle of everyone else standing and whispering and gathering their things.

Scott doesn't get up. Instead, knowing that he's being watched, he turns toward Lizzie and shakes her hand with a small nod.

"How do you know what you said?" he mutters to her.

Lizzie smiles in return, brushing a pink strand of hair that's pulled loose from her braid behind her ear. "Everarda, a Cod refugee in the Ocean Kingdom," she says in a similar tone. "She witnessed it. She only managed to escape last week."

Of course people witnessed Jimmy's death. He doesn't know why he subconsciously assumed that no one had.

Scott can't even imagine watching his fiance die like that. He can't even imagine Jimmy on his knees, pain in every line of his face, soaked in blood, yet still swinging his sword at anyone who comes near, desperate to defend his people even until he eventually collapses.

He can't imagine the hoarse cries tearing from his throat as he's stabbed, the shuddering of his shoulders as he strains to lift his sword, the clanking of his armor as he falls to his knees, the tears in his eyes as he watches his people fall around him.

And Scott definitely can't imagine that maybe, in those last moments, he'd turned his eyes upward and begged for Scott, searching the skies for his first and final hope.

"Scott," Lizzie murmurs, a note of warning in her voice.

Scott blinks, and a tear falls from his lashes. Not good. He's meant to be stoic and unfeeling and respectable, and this is the second time he's cried in public in the past hour. In the past ten minutes, even.

People are watching. Ilphas is probably going to kill him. Kings aren't supposed to cry, they aren't supposed to actually have feelings.

Hopefully it isn't too noticeable. He has his veil, after all, but his eyes do get uncommonly red when he cries. Anyone could easily see the way his eyes scrunch as he wills himself not to cry, the tears, the splotchy redness, the way his shoulders tremble just the slightest bit.

"Have you heard from Pix lately?" Lizzie says suddenly, staring past Scott to Pix's empty seat. "He was one of Jimmy's closest friends. He should have been here."

Scott doesn't know. He hasn't seen Pix since the End.

He doesn't think about it for long.

He sits there, and thinks about nothing, particularly not Jimmy, until it's time for him to leave.

And when he gets home, he dives right back into his books.

Two days later finds him alone, in his study, head achy from crying, angry at the fruitless searches and his own inaction.

And Scott's done waiting. He's done researching, done preparing. Lizzie's speech hit a chord near his heart.

If the fight won't come to him, he'll bring the fight to Xornoth.

Scott reaches into his satchel, hanging from his chair, and grabs the boots.

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vantetaes · 7 months ago

Text

CHRISTMAS WISHING🫧🥂

OLD FLINGS! EREN X BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!! yn is back home for christmas and runs into an old fling.

WARNINGS!! family drama, cursing, pet names (ie; mama, ma, baby, princess), marijuana usage, alcohol mentions, hetero

you were never the biggest fan of coming back home on all of your mandated college breaks. from the packing, to moving all your boxes through the middle of winter, and even being in a car too long with your parents. you’d much rather stay in your off-campus apartment, drinking spiked hot chocolate with a joint tucked perfectly between your fingers. enjoying the feeling of the cool circulating air through your partially opened window, while the rest of your body is engulfed in a warm fleece throw blanket.

this year?

you’re sat at the dinner table, your family’s dinner table, picking at the mush of corn your grandmother helped make. small conversations filled the space, canceling out any private thoughts from the buzz. your mom and grandparents chatting about this past sundays church service and how mrs. mary anne was caught taking from the donations box in the office. apparently everyone already figured it was her and her husband mr. puckett. why were they still allowed?

your sister and brother were bickering, picking food off each others plate while the other whined. both in their twenties. and your dad held your youngest sibling, feeding the child small portions of mashed potato. your uncle mike sat on the far end with his wife, sarah, already drunk.

“♡︎, what’s on your mind over there, sweetheart?” your dad pipes up a little, wiping off the toddlers hands and face with his napkin.

“nothing, just miss school i guess.” your grandfather lets out a hardy chest laugh, some bits of food flying from his mouth. mike and sarah follow suit and release a string of cackles that would send chills up any normal person spine. nose scrunching up a little in disgust, you quirk your head to the side.

“what’s? funn-“ you begin to ask, placing your utensil down. your grandmother reaches over the food to place her hand on top of yours.

“well, now that you’re back for awhile, we can start doing church together! oh and you can help with the babies during bible study! im sure you wouldn’t mind, would you?” her eager eyes lit up as if she’d already planned your entire month stay. you gently replace your hand to be on top hers, giving her a small confused smile.

“i know ill be here for a month grandma, but i have plans already. did mom not say anything?” taking a look at the other woman who had her face buried in her wine glass. the older lady frowns a little before taking her hand back across the mahogany table. your dad pursed his lips, bouncing the baby on his leg.

“well. if you’re going to spend this entire trip hungover and high you should’ve stayed where you were at, honey.” your grandfather takes his wife’s shoulder before whispering something very quiet while you stare at the two. shock and confusion laced everyone face except the end of the table.

“im sorry. im just gonna clean this up.” she starts before your uncle cuts her off.

“no. you’re right, why are we just acting like this shit cool? she don’t come down here to see nobody for three years and now her ass too good to come to church with us?”

“mike that’s enough!” your mom stands from her seat, your dad cautiously puts his hand on the small of her back to prevent any tumbles. you bite down on your bottom lip, giving one last dry laugh before sliding yourself from under the table. without saying anything, you grab your purse and car keys, heading for the door.

the commotion behind you was a mix of your mom and her brother arguing, your dad and sarah trying to calm their crying baby, your grandparents praying, and utter confusion from your siblings. questioning why everyone was being rude to you.

you slip out the front door without much notice.

outside, snowflakes swirled like powdered sugar. you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the desire to breathe and escape.

the harsh winter air whips at your skin, drying out your lipgloss immediately and coursing chills through your thin cardigan.

“fuck this shit.” quickly sprinting through the walkway, avoiding the small surfaces of ice forming, you hop inside your white bmw with a baby pink interior. the low led lights illuminate the ground and twinkling stars bedazzled the roof.

the car that you bought yourself.

the engine starts and the heat comes rushing out. coating your skin in warmth. reversing out of the driveway, the tension of the house already being released.

driving through your old hometown felt strange—nostalgic but distant, like a song you used to love but hadn’t heard in years. the houses were decorated with twinkling lights, and the streets were quiet except for the occasional passing car.

the weather turned worse as you drove. the wind picked up, blowing snow into drifts across your windshield and the road. you gripped the wheel tighter, heart racing when the car skidded slightly on a patch of ice. the anxiety in your hands causing extreme sweat. you decided to pull over and figure out your next move.

you parked near a café in town, a place you used to frequent as a teenager. turning your car off and grabbing a jacket from the backseat. you were honestly shocked that it was still open, surprisingly. with this towns track record, apparently nothing sells besides alcohol and football, evident by the countless sports bars.

the warm glow of its lights inviting you in. you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and stepped inside, shaking off the chill and fallen snow.

the bell above the door jingled slightly, and you were greeted by the scent of coffee and cinnamon. you barely had time to glance at the drinks and food items when your eyes landed on someone familiar sitting at the counter.

eren yaeger.

breath caught in your throat. he was leaning over a cup of fresh coffee, eyes focused on his phone screen, his dark hair falling into his face from the messy bun. he looked up when he heard the bell, and his green eyes locked onto yours.

“♡︎?” his voice was soft, almost disbelieving.

“eren,” you managed, pulse quickening. you hadn’t seen him in years, but he looked just like you remembered—maybe even better?

his soft pink lips, now red from the hot coffee. the acne that once dominated his cheeks, now gone. it looked like he did lash treatments too. he definitely looked better.

he stood and gestured toward the seat next to him.

“what are you doing out in this weather?” he asks a little concerned, wiping the wet spots off your shoulder, quickly retreating his hand.

“im sorry i didn’t mean to touch-“

“no no it’s fine.” you look over at the man, smiling.

“family dinner got… intense,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, leg starting to jump a little .

“what ‘bout you?”

“visiting my mom. thought i’d escape for a bit myself. whole fucking family’s a headache actually.” he takes another swig of his piping hot drink.

the two of you fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old times. you felt your shoulders relax for the first time that evening.

“i always wondered what you were up to,” he said after a pause, his voice softer now, after just laughing until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and the other two people in the space gave dirty looks.

“you just kind of… disappeared after high school.”

“life happened. went to school, got a job, haven’t really been able to call anyone honestly.” you replied, smiling faintly.

“yknow, i always wondered about you too.”

the conversation took on a deeper tone as the minutes ticked by. the snowstorm outside raged on, but either of you barely noticed. you couldn’t believe how easy it felt to talk to him, how natural it was to slip back into something that felt… familiar.

by the time the café’s owner announced they were closing early due to the weather, eren glanced out at the storm and turned back to you.

“doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon,” he said, lips pursed. “do you feel like taking a little detour? there’s a place i always used to go when i needed to clear my head. i think you’d like it. was gonna go after here anyways.”

you hesitated for a moment, eyes searching his face. there was something in his expression—an earnestness, a quiet hope—that made you nod.

“sure. why not?”

the two of you left the café together, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you made your way to his car. the drive was slow and careful, the storm painting the world in shades of white and gray. the only color coming from the flashing build boards about megachurches and the stop lights. you chatted as he navigated the back roads carefully.

“remember when connie’s ass got so fucking high and crashed his car in this ditch?” he points out a spot on the side of the road that now had a pole with reflective material wrapped around. you laugh, nodding and refocusing on the swirling snow swiping at the windshield.

“yeah, i swear to god everybody was a fucking mess in high school. couldn’t keep up.” you laugh.

“okay number 8.” he laughs, making a slight turn, going closer to the top of the mountain. you wore the same number every sport, every year.

“woooow! how the fuck did you remember that?” he shrugs his shoulders, finger pressed against his lips.

eventually, you pulled up to a small hill overlooking the town. eren parked, reaching for something in his glove box. you politely move your knees as he pulls out two preroll containers and a diamond encrusted lighter. he hands you one of the packed cones, before opening his door. he quickly makes his way around to your car door,opening it slowly. you step out, immediately shivering, the snow falling gently around you now. the view was breathtaking—the town below was lit up with christmas lights, and the storm was starting to let up, everything sparkling under the soft glow.

“this is beautiful.” you whispered, breath visible in the cold air.

“i used to come here all the time,” eren said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “it always felt like… everything made sense up here.”

��honestly im just jealous i didnt know about it first.”

you stood in silence for a moment, the quiet wrapping around like a blanket. then eren turned to you, a faint smile on his face.

“come here.” he places his joint in between his lips. you trudge through the slick matter, eyes never leaving erens. he uses his hand to block the wind from canoeing the joint. the flame illuminates his face in a warm light, the air gets caught in your throat as you watch the excessive smoke escape his mouth. without saying anything, he reaches around your hips, snaking his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“put it up.” without questioning, you put the joint in between your lips, the reapplied lipgloss helping hold it against your mouth. your eyes never leaving his deep green ones.

leaning forward, the tips of the two joints touch. yours igniting into a small flame while you puffed. he pulls away, removing his hand from you. saddened by the lack of touch, you bat your lashes up at him. he immediately takes notice how your eyes shimmered in the moons light, watching as the snowflakes make home on top of your freshly installed curls. he regains his mind and pulls you in again, this time tighter.

“you cold, mama?” nodding against him, you puff until your joint becomes to hot to hit. eren followed suit, taking both the numbs to stick them in the snow.

“they’re biodegradable.” he laughs once he notices you staring at him confused. checking his watch, his lips tight-lines.

“it’s almost midnight.” he says, eyes scanning yours to see the reaction you would give.

“i really don’t trust you to drive on these roads. no offense but i heard you moved to florida and ion think i trust you to drive back home.”

your eyes widen a little before scoffing jokingly. slightly shoving his shoulder, you cross your arms.

“first of all, i didn’t move to fucking florida. and okay what do you suggest?”

“my place isn’t far from here. you could stay. plus, my mom misses you so this’ll make her night.”

which would explain why you were now in a pair of erens sweatpants while rolling fresh cookie dough in between the plams of your hands. erens mom giggled as she realized the scoop she got didn’t have any chocolate chips.

“ha! look at this!” she laughs, holding up the dough to show you. you laugh with the brown haired woman, helping her remix the bowl while eren sat at the island, smiling at the two of you. a beer sat in his hand.

she cracks another egg into the mix, eyes on you as you use your hand to stir.

“see, ren she’s the perfect sous chef! why can’t you be more like this.” his mom bickered, going to wash her hands. after mixing, you walk to the sink, washing all the residue off.

“hey! i do what i need to do!” he battles back, taking a swig from the bottle.

“yeah like eating all the chocolate before it makes it in.” you dry your hands off with a paper towel laughing at the two.

“sounds about right. i remember in elementary he used to pick the pepperoni off his pizza AND im the sauce.” his mom gasps, pointing at her son.

“that’s why you always came home in a different shirt?!” she jokingly picks up a spatula, aiming it at him.

“honey i told you that when he’d come home smelling like spaghetti every other day!” you could hear erens dad pipe up from the couch.

"so, honey where you been this whole time? i swore it felt like that boy right there talked about you every day!" you glance at erens who's completely red in the face now, death staring his mom.

"mom! stop no i didn't!" his face grew tomato red.

"oh yes you did! every phone call back home." she chuckles

"awe you missed me soooo much!" you mocked, joining in on laughing with both his parents.

eren stands from his bar stool, eyes never leaving yours.

frowning at first, you didn’t understand what he was doing until you were rushed and thrown over his shoulder.

“she was my company first!” he exclaimed, running away as you slapped him on the back, hair dangling above your head.

“eren! put me down!” he rushes you through the house, bolting straight for his room.

he kicked open his bedroom door, a space that still had traces of his teenage years—old posters, shelves filled with books and knick-knacks, and a bed that looked as inviting as it did out of place for someone you hadn’t seen in years.

he gently set you down on the bed, his grin widening as you tried to catch your breath, cheeks flushed and hair slightly disheveled.

“eren jaeger,” you say, trying to sound serious but failing miserably, “this how you welcome me back?”

“what? don’t act you don’t like it.” he replied, leaning against the doorframe, his expression softening. “i’ve waited forever to have you here.”

you froze, heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze lingered on you, sincere and warm.

for a moment, the weather outside and the chaos of the day felt a million in the past. all that mattered was the way he looked at you—like the past and present had collided in a way neither of you had expected.

“you’re unbelievable.” you finally said, voice quieter now, your smile softer.

eren shrugged, his grin turning lopsided.

“maybe. but you’re not running away this time, are you?” he came into the room fully, closing the door behind him with a swift lock of the door. coming towards you with long strides. his much taller frame shadowing your body.

“no,” you admitted, your pulse racing. “i don’t think i am.” he’s standing over you, eyes piercing yours.

and just like that, the distance between you seemed to disappear entirely.

his warm lips press against yours, soft yet you could feel the hunger laced in his touch.

he hummed into the kiss, softly pushing you backwards into the black duvet. lips still connected, he began to untie the sweats.

“can i take you?”

"shit ma. yeah that's right take this dick baby"

"fuck- ‘ren!”

you lost track of how long you've been beneath him. and how many times you came. he doesn't fail to bring you back to, by snaking his strong hand around your waist, pulling you further up on his length.

"keep your eyes on me baby." he huffs out a shaky breath drawing your attention back on him and those deep lustful dark green eyes.

which brings you back to another blissful orgasm.

"eren!" you yelp out in pleasure "cant no more, please, please " hearing and seeing your fucked out under him state brings him over the edge more. core burning as his hips glide in and out of your swollen pussy. slick running down your ass as he tosses your legs over his shoulder.

"you tryna tap out already ma?" he groaned before pulling out only to slam back in before you could even form a sentence. he mocked your o-shaped mouth, laughing a little before taking his bottom lip between his teeth. the tip of his cock gently kisses your cervix, slow needy strokes sending you over the edge.

"shit shit, ohh my god fuck"

"im not done with you though baby, we gotta lot of catching up to do. you and i both know that." he laughed pulling your body closer to him. your faces were now so close. lips so far yet so damn close from one another.

shit, you couldn't think straight mind too hazy from everything.

"one more princess. gimme one more. you can do it, i know you can." he moaned.

"please, i need it." breath getting shaky and sharp god how could you resist? your warm pussy was sucking him in and it felt so damn good. he grabbed onto your hips harshly before flipping you on top of him.

now you were upright sitting pretty on top of eren. your beautiful soft brown skin glistening perfect in the moonlight and his red led lights. puffy perked up tits all swollen from being sucked and bit, even your pussy was all puffed up and swollen from getting brutally fucked.

"go ahead baby. take it." was all he said. your fresh set sat on his chest, mouth slightly agape, eyes flowing with tears, tits bouncing in a smooth repeated rhythm. he couldn’t think. the aura his lights gave you and the moon peeking through his large windows, you were beautiful. you clawed at his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your own release.

"fuck, im so close, please don’t stop!" you moaned out lovingly. air full of breath as you felt the coil in your stomach turning.

"shit, me too baby. cum all over this dick baby, make a fucking mess." hearing him speak to you like that- you felt the warmth build until it became unbearable.

"fuck! fuck!" you both let out slutty moans in unison tension growing hotter by the second! your core finally gives out as you orgasm all over the man below you. judging by both your reactions, neither of you knew you were a squirter.

“oh, good fucking girl.” he fucked up into you, making sure you felt satisfied. he quickly lifts you off his member as thick white ropes cover both of you.

“let’s go take a shower.” he suggests, still under you, lips pressing to you exposed skin.

"i really missed you ren.." you muttered lowly before collapsing onto his hard chest while slowly drifting off.

“i missed you too princess.”

{not proofread}

#eren x reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #aot x black y/n #eren x fem!reader #eren x you #eren smut #eren jaeger #eren aot #erenville #eren jeager smut #attack on titan #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot #attack on titan x reader

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specific-dreamer · 4 months ago

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i’m still thinking

pony called his parents mom and dad, because he’s 14 and he’s not a baby anymore

soda says mommy and daddy nine out of ten times but when they’re out in public/near strangers it’s mom and daddy. also also when he’s real upset it’s ma (imperative that yk it’s pronounced muh) and dad

darry says mama and daddy his entire life unless he was out with socs (ie in highschool). then it’s mom and dad. he tried saying mom and dad regularly but it left a sour taste in his mouth so he tried not to mention them at all if he could, if he had to then it was “my parents”

#this is so unimportant #but i love useless headcanons like this #like yes ! pls tell me why xyz favors spoons over forks #it’s so fun and less thought provoking like for a second i thought i was losing interest in the outsiders #then i started thinking about this and it’s like whoops nevermind #the outsiders #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders musical #the outsiders headcanons

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avelera · 3 months ago

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(Arcane Meta) Jayce probably did NOT canonically need to fundraise for Hextech pre-time skip / before 1.04 "Progress Day"

I posted this originally on Twitter but I find the format there quite limiting so I thought I'd expand on my thoughts here. (For those unfamiliar with Jayce/Viktor-centric Arcane fic, a lot of fics have as a plot point that Jayce needs to be constantly out fundraising to make their Hextech dream a reality before the events of Arcane.)

Not to debunk some widely held fanon that my own fics have indulged in, but we actually have evidence that Jayce and Viktor did not have investors before 1.04 "Progress Day" (ie, during the time-skip) because Jayce was surprised by the notion when Mel brought it up.

Now, I’ve seen and WRITTEN plenty of fics where Jayce spends much of the time skip promoting Hextech to investors, so I know this fanon is very widespread, but actually Jayce seems surprised by the very notion when Mel brings up that she has found investors for Hextech. The idea is foreign to Jayce, implying Hextech to that point was a state-run effort, ie, Piltover-funded and they only ever needed to convince Heimerdinger/the Council.

(*Puts on my tech startup-founder hat*) What changes in 1.04 is that Mel is offering to bring in OUTSIDE interests who want to add their funds to Hextech’s development in exchange for a “piece of Hextech” that has until that point been 100% limited to government funding, ie Piltover, which makes sense. The Hexgates were a government effort and therefore only ever had one customer.

(Indeed, I actually don't think there are Hexgates anywhere but in Piltover, despite what some fics have posited. First of all, why woul you give that economic advantage to potential competitors? With there being only one Hexgate in Piltover, all trade is forced to divert there, bringing their goods and their money, if they wish to reach their target destination in record time. Piltover then gets a piece of every trade vessel that goes through there in Hexgate fees and profits enormously. You leave it up to the merchants to make their own, slow way back and only ever grant them one-way instantaneous travel away from Piltover as the sweetener to pass through and give you a percentage of that tasty, tasty trade.)

Anyway, back to to the topic. So actually Jayce probably WASN’T doing the dog-and-pony show, dressing up and performing for investors during the time skip as those fics (and my own) posit. We know this because the notion was new to him. Jayce was still the public face of Hextech, the Man of Progress, but from what we actually see, between Mel, the Kirammans, and Heimerdinger/the Council, he never needed to fundraise.

Indeed, we actually see Jayce fundraise for the first time, after he becomes a Councilor, with Mel as his coach, at the opera when he comes up with the idea of "Hextech partners" on the spot. In fact, Mel compliments him on the NEW idea of offering Hextech partnerships to outside investors in exchange for early access to their innovations. If Jayce had been fundraising before that, such a mechanism would already exist and he wouldn't need to invent it then and there.

Now, I still think there's plenty of reasons for fics to have Jayce fundraising during the time skip. Arcane S1 is a very efficient show and a lot of stuff happens post time-skip that probably would have actually happened during it, realistically speaking, but they want to show it on screen so it gets moved later, even if it logically makes less sense. After all, Jayce's half of the show timeline is very weird, since it technically runs parallel to Caitlyn's time in the undercity, but she only spends a couple days there while Jayce talks about being a Councilor "talking about talking for weeks now." So I think any fic would be justified in telescoping and moving around some of the logistical timeline in their story in a way that makes more sense in a longer-form story than the show had time for.

If anything, it would make more sense if Jayce's discussion with Mel about investors happened not long after Hextech was first launched and it's just moved later so it can be shown on screen after the time skip.

But, it is also worth noting, that it is also realistic that Jayce never had to think about investors, because the Hexgates have been government funded since the start as the sole invention of Hextech. So in a way, it does make sense that only now would he and Viktor need to start thinking about outside investors if, say, they wanted to pursue innovations that wouldn't be wholly supported and funded by the Council. Say, mining equipment for Zaunite workers?

Viktor was sure Heimerdinger would see the potential, but once again I think that just shows his naïveté and scientific tunnel-vision. Viktor has never shown a mind for the financial side of science, he's an academic through-and-through. Jayce was always handling the business side and indeed, only barely handling the actual practicalities, as we see Mel and the Kirammans were as far as we can tell actually doing the behind-the-scenes heavy lifting so his "business" handling was just smiling for the cameras, not negotiating with trade guilds, up until he became a Councilor.

What this really tells us, as a final thought to leave you with that makes my logistical brain go brrrr, is that the Hexgates were much less a traditional "tech startup", reliant on the goodwill of a whole board of investors that need to be shmoozed, and much more a governmental program akin to the US moon launch, or the Suez Canal.

Jayce and Viktor probably never needed to worry about funding, because they had the entire treasury of Piltover backing their effort, an investment that Piltover almost certainly made back many times over with what the Hexgates would represent for hyper-accelerating trade through the area.

But, such automatic, assured funding has strings attached, strings we saw when Heimerdinger's swift dismissal meant they couldn't simply embark on their own vision for Hextech once the Hexgates were complete. They only ever had a customer of one (Heimerdinger, aka, the government of Piltover) and clearly couldn't even conceive of a way around their one customer telling them to delay the product for more testing, again, because they'd never even considered outside funding before. They'd never had to worry about it, or think about it!

If anything, Mel was probably setting them up in a kinder universe to go independent in a less dramatic way if need be with that initial idea of investors, before events spiraled such considerations out of control and suddenly Jayce was a Councilor who didn't need Hextech partners anymore. He was now, as de facto head of the Council, his own #1 customer and could have, in theory had he not stepped down, double-dealed with himself as Hextech founder (ie, corruption) to green light any Hextech project he wanted, had he truly recognized the potential, and had unfolding events allowed.

#arcane #arcane meta #jayce talis #viktor arcane #hextech #mel medarda

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postsofbabel · 4 months ago

Text

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#posts of babel #neue posts of babel #screenreader unfriendly #eyestrain

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foundfamily-connoisseur · 7 months ago

Text

PUNCH OUT HCS CUZ I DONT GOT TIME TO DRAW THEM BUT THEY WONT LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

Something something the voices

This is so long I'm sorry

No I'm serious I started derailing I think

LITTLE MAC

Mexican-American! His ma is Mexican and immigrated to The Bronx, where she met Mac's dad (who we have nothing on lol, he dipped before Mac was born).

His ma? Oh yeah, she died :( He doesn't know how, just that he came home one day (latchkey kid) and saw the cops surrounding the apartment. Placed him in an orphanage but got into fights a lot and deemed him a 'problem child' (literally just an autistic kid grieving the loss of his mom)

As said, Lil Mac is autistic! For the most nonverbal and thus uses ASL, but also speaks English and Spanish from time to time(English from Doc, Spanish from his mother and childhood friends who helped him keep up). Spanish is his preferred language tho.

Narcolepsy haver. It usually doesn't interfere much with his actual boxing matches since he's learned to feel when they're coming and deal with them accordingly. Took him and Doc a while to figure out that he had it since they just chalked it up to his prior malnutrition(which also impacted his growth, capping him at a whole 4'9)

Affectionate(?): must be initiated by him. He's very much for hugging and holding hands but if someone else does it first he's like :/. Only people he's ok with is Doc Louis so far.

Trans: transman who figured himself out pretty early when he only played soccer with the boys out in the mud. His mom cut his hair super short as a 'punishment' for always getting dirt in his braids but jokes on her he loved it. Doc has been helping him with hormone blockers, and with the prize money saving up for surgery 🙏 you can do it maccie boy!!! No one else in the ring knows and he'd rather keep it that way thank you (both out of nerves but also why do they need to know 🤨 what are they the fbi???)

Fashion sense: if you try to get this boy in anything but a tank/shirt and shorts he will explode. This man rocks flip flops and sneakers for days and it's all that's in his wardrobe (maybe another hoodie or two). A lot of them are rather worn but he hates the idea of "wasting" money so he uses em till they're literally impossible to wear.

Very spiritual: believes in el Mal Ojo aka Evil Eye and such. (Mostly from his mother and the women on the block that took him in from time to time). If he thinks your vibes are off, he will do an egg cleanse and swears that they work (they do i can attest to that chat).

GLASS JOE

EDS HAVER!!!!! (Ie Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome). This man has glass bones and paper

he don't care he will fight till he's dead! That and boxing actually does rlly help him with his joint pains. He finds it kinda funny when ppl worry about him like "sorry guys i gotta lie down real quick i think my ribs went criss cross". He prefers to get around on wheel chair but can get by with crutches(to which he just lays on the bed forever afterward)

Cat dad!!!!: less him having an actual pet cat than him just tending to whatever feline that crosses his path. May or may not have some scratches on his hands don't worry about it.

Actually really good friends with Mac: (we're going to pretend that they aren't literally thousands of miles away shut up). One of the few to make an actual effort to learn ASL rather than pick it up slowly or have Doc translate. In turn, Mac has gone about learning bits and pieces of French, enough so that both can communicate in their respective language and the other can (mostly) understand them.

This man is such a critic like what do you mean the food lacked a certain "je ne sais quoi" or the movie "insisted upon itself". He really wants to be nice but if it has any touch of French, he is going to murder it because it isn't French enough or actually accurate.

Had an ex fiance to which they broke off for reasons he'd rather not elaborate.

VON KAISER

Tics: he has em. They worsen under stress, but occur randomly or if overstimulated

Served in the military before being discharged. He doesn't like talking about and his tics start acting up if the topic is brought up.

Widower: wife died fairly early into their marriage and he was absolutely distraught. They both always talked about having kids, and a part of him still wants that, but it won't be the same without his Engelchen.

Career: he had wanted to be an engineer, but after serving in the military couldn't bring himself to go into it. That, and being a boxing teacher let's him tend to kids, even if it means getting socked in the stomach. He always acts like a strict instructor, both from his own experience in the military and because he wants to keep the kids at arms length. Also his wife being a kindergarten teacher had nothing to do with it nooooo

Close friends with Hondo and Glass Joe. Bear Hugger is a friendly fella but his loud and boarish disposition gets him riled up. Gets along well with Little Mac and if Doc isn't present for whatever reason, he's good at helping Mac calm down if he starts getting overstimulated and vice versa.

He also totally doesn't have Lil Mac be a pseudo son to him and think about his kis could've been potentially his age who said that.

Emotional support animal: German shepherd called Hugo. That's his baby right there

Disco Kid

That man's a fruit your honor!!!! No but fr tho he's a queer man living his best life.

Also a drag queen! (Name pending). Doesn't really care for how others perceive him and goes with the flow really.

Definitely fought with his dad a lot when he was younger, but as he grew his father came around and now they have a pretty solid relationship.

He's a total mommas boy tho he will literally die for her. He also has a little sister who he plays dolls with. (And yes she asks him to say it in his girl voice iykyk)

Gets along with pretty much everyone besides Mr. Sandman really (Aran Ryan is an interesting case. You heard it from the grape vine but they have an on and off relationship).

An art major for sureeeee. Idk what kind but im sensing something

Really good with machinery though. Usually just so he can fix up his car and stereos.

KING HIPPO

He is for sure not human. I always draw him more beastly but he's probably closer to whales/hippos than actual people.

Like hippos, all that's fat is really just pure muscle. No cuz google up a hippo and remove their skin them bitches are SHREDDED!!!

Naturally very affectionate, although he prefers his pals in the minor circuit (and Lil Mac. Yes this is Little Mac supremacy everyone will be his friend).

Absolutely loves cocktails. They come with fruit how can he not. Funnily enough he despises apples though.

Has multiple wives: a primary wife and secondary wives. Has kids with most of them and naturally, the first born son will take his place when the time comes. (He does love all his kids and wives equally tho so don't worry about them).

Surpringly eloquent" while he can't exactly form human speech, his writing is impeccable, both in letter and in word choice. No one knows how he does it with those claws and big ass hands.

PISTON HONDA

This man has so much manga it's insane. This mf probably has a whole room dedicated to his collection. Yes most of them are Shojo and yes he has a lot of Sailor Moon merch and memorabilia. (although he does also enjoy other such Mangas like JJBA and Inuyasha. I'd say he's embarrassed about it but bro was reading Sailor Moon out in the open so id say he's at least fine with reading it publicly.

Has gotten some of the other boxers to read some of his recs and watch some animes with him (he will force you to watch Madoka Magica and Revolutionary Girl Utena. It's only a matter of time.) It's also how he got into other shows like Candy Candy (by Mac), The Golden Girls(by Disco Kid. He likes his oldies what can he say), and pretty much any and every telenovela ever created (Wow wonder who it could be).

Has a pet Shiba Inu that he loves to bits but DAMN does she test his patience sometimes. And he has a lot of it.

Also began learning ASL when he caught wind of Glass Joe doing it, although he practically forced Lil Mac to learn Japanese because damn it, sometimes the dub doesn't do the show justice!!!

Has two older sisters!!! He's the baby of the family lol and it don't matter if he can pick em both up they'll still pinch his cheeks and tease him.

BEAR HUGGER

Trans: a transgender man who's loud and proud. Never bothered with top surgery he ain't cutting off his girls!!! He could pick up the vibe™️ with Little Mac but he's not the type to try and force the conversation. He'll let Mac come to him on his own time, and if not then that's fine too.

Loads of animals: similar situation to Glass Joe, although now it applies to all animals. Bro is a Disney princess. He sticks his arms out and birds fly to perch on them. Can seemingly hold an actual conversation with animals and no one knows if he's losing it or if they are.

Family: an only child, but with loads of cousins who fill in that sibling role. He's actually really good with kids and takes care of his nieces and nephews from time to time. He has thought about being a dad from time to time (he'd really like to have a girl) but always decides against it.

Affectionate: to the highest degree. That man is always asking if ya need a hug and it ain't just a threat for a grapple/ear clap. He and King Hippo get along swimmingly as a result (if only they didn't die if they went to each other's respective home country 😔)

Prosthethic: ya cant tell cuz of his clothes, but he has a prosthetic leg! (Stops a bit below the knee). If he ever takes it off for whatever reason, he always goes "aw man, guess I'm on my last leg" and the crowd goes mild. Thinks it's the funniest shit ever tho and he won't stop making the joke (Little Mac made it worse by giving an actual chuckle. Mac you've doomed us all with your horrible sense in jokes. I blame Doc)

GREAT TIGER

Loves cats: absolutely adores them. This man has a cat onesie I can feel it in my bones. He hangs out with Glass Joe solely for the cat (also the baguettes).

Gossip: he has a horrible habit of gossiping that he's tried to curb but astaghfirullah sometimes he's gotta talk about Don's receding hairline😔 Mac isn't helping him pinche chismoso!!!

Doesn't like going to parties involving alcohol with the WVBA because almost always he's forced into designated driver. Usually he just teleports away because he's not dealing with that yall are calling an uber!!!!

Actively avoids searching up ingredients in things he eats (like gummies) because if he doesn't know it's not Haram.

Sneakerhead: very proud of his collection. Also really into rap music (we don't talk about his career...that never happened chat) and you will hear it blasting from his car.

Sister!!! Stealing this from a fic but he has a younger sister who works internationally. If she's there with him she serves as his translator.

Magic: not limited to clones or what's seen in the game, but it's his preferred type of magic. He can also transform things and people into other things/creatures. He accidentally made Mac into a rabbit and everyone had a field day with that one.

DON FLAMENCO

Chismoso: this man will shit talk anything and anyone. If you talked with him chances are you're part of a gossiping ring with the older ladies who work nearby. I think they're talking about how you're a puta but idk

Former womanizer: this man banged anything that had a beating heart and a pretty body. It wasn't until he met Carmen that he knew what love really was. Once they got together UGHHHH this man was a fucking loser for his Carmen. Took years to win her over but it was all worth it for his amor.

They talk about kids sometimes, but this mf childish that he sees it as having to share his beloved fiance. (They for sure have kids later down the line tho. Give them a minute damn!)

Beef: tbh he doesn't really get along with anyone; he just dislikes them all to varying degrees. He and Mac hate each other on the principle of one being Hispanic/Latino and the other being a Spaniard. Do NOT leave them alone for any reason. Last time they both argued about the spanish word for 'straw' and sent each other to the hospital where they argued some more.

Telenovelas are his life force. If you interrupt his showing of La Rose de Guadalupe, he will literally kill you.

Got Aran Ryan into it by accident: he was watching Teresa in the living room when Ryan was crossing to go to the kitchen for a bite. An hour later he's sat on the couch hand in heads. They both watch it together now.

Great cook: he makes a means paella and he knows it. Always makes it to show off 'Spain Superiority'. Little Mac hates his guts but he's not gonna turn down a free paella.

ARAN RYAN

People joke and say he has brain damage which is why he's so crazy, but he actually does have CTE so 💀

Family: aside from his general knack for recklessness, having a piece of shit mom and an even worse dad (who of course had to die in a freak accident at work) does not exactly leave you the most sound. He has loads of sisters and brothers, being the second oldest of the bunch (with one older sister of which the hate is mutual). It's a big factor to why he doesn't want kids; he's spent a big chunk of his life working to raise them.

Boxing: to him it was both an outlet for his eventually anger issues and a means to raise money in the same punch. It did lead to fucking him up physically, as after a particularly nasty bout with Mr. Sandman, an eye got knocked out of place so he's working with only 50%.

Very jittery: you can never catch this man staying still. Even in his sleep he either tosses or twitches a leg or arm. Trying to make him stay still just makes it worse.

Repressed Bi it's not even funny. His excuse for his on and off relationship with Disco Kid is "well he's basically a lady!" He'll come to terms with it eventually, but that's one hell of a long road.

Superstitious: biggest thing for him is luck. he breaks a lot of shit but mirrors are not one of them!

Low-key misogynistic: "my sister punches harder than ye, boy!" Like damn your sister must be knocking ppls jaws clean off the freak. If he ever finds out that Lil Mac is trans it's just gonna be him like "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT" cuz now he's gonna get canceled on Twitter dot com by Super Macho Man😔😔😔

SODA POPINSKI

Married!!! Has a tiny little wife that he loves to bits. She will scold him and he's just all :]]]] wife...I luv her sm... he's a total wifeman

They've been trying for a kid (bro you can't just say that...gross). Naturally this man wants a shit load of them god help that woman.

A major reason to why he's been making efforts to curb his drinking habits! Of course he still hits the bottle every so often, but he's for sure gotten better than his first time in the ring.

Cooking skills: surpringly decent believe it or not! Anything with meat he's killer with and he always makes ridiculously large portions. (Yes it's because he wants to make something nice for his lady let me make a wife guy!!!!)

Really likes Beyonce. Major fan actually he goes to so many of her shows.

Horrible with social cues. This man does not understand when he's being too overbearing (to the detriment of his friendship with many alas😔 especially Von Kaiser and Little Mac). Tries to apologize by offering them a soda like 🥺🥤

Speaking of Little Mac, he once tripped over him (6'7 vs 4'9...oh dear). Flash forward to them in the hospital. They both swear to never speak of this again (also Soda gets him authentic mexican cola so like...we're all good here).

BALD BULL

Anger issues galore: got his father's temperament(don't we all???) And in addition to being bullied a lot as a kid, he hasn't really found the best way to manage. Usually he just goes out to a secluded field or heads out to the sauna, but the press has done little favors to his mental sanity.

Cat magnet: not of his own volition. They are drawn to him like flies to honey. He doesn't really mind them and are a nice way to de-stress.

Music taste: while he usually listens to classical music and instrumentals, he loves himself some girlie pop music. You pull out his ear buds and just catch "Girls just wanna have funnnnn" Before he punches you into the sun

Cattle farm: Inherited from his family, he loves all his cows to bits. They are his pride and joy. He has Glass Joe come over sometimes for some cheese and wine.

Isn't particularly close to any of the boxers beyond Glass Joe and Soda Popinski. He spends some time with Lil Mac, usually just to go out and get some ice cream or something. He likes the kids company cuz he isn't as energetic or demanding in the same regard a lot of teens are.

SUPER MACHO MAN

He for sure has a purse dog named princess. It's a white pomeranian with a pink bow i just known it.

Was a child actor! His family got him into the world early, staring as the sweetheart of whatever show or movie he was in. In his later teens, he was the heart throb before he left the scene as an adult to focus on boxing. His parents were at first disappointed, but after seeing the money roll in? They had no problems after that.

Romance: as expected, nothing permanent. He usually just has loads of flings or one time hook ups that never amount to anything, and he doesn't bother looking for anything "real".

Probably has a kid out there somewhere but if he does, he's denying it till his dying breath.

Similarly to Don, he doesn't really get along with anyone. For him it's just a matter of his own superficial nature. He absolutely detests Mac, but is the only one to know ASL fluently due to a former childhood friend. He doesn't use it beyond wanting to be bitchy in secret.

I know he's super tan but I'm not allowing him to be white. He's a lil something...will figure that out later.

MR SANDMAN

Yeah ngl I don't got a lot for him. I don't think i have anything actually. Huh

He mains Kirby in smash.

He used to have a lisp when he was younger

Yknow how some parents will have kids super far apart? Yeah his parents did that what do you mean he was 22 and he got a new baby sister. What the freak.

He absolutely hates Macs guts but also can't take him seriously on account that he's 4'9. Whose child is this. Literally, when he first entered the ring, he asked whose kid was this and that children weren't allowed in the ring. Lo and behind this was the schmuck that knocked the lights out of 12 other fully grown men, and he was coming for your ass next.

BONUS

DOC LOUIS

Took Mac in when he was around 9, formally adopted him as soon as he could. Heard of a ruckus for a missing child some minutes away and when he came back with Little Mac, he thought he found his parents. Then he got the situation explained to him about how he didn't actually have anyone, everyone just agreed to look out for him. There he officially took him in as his son.

Put the kid back in school after learning he hasn't been in since his mom died. He's considerably behind for his age, but has taken great strides to catch up. He's now just a year behind.

Definitely a major learning curve when it came to raising a child, much less one who barely spoke english(if he spoke at all) and prone to outbursts. It's been years since then and he can't imagine a world without that kid.

Had a wife but they divorced after he found out she had an affair. Sent him on a downwards spiral but he managed to pick himself back up. Having a kid to raise really helps him out.

Close to his sister, but that's about it. She's who gave him pointers on how to raise a kid, as they were about the same age. He doesn't think hes have done as well if it wasn't for her.

Former coach of Bald Bull, but parted ways after arguments on what exactly that wanted to do moving forward. They're amicable now, though.

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serpentface · 3 months ago

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VEILING IN WARDI CULTURE: AN OVERVIEW

Left: Noblewoman wearing the angarinye veil standard for women in public spaces. Right: Inwenii priest wearing the amengawe veil while presiding over a funeral.

The Wardi practice of veiling is most prominent in being a standard element of everyday women's clothing. Feminine veiling has no particular religious dimensions and has little direct connection to modesty standards (which, for women, center around covering the buttocks/genitalia/hips/thighs/legs). It is rather seen as an aspect of basic dignity in feminine presentation, indicating in public spaces that a woman is (considered) an adult, in good standing, and exists within the protection of a household. Its core underlying function is socially distinguishing women considered of respectable status from women of irreputable status (predominantly sex workers, as well as unclaimed bastards and some people charged as criminals).

There is no Wardi word that describes every type of head covering that the English 'veil' encompasses, and there are separate names for different types of veil. The veil garment worn by women is referred to as ‘angarinye’ and appears to be simply derived from a contraction of ‘sun (cloak/covering)’. The Odonii veil is called 'angarinye hete' (functionally 'mane veil'), while most veils worn by male priests are referred to as amengawe (derived from 'covering (of the) blessed').

Most veils are long rectangular drapes worn over the head and down the shoulders and back, often secured across the chest with decorative brooches. For commoner class women, it is very often just a basic cloak repurposed into veil form. Wealthier commoners and nobility will often wear shorter angarinye specifically tailored for the purpose (while still usually being a basic rectangular bolt of fabric), and/or ones that have been colorfully woven/embroidered, expensively dyed or made from valuable textiles, such as imports of silk. It is usually worn secured with a headband, though wearing it draped unsupported over the head goes in and out of fashion, effectively as a class-indicator of leisure, (ie you aren’t performing labor that will make it difficult to keep it in place). Headbands tend to win out anyway, given they themselves can function as a status indicator via decoration or as a base for additional jewelry.

Veils existing as an element of feminine dress is a commonality across most linguistically related/geographically connected peoples south of the Viper seaway (all Wardi, Cholemdinae, and 'North Wardi' peoples, most Wogan peoples, and some Ubiyans), usually serving as an indicator of adult womanhood, married status, and/or exalted social status. The Wardi practice of veiling appears to have originated as a visual signifier that an adult woman is married, then restricted as a status indicator for married women of aristocratic status (emerging among Ephenni royalty and nobility and adopted among many other proto-Wardi monarchies and chiefdoms), then broadened again across class lines as an indicator of adulthood while retaining connotations of respectable status.

In the present day, Wardi women become socially expected to wear veils in public spaces upon menarche (though may start earlier depending on the extent of pubescence prior to menstruation, largely to prevent the girl from being confused for an adult woman neglecting the practice). Akoshos are expected to veil as well (and to strictly conform to feminine clothing in general), and will instead usually start upon adulthood at 16. Prepubescent girls are under no expectation to wear veils in public whatsoever, though it has become fairly commonplace to dress young girls in them for solemn formal occasions such as funerals, and sometimes just as cold weather wear. These expectations are a matter of strong social norms, but have no levels of legal enforcement. The only laws surrounding veiling focus on Preventing women of ostracized social status from doing so.

Beyond being a marker of respectability, it ultimately serves to communicate that a woman is of marriageable age while also securely within a household (either that of her father or husband) and sexually unavailable, and signals piety and respect to the father or husband. It’s also considered a layer of protection from the evil eye and other forms of spiritual harm, both in physically reducing the body's visibility and in acting as a metaphysical extension of a household patriarch's guardianship over her body. All this aside, the garment also has purely practical functions as protection from the sun, or as a combination hat/scarf/cloak for cold weather.

The veil plays an important role in marriage ceremonies. A bride will enter the ceremony wearing a veil from her family (traditionally one woven by her mother for this specific purpose, though these are sometimes passed down and reused as heirlooms). The bride will first be visible to attendants under this veil before being led to a private area in which the core marriage rituals are completed. There, the bride's father removes the veil from her head and the groom garbs her with one from his own family (again, traditionally woven by his mother) to symbolically finalize the woman being ceded to her groom's household. After the rest of the formal marriage ties are complete, the bride will be publicly presented again alongside the groom in her new veil and the celebration can commence. This wedding veil is worn for the remainder of the public ceremony, and is usually retained for any extra celebrations over the next several days and for formal occasions thereafter.

Sex workers are outright forbidden from veiling in public as a mark of their position, effectively a psychological enforcement of their stigmatized social status as well as a means of regulating their movements (sex workers are forbidden from entering most temples and other sacred places and from participating in many public rites, making them ultra-visible helps enforce this). Wearing a veil as a sex worker is legally punishable, with the severity depending on whether it is just being used to hide their status in general or to 'trespass' on forbidden ground.

Temporary or permanent prohibitions on veiling are a manner of public humiliation that play a (usually partial) part in many legal punishments for women, particularly in charges for sexual crimes (most commonly adultery, and potentially charges of concealing ‘lost virginity’ and especially pregnancies prior to a first marriage). Women who lose their citizen status as a criminal punishment (which is usually a form of exile) are typically forbidden from veiling for life.

Other women not under male guardianship (usually as a matter of being orphans, unclaimed bastards, etc) are also not supposed to wear a veil, but are much less likely to experience strict enforcement of this rule, as it is semi-regulated by social contract but does not have any explicit place in law. Most will choose to wear it anyway to avoid disrespect/harassment due to resembling a sex worker (or otherwise being presumed sexually available, promiscuous, or criminal in nature), and often do so simply as a means of expressing their sense of dignity and self worth.

As with many things, Odonii are a partial exception to this tendency. They have the same overall legal freedoms as adult men (they are not legally under their father’s household jurisdiction and will not be married), which therefore makes them fit the description of ‘women not under male guardianship’. They do, however, wear veils as a standard element of regalia (worn in a distinctive manner, with two corners secured down the chest to form an overall ‘mane’ shape) and are fully expected to veil even in lay clothing, as an exception to their otherwise masculinized dress performance (they are women of extremely high status, why wouldn’t they?).

Wearing an angarinye-style veil is a matter of feminine presentation and will be considered crossdressing if performed by men. Some forms of specifically Religious veiling are practiced by men on a culturally standard basis, however. Most male priests will wear veils at least in some contexts, with some wearing it as standard regalia. These are differentiated from the feminine angarinye on a linguistic basis and as a matter of wear style, with male priestly veils typically being loosely wrapped around the head and shoulders (usually being very long rectangular bolts of cloth) and referred to as amengawe. These veils are framed as a display of humbleness in the face of great duty, signify devotion and purity of intent, and are thought to protect the wearer from spiritual harm while undergoing important rites. In most cases, these are either all-black or all-white, with both colors having connotations of spiritual purity.

Only priests wear amengawe by ritual necessity, but it has become very common for lay men to remove their cloaks and wear them as an amengawe-style veil when approaching temple cult icons to pray and leave offerings. This has been generally acknowledged as acceptable, as these men are not transgressing upon priestly duties forbidden to lay followers and are simply displaying their own sense of duty and purity of intent. In recent years, women have been increasingly known to enter temples with veils wrapped amengawe-style for the same purposes. This has provoked considerable intracultural debate and handwringing on whether this is wildly inappropriate or not.

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