#i have been so unsettled so many times in those mountains like the things that live there are older than any of us can even comprehend

[junkyardromeo]

people on tiktok saying there’s nothing inhuman and strange in appalachia have clearly never spent time in appalachia like son watch your mouth

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 9

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: don John still being himself an asshole, nsfw chapter map

You are so relieved, when at last you reach the end of the meal. 

But Juan calls Paul back, inviting him for a brandy and some manly conversation. You are wary to leave Paul alone with Juan, but you see that some unspoken challenge has been issued between them, some ridiculous testosterone-fueled thing you cannot fully understand the merit of.

Paul kisses your cheek, and says he’ll join you shortly. With a warning look at Juan, you acquiesce. Out of politeness doña Maria invites you to join a game of cards in the parlor, but you claim exhaustion, begging off. You see they are secretly relieved. At least you know your place, even if Juan seems strangely possessed by this uncharacteristic wave of generosity towards you.

If only they knew.

Paul follows Juan to his study, accepting the proffered libation in its crystal snifter. Only after the first sip does it occur to him he should hope it's not poisoned. He looks around the room, unsettled by the various dead animals stuffed into poses that are but a sad facsimile of what they once were. A huge brown bear looms in the corner, its dagger-like claws extended, its maw gaping wide in a snarl.

“My father shot him not far from here. He was the last we ever saw at Las Nubes, though once these mountains crawled with the beasts.”

“What a shame,” mused Paul.

“Is it? You wouldn’t think so, if you met one in the forest.”

“Maybe not,” Paul agrees begrudgingly.

“That is the difference, between those of us who live in the wilderness, relying upon ourselves. We do not hesitate to defend what is ours, when we have to. We look after our own.”

“I suppose I get that.”

“My family came here a long time ago, señor Sutton. With de Anza, in 1776. The same year your founding fathers signed your little declaración, far away from here.”

“Maybe. Like I said, I don’t know my people, or how long ago they came here,” Paul admits honestly.

Juan waves it off as inconsequential. 

“After the Mexican war and the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, the gringos came, thinking they would take our land because they could, 160 acres at a time. Many Californios lost their land, but we were lucky we were able to prove our title through Mexico city and lawyers in Washington. But laws and lawyers cannot settle everything. We also did what we had to, to protect what is ours from the squatters. We always will protect what is ours.”

Paul nods, understanding that don Juan was not just talking about land. They were talking about you again, and especially after reading your diary earlier that day, he didn’t like the entitlement in this man’s tone one bit. 

“I feel the same way,” Paul answered. “That’s why I was fighting in Europe and Asia for the past four years…while you were growing your grapes and riding your ponies.” 

Don Juan just snorts at this attempt to call him a coward. “Your little war had nothing to do with us here.” 

“You might have felt differently, if Hitler and his Blitzkrieg came tearing over the hill with his sights on you.” 

Juan makes a sound through his teeth, as though it was an idiotic suggestion. “They were never going to make it this far.” 

Paul looks at him over his snifter with a raised eyebrow, thinking Because men like me risked our lives to stop them from doing it, but his innate sense of politeness prevents him, even now. 

“You may be right, señor.” He downs the last of his brandy. Potent stuff, and almost a shame to drink it so quickly. “Please excuse me. I suddenly have the urge to make love to my wife. Good night.”

The shot hits home, though Paul does not bother to watch the aftermath, setting down his snifter and quitting the room. Had he bothered to look back, he would have found don Juan’s fine features pulled in an expression of pure murder. 

***

You are beginning to get worried. 

You are wearing nothing but your silk night shift, and you started out on the bed in some misguided attempt to appear alluring. But the minutes ticked by, and by the time Paul shuffles in you are pacing the floor like an anxious animal. You can tell by the careful way he’s moving he’s a little drunk–the brandy don Pedro makes here is some potent stuff. You remember from when Juan used to sneak it for the two of you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, rising to greet him at the door and look him over, somehow unbelieving that he and don Juan didn’t get into a fight.

“Fine,” he answers with a half smile, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you snugly against him. “So much better now.” There’s a possessiveness in the way he grasps you–it titilates you more than you would like to admit.

“Paul…” you admonish, without a lick of gravity behind it.

He looks down at you with that half smile, a lock of hair in his eyes. “That man really does think he owns you…” Paul marvels, ducking to catch your lips in a sweet kiss. “But you don’t belong to him. You–” He kisses you again, those full lips sending sparks straight to your empty, aching, cunt. “Belong to me.” 

For now. 

Despite what you’d discussed earlier…you don’t have it in you to split hairs, when he looks at you like that in the low light, after a glass of very good wine at dinner, and…and the simple fact that deep down, he might absolutely be right. 

He kisses you then, really kisses you, and you feel yourself melting beneath his soft lips and strong hands.When his fingers bunch up the skirts of your nightie you hold up your arms in invitation, so that he may strip you bare. A low sound escapes him, as he runs his hands down your back, over your curves and the swell of your buttocks. There is something incredibly arousing, about pressing your naked body to his, while he is fully clothed. Slowly he walks you backwards, touching you and squeezing you and by the time the backs of your knees hit the bed you are already soaking wet for him. 

You try to reach for his clothing, his jacket, his tie, his trousers, anything to render him a little more bare, but with a knowing smile he just manhandles you back onto the bed, sinking to his knees to kiss you between your thighs before you can get in a single word edgewise.

You think he’s discovered your weakness now, and is completely using it to his advantage. What better way to make your mind go still, than his tongue on your clit with your legs slung over his broad shoulders? You are putty in his hands, so close to cumming in his mouth when he draws back, wiping his face on your thigh and smiling gently up at you, taking in the disheveled mess he’s made before him. 

He doesn’t say a word, tugging off his tie and tossing his jacket, shrugging out of his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt, all while looking down at you with a warmth that makes you feel like you just might combust. You watch the show with a loving hunger, wanting him so much it hurts. 

You open like a flower beneath him as he crawls over you, sighing as he settles down, your curves and hard angles meeting in a way as though the universe designed you to fit together. He kisses your lips, melting you to the bone, and you know you would give this man anything he asked for in that moment. 

“Can I make love to you, y/n?” he asks as his hips find their rightful place between your thighs, the thick tip of his manhood hovering maddeningly at your weeping entrance.

“Please?”

You never realized how empty you were without him, until he glides inside you with a moan that raises gooseflesh all across your skin, reveling in wondrous stretch and burn of his length buried in your needy flesh. You cannot stop yourself from thinking, this is the way you are meant to be. 

You find a rhythm together that is older than time, his claiming mouth upon you and his body inside yours, taking you higher with every thrust, filling you with an impossible pleasure and more love in your heart than you think you can stand. You don’t have the presence of mind to remind him or negotiate over the finish. All you can think is how perfectly you fit together, and that you need him. 

This is the magic mother nature weaves, the cycle of life that keeps the species ever marching forward. Desire. That grinding need, driven by lust and love and that straining, desperate yearning for fulfillment. But it feels like more than that, in Paul’s arms. This pleasure feels cosmically ordained–if he is your high priest, then you are the vessel to carry it to God. With your leg wrapped around his hip and his thumb upon your swollen bud, you become nothing but gasping breath and shining nerve endings.

You could have wept, when after ruining you with another handful of deep thrusts, Paul withdraws to finish on your belly, writing his love upon your skin in thick creamy ropes of his spend. Gasping for breath, he collapses to the side, pressing his forehead to yours with a satisfied smile. “You feel…like heaven, y/n.”

You kiss him sweetly, boneless after your torrid lovemaking. “So do you.” 

You don’t know how you’ll ever feel complete without him again…and maybe you’re drunk on good wine and lovemaking, but that doesn’t scare you half as much as it did when this day started.  

Only after resting for a minute does he look down at your belly with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thank you.”

As grateful as you are– you can't help  but think about how it almost felt incomplete, without him finishing inside you. What a cosmic torture. Somewhere...the gods are laughing at your hubris, that you thought you might escape the way they designed you, and this man it feels they made just for you. 

“Did I mention I’m kicking myself for not bringing any condoms?”

You chuckle with him. “Maybe…you could get me the towel?”

He lifts an eyebrow, looking at you marked with his seed for a moment longer with a primal heat in his eyes that curls your toes all over again. “Yeah.” He kisses you, before going to the washstand to clean himself, and brings you the damp rag. 

You fall asleep tangled together, your head on his shoulder and your legs entwined. You can’t help but feel that life can’t get any sweeter, than ending the day in Paul Sutton’s arms.

[butmakeitgayblog]

How would you have wanted to see the season 3 bedroom scene go down if Clarke didn't hold back her obvious thirst for femme disaster Lexa in her nightgown

Have them fuck nasty 😤

Nah I'm just kidding

For real though, I actually took today to think about that because I think if you asked everyone in the fandom, you'd probably get a big variety of answers. There was just so much going on at that time and so many raw, unsettled emotions and resentments on Clarke's part. Realistically, I can absolutely see why she turned Lexa away (not the how tho, cuz damn).

But if I had to rewrite it through my own rose colored glasses, I would've liked it if Clarke had asked Lexa to stay and talk. Not even about the mountain or their people or anything that wandered too closely to those still healing wounds between them. More like asking Lexa about her childhood. What it was like growing up on the ground. Maybe about the different clans or what Lexa had dreamed about becoming before she was called to be commander. And I would've liked to have Clarke tell Lexa about the wonders of space. Not many though - that subject still holds too many nightmares. I would've liked to see them get to know each other beyond the pictures they have of each other as leaders and what they have to be as those people, and instead started learning more of the pieces of themselves that they'd learned to lock away from everyone else.

I would've liked to see Clarke grow sleepy to the sound of Lexa's soothing voice. Yawning while deliberately denying that she's yawning, even as she shakes it off and smacks her lips from it. And then of course, that fond little smile that Lexa always gets around Clarke, the one that barely kissed the sides of her lips but shines so brightly in her eyes. Usually in response to the skai girl's stubbornness, but that's neither here nor there. I would've liked to see Lexa offering to leave because even though the night had taken a very strange and unexpected turn, it was still lovely, and wonderful, and she likes to think of herself as chivalrous when circumstances allow, and regardless of what did or didn't happen, oh, you could see just how happy her little Heda heart was to have had that time together.

Without the usual looming thundercloud of Clarke's animosity.

I would've loved to see her trying to urge Clarke to go to bed and rest, only for Clarke to ask her to stay a little longer. To join her on the bed - sensibly, only because the bed was more comfortable than the old spindly chairs of her guest suite - and keep talking about all the good things on earth. Because she usually can't sleep anyway and because... that was the first night since she'd walked away from Camp Jaha that the demons of her past have been quiet.

I would've liked to see Lexa's internal battle of her emotions play out in nothing more than a series of blinks. A stuttered breath. The catch in her chest as she unfolds and refolds her hands in her lap. All the tiny cracks in her armor that you have to be looking for just to see, but they're the ones that give her away every time.

Because even tho she'd hoped— Even tho she'd thought, maybe Clarke's relief at her winning and staying alive might mean something for them... Even tho she'd come here with every intention to open herself up to whatever Clarke was willing to give to her, to connect with her... she hadn't at all anticipated the night to go quite like this. So intimate and bare, but not at all in the way she'd yearned for when she'd knocked on Clarke's door, blood still hot from the battle and the look Clarke gave her across the arena.

This was sweeter than she'd anticipated, somehow deeper, and her hunger and love for this woman is all the more terrifying for it.

But Lexa does stay, because she really is quite terrible at denying Clarke anything within her power at that point. Not that she wants to anyway. Not now that Clarke looks at her from under her furs with soft questioning eyes, instead of darkened pools filled with betrayed disgust.

I would've liked to see Lexa settle down on the bed, above the furs with her back sloped against the iron headboard that is terribly uncomfortable against her skin, but she'll bear it. And as she picks up the thread of what she'd been talking more to settle her own nerves than because she actually knows what she's saying. She's just babbling, which entirely unbecoming on The Commander but what else she can do when she's this close to this woman?

And ok fine, she's not a saint.

She does like the feel of Clarke's eyes on her. She likes the thrill that rushes through her at her own boldness careless ease when she adjusts her legs, lifts her knee just for comfort and, oops, lets the loose hang of her nightgown slip down to pool at her hip. It's an~accident~ she doesn't bother to fix, just like when the thin strap falls down off her shoulder as well. She's just comfortable in Clarke's space so it's totally, totally fine.

It wouldn't escape her (or us, the faithful viewers) that Clarke doesn't look away.

And I would've liked to see her watch as Clarke grew sleepier. Watched her very obviously struggle to stay awake by asking Lexa the most mundane questions could think of through her half-slurred haze as Clarke adjusts and readjusts and every time she finds herself that much closer. Until eventually there's nothing for it, she's just pressed against Lexa's side, and it's nothing to wrap an arm around Lexa's waist and push close. Lean her head on Lexa's shoulder and breathe in the scent of whatever soaps Lexa used in her post-battle bath (you hear that, Clarke. S o a p). And I would've liked the scene to end on Clarke drifting off to Lexa's comfort. To the feel of Lexa matching her every breath. To the gentle weight of Lexa pressing a kiss she'll insist in the morning that she was too sleepy to remember to the crown of her head.

That's how I would've liked to see it go.

[maplleaf]

"Snow and Stars"

Dainsleif x gn!reader

{cw: Dain pining harder than when Khaenri'ah got destroyed}

BRO I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE 2 MONTHS AND NEVER GOT AROUND TO CONTINUING IT 💀

You sighed, the calming warmth after hours of walking around the cold mountain that is Dragonspine finally hits you. The curse that the Gods gave hurts as hell sometimes, but it does ive an extra layer of resistance to the cold.

Surviving the Cataclysm as a Khaenri'ah citizen seems more like a curse than a blessing. The literal curse that the Gods inlaid upon you is a sore thumb. Not wanting to gain attention from people; and possibly Gods, you retreated to Dragonspine. The barren snowland making it easy for you to blend in, it's been like that for the past 500 years.

Unfortunately someone at the Adventurer's Guild decides it would be great to start using Dragonspine as the 'peak of an adventurer's strenght', causing many adventurers to come here.

The sudden interests of adventurers made you uneasy. They pop up unexpectedly in Dragonspine when the only reason you're here is to avoid people for fuck's sake!

You swear to your long-gone homeland that the adventurer would get frostbite.

Just as your legs were starting to feel less numb, you hear footsteps coming from behind.

"Shouldn't you be resting somewhere more safe?"

Ah yes, that deep and recognizable voice. "Dain, you need something?" Just as you looked back, you realized how Dain isn't looking the best as usual, "abyss fight again?"

"You could describe it as that," Dainsleif sat besides you. It's common to see the Twilight Sword alongside you. As the few Khaenri'ah survivors of the Cataclysm who still has their humanity left, the both of you got along well.

You both stayed quiet whilst looking at the corrupted dragon's heart in front of you two; the heavier air doesn't affect the both of you but it does give warmth around the cave. "It's really unsettling that the heart is still beating..." you commented.

Dainsleif chuckled, "then look for another cave to seek warmth, a fire would suffice."

You disregarded his idea with a scoff, "with all the adventurers running around? No thanks. They'll end up dragging me to Mondstadt as a new species of hilichurl or something."

You leaned back against the red ground you're sitting on, feeling much more at ease with the calming warmth and no sounds of anyone else nearby, and of course the added safety from Dainsleif. "So, are you here to regain some energy or just to comment on my life decisions?"

"I wanted some companion, that's all," Dainsleif answered truthfully. After seeing his past soldier back at the Chasm, he wanted some time to be with someone from his past again; even if the two of you didn't know eachother back then.

"A companion," you couldn't help but laugh, "worked out well last time." Dainsleif's lack of words made you feel guilty for the jab, "but I'm glad you came to me, the snowy mountains started to feel lonely."

When the traveler's sibling joined the abyss, Dainsleif devoted his next hundreds of years to prevent them from destroying Teyvat. He expected it to be a long and lonely path; to which his expectations are broken when he finds himself befriending someone with the same curse as him within the snowstorms of Dragonspine.

"It is much safer at least," Dainsleif glances at you; the last person he knows from his homeland that, like him, prefers the peace that reigns over Teyvat now.

He doesn't remember the exact moment when he fell for you, his feelings more like raindrops than a hard pouring rain that comes out of nowhere. Your presence brings him comfort he thought he didn't deserve anymore, sometimes he feels that he doesn't even deserve you.

Even with all those thoughts, Dainsleif still finds himself getting closer to you, and he's scared.

Dainsleif have lost too many things; his homeland, his people, his companion. Thoughts about you leaving him when he's vulnerable, or some kind of disaster taking you away makes him scared.

The Twilight Sword would rather distance himself away than to see you in danger. Chances are is that Dainsleif himself is the person who would endanger you with all the enemies he made.

You couldn't help but glance at the former knight. I's rare to see Dainsleif look so, for the lack of a better term, absent-minded. You've seen him focused before, yet it's the first time he has this expression.

Your hand subconsciously start to move as you fall into temptation.

Poke

The twilight sword held the cheek that you poked with your finger, a small hue of pink shades his face; it's almost invisible if you're not looking at it closely, "What're you doing?"

You couldn't help but smile at his adorable reaction. It's probably the first and last time you'll see him flustered, so it's best to savor the moment.

"Nothing," Dainsleif didn't seem too convinced with your answer but brushed it off anyway.

You wonder how long it'll take for him to realize that you know about his infatuation towards you.

[mikimeiko]

Day 1 - Trough Switzerland to Liechtenstein and Austria

Time for the big summer trip :D

First step: from Milan to Vaduz (Liechtenstein) by bus

The bus driver tells us ahead of time when there will be a panoramic view in case anyone wants to take a picture <3

We spent almost an hour at the Bellinzona stop because a passenger got into a fight with the driver and the driver refused to leave with that passenger on board, then the police got involved, then flixbus headquarters made him take the passenger. I honestly have no idea what happened between and who was in the right but it was... eh.

Switzerland is INSANE. Like, its just so breathtakingly beautiful it doesn't even feel real.

Vaduz (Liechtenstein) is a weird place.

Tiny capital of this tiny country, it is literally a miniature city, including those commercial buildings that are usually several stories tall but... smaller. AND surrounded by all these amazing mountains and pastoral landscapes, creating a kind of unsettling dissonance (also quite fun).

Since my flixbus was "delayed" I had time just for a quick walk around the city center, and I ended up buying a pretzel with butter, a slice of plum cake and a herbal soda at the supermarket (I love these herbal sodas so much, I am very sad you can't find them so easily where I live but I always drink them when available!).

There are cows everywhere! Well, not EVERYWHERE. But I've seen more cows today than in my entire summer trip last year in Italy XD and there were also sheep? Like, in a small patch of grass near the road? <3

After the endless bus journey of this morning, I have to say I'm very happy to be on a train again <3 on to Innsbruck!

I am in awe of the beauty of the Alps. How can they be so incredibly spectacular all the time! So different from stretch to stretch but still unequivocally alpine? So many trees! So many shades of green! So many rocks! So much water! AAAAAHHHH

Innsbruck is big, maybe slightly bigger than I thought it would be. It's also very pretty, even overcast.

(I don't know why this is the only picture I took XD I was hoping for better light tomorrow morning but still XD)

But everything takes longer than anticipated and suddenly is later than I thought and I'm tired but I have to buy a couple of things and I have to eat something, but I thought there were some food stalls near the market but they're closed? In the end I got a sausage with cheese in it of which I forgot the name with a good sauce (of which I also forgot the name XD) and bread, and it's a little better now.

It's been a long day and I barely slept last night, so I think I'm gonna go back to my hostel and relax.

[willpcwer]

HISTORY: BIXLOW

Clover Town is a smaller settlement nestled in a rocky, mountainous area of Fiore and surrounded by deep canyons. The only way to reliably reach the town is by railway, and despite it being the site of the local mage guild masters' regional meeting, it otherwise doesn't see many travelers. The canyons and rocky outcrops surrounding the village are the subject of many rumors, some of which have drifted closer to superstitions over time. Ghosts and specters (and potentially worse) haunt those cliffs, they say, the souls of those who fell to their deaths many years ago. The wind howling through the canyons certainly didn't help debunk those rumors, sometimes sounding like the echo of someone's screams as they fell.

All this to say, Clover Town was quite isolated, surrounded by ghost stories and mystery, and generally pretty quiet overall. Which was honestly quite boring to Bixlow as he grew up. Despite the many rumors of ghost sightings not many showed up to search for them -- not even the mages of the closer towns' guilds. Bixlow was fascinated with the idea from a young age, himself, and would often try to stay up at night and listen for the sound of wind literally howling by.

It was on one of these nights, around his tenth birthday, that he saw his first soul.

He'd been sitting outside on his family home's front porch, watching the cliffs outside of town. He'd often change up when and where he posted up, not wanting anyone (including his parents, who tried to discourage this habit, or the ghosts he was searching for) to find a routine and catch him before he could see them. When he stayed home like this (usually as a compromise to his parents so they wouldn't worry about him climbing somewhere), sometimes his little sister would join him for a few hours. She was never really as enthusiastic about the opportunity to meet someone that'd passed on, often worried they'd be hostile, but she had to admit to some curiosity, and Bixlow admired her bravery for facing something she obviously feared.

Midnight had come and gone and the night had been far quieter than usual, leaving her quite unsettled and unable to sleep. So despite the late hour she'd stayed with him, sitting on the swing across the way from where he perched on the railing, looking eastward with his back to her.

Why they'd gone to her, that night, and not the one that'd been actively searching for them, he'd been unaware of at the time, but resented all the same. He heard her shift, thinking she was getting up from the swing to finally go inside, and thought nothing of it, murmuring a farewell over his shoulder.

Her voice, when she responded, was...off.

"Brother, I....I don't feel so good. Something's wrong."

He turned, expecting to see her curled up on the swing instead of standing as he'd originally thought. He didn't expect to see something with her.

It was...vague, at first, just a small shape sitting on the swing next to her, as if meant to be there. Like a family pet, or a friend of a similar age. But as he turned something grabbed its attention, whatever it was, and it turned to him. Pitch-black hollows meant to be 'eyes' met his, and he froze, for a second not able to look away or see anything else. The...thing just watched him, impassive, and it took a few seconds for him to realize his sister had been calling him.

"...Sis, get inside. Okay? Fast as ya can. Go stay with Mom 'n Dad for a while."

Something in his tone brooked no argument, and the apparition turned to watch her, but then returned its dead stare to him. He wasn't sure how long they stayed with their eyes locked -- he realized sometime after sunrise it wasn't actually there anymore, and he was staring at where he'd remembered it to be.

After that, he continued to see the vague thing following his sibling -- he tried to talk to his parents about it, as they'd been able to reassure him about other 'sightings' before, but the concern in his mother's eyes when he described the shape was off-putting. She had vowed to look into it, checking in on the girl, and though she hid it through her expression, he could see the way she paled.

"You saw it, too."

"...no. I don't see it. That worries me more."

His mother went on to tell him about magics, souls, things he didn't quite understand at the time but knew were grave, judging by her tone. She would be unable to help him, but she knew what was happening. She could guide him through what he would need to do.

Eventually. For now, he needed to learn, and they didn't have a lot of time.

So he learned. His mother's family were a line of priestesses tasked with guarding a veil between worlds -- the realm of mortals they lived in, and the realm of spirits. The entity he'd been seeing was one such spirit, that had been trying to break through to the mortal realm for most of his mother's life. It was apparently after his sister, assuming her to be the next in line, and thus it hadn't gone after Bixlow despite him being able to sense it.

Over the next few months, his mother taught him something called seith magic, alongside many different exercises to attempt to communicate with spirits -- though none seemed to bear fruit -- and all the while the spirit watching his sister grew more distinct, more real. It went from being the size of a small dog to being so large it would have had to duck while inside, all the while keeping those voids where eyes might have been. It could never enter the house, thanks to protection charms his mother had on the building, but it would lurk just outside her bedroom window every night, and shadow her every time she went out. She got sick; chills often wracked her frame, her energy waning. According to his mother, her soul was waning. He tried not to point out that she was showing the same signs. He didn't want to think of it, to make it real.

Then, their time ran out.

He heard his sister's scream as he sensed it, some sort of pull on something he wasn't quite sure was physical. He and his mother arrived to her room at the same time, and immediately knew they were too late. She had told him the veil would thin in the winter months, that they had to be prepared for this. The spirit had broken the charms, made its way inside, found her. But they could stop it here.

I'm not ready, the little boy said, just like in the stories, but the hand on his shoulder and the calm gaze steadied him.

Ready or not, his mother replied, as she always had. It has to be you. It has to be now. I will be right here to guide you, after all is said and done.

She hadn't mentioned that she'd be beside him as a soul under the effect of his magics.

In the end, the veil was repaired, the entity destroyed -- but it had cost him dearly. Though his sister and mother were still around him, he was the only one that knew it. Though the entity was gone, its last few moments of existence had been spent to curse him. A strange mark had appeared on his face, and he couldn't make eye contact with anyone, or...

For a while, his mother continued to teach him about his seith magics, and it was by her advice that he found something to cover the newly-formed mark on his face and the haunted look in his eyes. His father knew of what happened, and although Bixlow wasn't to blame, their relationship was strained in their mourning. After he turned fifteen, Bixlow eventually left his home the next time the local guildmasters' meeting took place, walking directly into the meeting unannounced and requesting permission to join one of the guilds to try and control his abilities. Thus he ended up following Makarov Dreyar back to Fairy Tail, joining the mage guild shortly after.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Oooh, I'd like to know more about the Ghost WWX project, please!

Ahhh ghost WWX, my beloved! I started writing it thinking I'd post it for Halloween and then that definitely didn't happen haha. I'd like to make it three chapters long if at all possible, though as per usual I might be severely underestimating how much I have to say about it. It's a bit of a combination sort of story - Wei Wuxian is haunting the Cloud Recesses (specifically Lan Wangji, of course), meanwhile Lan Sizhui is extremely sensitive to ghosts and spirits after growing up in the Burial Mounds and so he's the only one who can see and hear Wei Wuxian! Two of my favorite plot devices haha. Here's a snippet of the beginning of chapter 2, where I switch the POV to Lan Wangji!

-/-

When Sizhui was still very young, recovered from his fever and Lan Wangji’s back healed up enough for the boy to come visit him for brief hours some afternoons, Lan Wangji had heard a rumor. Not many things reached him in his cabin in the back hills, as was proper for a man in seclusion whether it was forced upon him or not, but his brother had told him during one of his monthly visits alone. Whispers amongst the aunties and the disciples that the new inner clan boy had eyes that saw too much, that he was unsettling, unnatural. That he spoke to people who were not there, and that he said strange things about the soil or the air or the water.

Sizhui quickly gained a reputation for putting a chill up the spine of those not accustomed to hearing serious and sometimes frankly alarming things coming from the lisping mouth of a 6 year old. It wasn’t long after that that Lan Xichen begged a single concession from Lan Qiren – that Lan Wangji be allowed to raise Sizhui in his seclusion.

The day Sizhui joined him there in his cottage had been the day Lan Wangji had been forced to come to terms with the fact that he was truly doing it – continuing to live in a world without Wei Ying. He is far enough removed from that time now to realize that he did not handle it well.

Despite the fact that he wasn’t truly in a position to raise a young child, raising this particular child had brought him back from the brink of…something. He isn’t really sure what. Departing the world by his own hand? Allowing himself to simply waste away into nothing, a mere shadow haunting his too-perceptive son? He never had to learn, because Sizhui saved him as much as Lan Wangji saved his son.

But the rumors had been true – Sizhui was a strange child, with a deep and solemn air that suited life with Lan Wangji in the mountain frighteningly well. He frequently spoke of things he shouldn’t know, disciples who had returned injured from night hunts, spirits that were lingering outside the boundaries of the wards, and, a few memorable times, spirits who had somehow managed to slip through the wards undetected to wander peacefully around Cloud Recesses before their souls found rest.

Time passed, as inescapable in seclusion as it was in the thick of the comings and goings of the world, and eventually Lan Wangji was permitted to leave the back hill and raise his son in the Jingshi instead. Visitors became more frequent – just Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, but their regular companionship and guidance helped Lan Wangji begin to reintegrate into the workings of the Sect. They also helped Sizhui to see that not everyone could see and hear the things that he did, and that it was not welcome to say such things that he could say to Lan Wangji without fear of judgment. Children grow and learn to fear being Other, being mocked, being different, and so Sizhui had gradually allowed Lan Wangji to teach him how to keep quiet about his gifts. By the time he joined the rest of his agemates in their classes, everyone had seemingly forgotten about his strange childhood, or at least they were willing to let his sweet smile and easy mannerisms make up for the unease he’d once created.

It’s been many years since Lan Wangji has heard anything from his son in this respect, and he’d assumed that he had grown out of the sensitivity to the unseen as he’d grown and his orthodox cultivation strengthened, purged him of what Lan Wangji is privately, guiltily sure was the influence of Wei Ying’s cultivation and his traumatic childhood, even before but especially within the Burial Mounds.

Now, Sizhui blinks wide, too-dark eyes at the empty space to Lan Wangji’s left and speaks as if in conversation with Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji’s heart seizes in his chest, dangerously close to breaking.

[court-jobi]

A Scar and its Story

Pairing: Thorin x Tessa (Modern OC)

Words: 1,836

Ratings: Teen & Up

Warnings: (TW: for descriptions of face scarring, just in case)

Summary: She could only liken this feeling to a few things: and not many of those were things any soul here in Middle Earth could understand. Anyone who’s ever been in a car accident has trouble getting behind the wheel for the first few times, right? ‘Well, anyone except for Thorin if he knew how to drive. He’s not scared of anything.' This line of thinking got Tessa through watching each of her Dwarven friends heal. But the whiplash, the pains the mind and body remembers, and especially its scars… those seemed hard for her to forget-- even as she looks at Thorin's face and its new story to tell.

A/N: As if Thorin could ever be anything but beautiful in her eyes... Tessa still worries over the scar Thorin has- and what it reminds her of. Set after the events of 'Better Angels' if you've not yet checked it out! Not required, but fun to enjoy sequentially. Thank you for the likes and comments for my OC already! Tessa and Thorin send their love~

Read on AO3

Tessa really tries not to, but her eye drifts to the scar on Thorin’s forehead. 

Following Dwalin to the infirmary she'd gone pale and showed a worried eye in front of the healers that she couldn't hide in time. Based on how bloody it had been– seeing the King unconscious when she first gone to see him after the Battle- the worry from all sides was understandable. Everyone was concerned for him, chiefly his nephews. Though in her mind, the sight of all of her dearest friends in pain hurt Tessa for far longer than the few weeks for their war wounds to settle into scars.

It's hard not to remember that day; even as lovely as it was to be honest about her feelings for him... Things were still fragile, tender, and it was growing into something more each day. Thorin carried on so beautifully; regally, and in perfect stride once he could walk again.

And she’s never said a word on it; perhaps to her detriment. Maybe that's why it's still hard to speak of it.

The only time Thorin himself mentioned looking this way in recovery was when he assured her, 

'Dwarves wear their scars as leopards their spots. I was bound to earn some of my own, one day.' 

Thorin does say it like a thing of pride. When others hearken to it, their joshing praises gives him a devilish quirk of his now split brow, knowing it as a loud and proud claim ‘he won’.

…but that very fact is what flitters around– unsettled in her stomach. For Tessa? She knows it as a sign of just how close she was to losing him . Time and some emotional distance away from the Battle brought her to push those thoughts far from her mind for a while.

But that changed today.

"Have I misplaced soot on my face?" Thorin asks, bemused.

Thorin caught her staring and she was nearly too shy to admit it,

"Oh, no!" Tessa gently brushes his coat lapel back, along with his hair in a corralling gesture. "It's just--" 

Tessa stopped herself, and lied. 

"-- I'm just happy to see you."

To see you. To be seeing you, everyday. 

A month ago, that hope of seeing Thorin Oakenshield alive and well had been stamped to near-embers. 

"It's my joy to see you, too~" Thorin takes her hand to kiss it; yet she avoids looking while he does so. "... Though, I think that look in your eye is far from joyful." 

A guilty pang caused Tessa to force a smile onto her face, 

"Gosh.. I didn't mean to worry you."

In a moment, she turns self conscious which Thorin reads, too– he clue? She stopped walking. 

Thorin is seeking some sort of answer as he watches for her next words. The way he looks at her so intently– fishing for some reason why she’s hedging away from him when she’s done nothing but look for a way to stick by his side over the past weeks, relearning the Mountain together… 

Tessa knows this change of character must look odd to someone like him. She hated this feeling.

Thorin noticed her flit a glance to the hall behind him; with a tip of his head to block her view, he redirects in her line of sight. Right back to him.

"We have time, Sanâzyun.” Thorin eases with those happy high brows, “What troubles you?" 

Honesty it is … 

Steeling her nerve and pulling up all the calm she can offer, Tessa squared up to Thorin for closeness. Confident enough they weren’t going to have an audience around… she braved the chance and held onto his hand.

"Everyone sees this as a warning:” Tessa combed back Thorin’s part with a few fingers; only light enough for a quick touch, “-A less-than-gentle reminder, should anyone dare try to test a king so great as you. As they should, obviously . No matter who you ask, the sight of a new scar is the same; they see it as a badge of honor.”

Tessa swallowed her hidden truth, thick in her mouth. 

“But…I catch it in the light sometimes, too. And I'm afraid I don’t see it that way. All I can see is… well… how close I was to never–"

See you again – Tessa buries the thought, burns it. That’s certainly something she can't say out loud without crying. 

"--It's my saving grace," she recovers gently, "-whenever I look at you. I remember that shit-show of a day, and that, to see you with it now means we got to the other side. But it doesn’t really– I don’t know–” Tessa floundered, “I know that should be a good thing- is a good thing! I should just celebrate it with everyone else! Hindsight 'should' give us comfort, right?... 

Thorin glanced to their joined hands, then back up to Tessa with a look- between confusion and pity and that look of desperation when he tried to follow along with her rabbit trails.

Tessa could only liken this feeling to a few things: and not many of those were things anyone in Middle Earth could understand. Anyone who’s ever been in a car accident has trouble getting behind the wheel for the first few times, right? ‘Well, anyone except for Thorin if he knew how to drive. He’s not scared of anything,’ Tessa thought. 

Knowing the analogy would be fruitless, Tessa just shook her head, sighing her own insecurity away.

"After all the time y’all spent getting here, it was hard seeing you like that, after fighting. Close calls scare me, Thorin. Especially when it comes to you."

 " My… ” Thorin ponders this. “The mark– it pains you?

 Tessa’s lip quirks. Not necessarily, but what she does feel strikes a chord of longing.

 "Pain's a strong word.” Tessa confides, “--but, close enough." 

No one was in earshot, but still she glanced about for any prying eyes.

His face is deadly serious, likely feeling he missed something gravely important.

"I did not know you felt this way..."

"Because it's silly! And selfish– so of course, I never brought it up."

Thorin’s hand tightened on hers,

 "You are not selfish."

"I mean over voicing any fussing over it.” A hand refreshed her own part while she kept her pm interlocked with his, “I figured saying anything comes off as vain, which isn't my issue at all with it. Yours is the one opinion who matters, not mine.”

'Its not like you could ever be less beautiful to me…'

Despite her fighting it against the memories of a bleeding and gashed Thorin, mist flooded Tessa’s eyes– even through her light laugh. 

Thorin called her by name, “Look at me, please.”

She sniffs back and meets his eyes again. Squared up to her again, Thorin came to hold her hands in both of his.

“You know I don’t give a single care what I may look like…” The dwarf shared with low comfort in his voice, as he confided to her just the same as he would a dear friend, “Even if I were left completely marred after The Ice, I would do nothing but speak of it; and show my grateful heart to anyone who will hear, for my second chance to live . Truly live. To lead the dwarrow who saw me through the darkness I faced to a better life. And be happy I’m alive at all…”

But as he continued to reason with what she just told him, Thorin processed her different, caring point of view,

“You say you are glad enough for this, and– for that I’m touched, but please know...the scar I carry means more to my people than just a reminder of a foul fight. And even more to me.”

Thorin brushes her eyes of the emotion at bay, watching her settle into a look transfixed on him. 

"Not a day passes... that I don't thank Mahal for honoring my wish on Ravenhill."

Tessa couldn't trust her voice’s watery delivery, but had to ask…

"What wish was that?" 

"To live past the morning light. So that I may tell those I care for, the things I'd not said before..." 

"And what things are those?" 

And with the unspoken circling the air between them -under the staggered placement of blue-flaming lanterns of the upper thoroughfare they stood upon, Thorin cups Tessa’s cheek– and draws her into a hug speaking directly to her ear.

"That you are not selfish , Tessa. You've not the bone in your body. " 

In turn, Tessa squeezes into his arms, and sinks.

Away from Thorin's gaze in the nest of his hair, the most fanciful of thoughts screamed in Tessa's mind, begging to be let out. To sort them out, she simply closed her eyes. 

Perhaps it was the cheesiest, romantic thing she'd ever thought to say, but something told her the men of this world wouldn't mind. Middle Earth is a place of the greatest folklore, but surely they had their own children's stories, too. And perhaps they didn't glorify these small marks as the testaments of their greatness, but maybe to show just how much he means to her, Tessa can try her hardest to relate to Erebor's people– to tell of the pride she has in her King...

"Thorin?"

"Yes."

Tessa swallowed her nerve,

"You-- know you're the stuff of fairy tales, right? You have to know that."

Thorin remained quiet- maybe puzzled more than anything. Inside, the tremor in Tessa’s chest was only stilled by the fact her dwarf still held her close. His head had turned, perhaps waiting for her to explain.

So, still locked in Thorin’s arms, Tessa turned in and released her guts to him: wedged by that soft point next to his ear, careful of her volume.

"Balin said," Tessa had to smile, "the stories are already going around about you: 'only a matter of time before it's set to song', like all the famous living legends are. I know you'll probably hate me saying this... but I do agree with him.

"I grew up with fairy tales too, dozens upon dozens of them– I haven't even told you them all, yet... But I think yours is the greatest one I've ever heard.” 

At her words, Thorin’s paused the sway he'd set them in. Surprised, to the point of heartache.

Tessa smirked, and threw light into her voice before she could risk looking him in the eye:

“N'who gets to say they've seen their hero save the day with their own eyes?" Tessa buried a bit into his hair, " Much less get the greatest hugs they've ever had in their life from them…"

A huff of something sweet and shy passed Tessa’s sapphire-stitched shoulder, then she heard the King’s voice just as gentle turn to talk into her ear,

"Your victor, am I?"

A short, affirmative hum.

"The Mountain's.. or truly yours?"

The massive smith’s hand came to curl her waist into him; but Tessa answered fairly,

"I guess I do have to share you ..."

Thorin's answer, practically purred by her ear, " No, you don't ."

Tessa smiled… but one that mellowed when she felt his lips caress her temple, at the same part where he himself now bore a split in the skin,

"As it happens,” Thorin teased beside her, “-you are mine, as well ."

[mellifloraa]

Thoughts on Celeste

So I just beat Celeste.

It was goddamn beautiful. Oh my god. Playing this game over the last few days has been an experience I don't think I'll forget for a long long time, and one that I'm so glad I pushed myself to finally have. The level designs were unique and (mostly) fun, the controls were tight and responsive, the soundtrack was godly, and the visuals were so well done despite maintaining the blocky pixelated feel.

That was unquestionably the most challenging game I've ever played. I didn't try and collect every strawberry, and I didn't try and collect every B-Side, so I'm definitely not 100%'ing the game anytime soon, but... holy shit. I don't think I want to say it was unfairly difficult, though, because I think it wasn't. I solved a lot of the stages through trial and error, as well as simply taking a step back and assessing each room as its own little beast. Moving forward like this created a real sense of satisfaction when you did beat one of the rooms, despite the growing sense of frustration brewing within. I can't tell you how many times I had to remember that feather (great concept that I will be using moving forward btw) and just... step back and take a deep breath to realign myself and try and look at each level from a different angle. The level design was challenging, and the fine motor controls definitely took a while to perfect, but it wasn't unfair. Games like Getting Over It or Dark Souls are brutally difficult, but I think the key distinction is that sometimes those games feel so difficult to the point of unfairness. Celeste wasn't like that. I tried my absolute best to learn from each death, figuring out exactly what happened and where it went wrong and what I could do to prevent it in the future. On top of that, I absolutely adored how positive the game was in spite of the challenge. The characters were nice to you about your struggle, supported you if you were having a hard time, and reminded you that you are capable of climbing this mountain and finishing the quest. The game even tells you just as you start: "You can do this," knowing that you might know little about the game itself, but you probably know it's challenging as shit. The devs took the time to remind you that, yes, it will be difficult, but you can do it. You can make it through this, as long as you stick with it and take it slow. I love that. I absolutely love that.

In the end, I suppose, the gameplay was challenging, but the sense of reward afterwards and the intrinsic fairness of each room prevented the puzzles from ever seeming unsolvable and prevented me from burning out. Each one just took a little exploration and creative thinking, and in the end, a game can only benefit from that.

Fuck the wind levels in Chapter 4, though. Holy fucking shit.

I knew going into this game that it dealt heavily with the topic of mental health and depression, as well as intrusive thoughts and self-criticism, so that wasn't a surprise to me. Seeing them portrayed the way they were, however, definitely was. There were a few moments where Badeline really genuinely unsettled me, because I could tell exactly where her thoughts were coming from and the illogical reasoning behind them. I've fallen into many of those same fallacy pits and suffered from disordered and illogical thinking for years. That's why, when we finally began to confront these thoughts and instead work together on facing them at the end of Chapter 6, it really impacted me. I spoke a little about it in my other posts, but a lot of the lessons from the game were things that I had to learn myself back in 2019 and 2020, with the help of someone who's no longer in my life. Emotional regulation and self-acceptance is one of the hardest things to do for someone suffering from depression and anxiety, but it's so necessary to work on moving forward and healing regardless of how your illness manifests. Though we may not all be haunted by the literal manifestation of these thoughts like Madeline was, learning to accept all parts of yourself, even the icky ones, can lead to you becoming a more centered and logical person, able to fight back with the coping mechanisms that work best for you, and able to set boundaries for yourself regardless of what other people might expect from you. That's something I myself am still struggling with, but I'm lightyears ahead of where I was three years ago. It's not easy, but it's rewarding. Just like the entire game itself.

I fucking loved this game. I will most certainly be replaying it at some point(s). Holy shit.

Everyone, if you haven't, please play Celeste. It's a wonderful little game that is absolutely worth every bit of effort you put into it.

Now to speedrun it.

[inavagrant-a]

@snowtombedstar said:

❝ here, lean on me. ❞

The war has been waging for days now, Tetsuya was never good at keeping track of time, because time was a concept that never applied to him, but it applied to everybody else around him. However, in this specific context even he has to admit there's something unsettling about it. That he could not keep track. The end of this ark's cycle as they knew it started in silence, blue skies, and a sunny day. Something that could only be described as a hollow eye opened in the sky, ripping the thin veil of a fake sky Teyvat had, and some divine being known as the Sustainer of the Heavenly Principles came out from it. That blue sky did remain blue, but its foundation began to crack around that one eye, that one Goddess who looked down on every sign of life in Teyvat like they were a famine, a plague upon this ark, and that she was going to cure it. However that would have been. Truth be told Tetsuya wasn't there when it happened, it happened in a nation he wasn't present in, but if he had to guess and make an educated guess she probably descended upon Snezhnaya first, because of... well, that's ancient history now, he supposes that doesn't matter anymore. Not with how things are now. Past grievances what are those now anyway? Do they really matter anymore? Even he can acknowledge that they do not.

That blue sky is no longer blue, it bleeds red, the silence that once settled dust is no longer there, in its place clashing of steel and metal, screams of agony, screams of defiance, corpse after corpse left in its wake. The sustainer did not come alone, having apparently decided that not one sole nation needed to be cleansed, but all of them for going against whatever twisted laws those have applied to these lands. One can no longer tell the difference between what nation was what anymore, why just a day ago Tetsuya heard that Dragonspine completely crumbled, its proud mountain destroyed by the might of those who see them from above. Naturally there were many casualties and given that the war has yet to conclude all of those casualties stay lay buried under the once proud mountain, unable to be given their proper rest. Such is life, he learned that lesson so long ago. One life might end but life goes on nevertheless. It is day four of this war and aside from red skies, there are now divine nails littered above them, as far as the eye can see, waiting for their order to descend upon these crumbling lands and seal their fate with their disgusting divinity. Surely, he wasn't the only one who noticed them, Tetsuya knows and has heard all too well of what those things do. What they're capable of. And, if that's the case, then shouldn't that already seal the deal for them all? That it's over, it's done, they can put down their weapons, they lost... and yet still he strives forward and so does everybody else it seems.

Tetsuya is smart, he always has been, so when he knows a fight is a losing fight then its best not to fight it, its time to accept the fate that awaited at the end of the loss and yet... he fights. Why do I fight? He's been asking himself this question for more than a day he knows. Why does he fight? Death does not scare him, that's not it, the fear of death is not the reason why he's fighting he knows. It's something else, something else he can not put into words nor vaguely comprehend.

His angry wind gales rip through the divine beasts that thought themselves bold to surround him until they all lay to shreds around him. Tetsuya's body is no longer the proud fair fortress it always was. His body is littered with cracks that his self-healing can not heal properly anymore, an eye threatening to pop out right out of its socket due to such a thing and no matter how much he tries to place it in a firm standing within said socket it still tries to pop out with the slightest of stressed movements. He is not as durable anymore and pain is a companion he has gotten very familiar with now. He looks like a porcelain doll who's vessel is going to cave it at any second now, at any further strikes. From those web of cracks, newly spilled blood and dry cake them and he can quite honestly not be bothered by them. How he looks no longer matters, but what a sight he is. Speaking of sight... his vision has not been up to par for some time now for obvious reasons. He would laugh if he didn't know that's going to cost him a lot of effort to even accomplish. What does he have to lose? He has nothing. Why do his feet carry him onward, why does he keep moving, when he knows already?

There's no need to fight a losing fight, there's no need to fight of losing fight, there's no need to fight a losing fight, there's no need to fight a losing fight-.

(Fight... Fight!)

Even if he continues to trek forward, the way his vision blurs tells him that he has not much left in him. He's running out of steam for fighting night and day against something much more powerful than he is, not just for himself, but for those who could not fight for themselves as well. The bleeding path ahead blurs to the point where it disorientates him and his head buzzes in a manner that is attempting to make sense of that which he's clearly failing to be able to. Even if he is to trip his legs do not cease, they do not listen to what he understands as reason. He's shutting down and he's still moving forward like he's desperate to see something, like there is something he must see before he finally gets this rest he's been oh so sore for, so long overdue now. What do I want to see? He wonders, fading along with that thought in mind, fully expecting to meet a crashing end. Who knows, maybe the impact will finally get him to break completely. Shatter on the very ground as unbecoming as that may be, perhaps it's what he deserves. Total destruction of what he once was, what he is, and what he could have been. Never too homesick one over the other. And yet that fateful ending he's already playing in his head never comes, his fading vision blurring back into some semblance of sight, though not perfect still. He can not tell objects or things apart, they're all muddled together. A voice echoes in the chambers of one of his ears, one he has not heard in such a long time and in his current state he fails to recognize who it is that has caught him, who's preventing his damning fall.

"... Tem." He does not ask, he states. His eyes look onward with an absence of thought, being able to understand that he's resting on her shoulder. What is she doing here? Is she fighting as well? That's so unlike her if that's the case. "You need to go," he says slowly, tired even, his words drag and the volume in which he speaks is on the quieter side. He attempts to move away yet his body will not listen, it clings to this small and fleeting moment of rest in such a selfish fashion that even he can not get it to listen to him anymore. Why does he persist so? In the distance a loud rumble, something impacts their crying earth, which can only mean that the divine nails are starting to descend upon the lands, intending to seal it away as it has many a times in the past. "Tem, you need to go." Go where exactly? Where is there to go anyway? Nowhere is safe, that much is true, that much he knows, but he wants her to go, he wants her to leave. Not so much to spare himself from being seen this way, but because if there is a small chance that she can live a while longer and spare himself witnessing another loss then that would be better. Is that selfish of him? Probably...

[charnelhouse]

For the drabbles…

Maybe Geralt and *spins wheel* public sex/smut?

Thanks for considering!

A/N: Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader. PWP. Public sex. Rough sex. Size difference. Vibes. Using others for sex to forget about the real object of your desire. This makes no sense plot-wise, but idc.

Geralt seems to collect lost things. When he saves you, he does not expect to keep you. A Skellige princess - warped and carved from the frigid salt of the sea. The pale-cream mountains. The deep evergreen forests. The smells that clear your nose and throat: moss, wet leaves, ozone, and thyme.

You embody all the elements of those Northern lands. You are quiet and cool - impenetrable and dangerous in the black-blue parts of your heart. Overwhelming. There’s the sea in your blood.

And just like the surface of Skellige - you are beautiful in that cold penetrating way. You are a mountain he wouldn’t mind trying to climb. Sometimes he would like to press his thumb to your furrowed brow and smooth the tension that sits like a poison in your body. You are ever so serious, which is ironic - coming from him.

Geralt of Rivia who lacks humor and pleasantness and general charisma - or so Jaskier tells him.

But - back to the idea - the concept - the beginning. Geralt did not intend to keep you and yet it had worked out that way.

They were too far from your homeland after he snatched you from bandits outside of Crow’s Perch. You hadn’t been a contract. He’d simply been passing through and immediately discerned that you did not belong in their small camp. Your eyes were wide and wet, your lower lip swollen, your hands bundled in your lap.

He’d kill all of them and afterward, you’d thanked him - ducking your head - almost shy.

“My father can repay you...”

“It’s alright.”

***

There are times that he could send you back to Skellige. There are boats that could whisk you away or other wanderers he could pass you off to at the many, many taverns they visit.

He asks you only once. “Would you like to go home? I could find safe passage for you.”

You look at him. “If you’d like. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You aren’t.”

A lie.

You are, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. He doesn’t mind that he must accommodate both of you or that he must put your safety first in every new dangerous situation. They share beds and sheets and stews and it never goes beyond that. It’s camaraderie. You are just as silent as he is and yet he finds your presence comforting. It’s strange - like a new sort of magic.

You continue to surprise him.

One night - he is surprised by a Harpy who is very far from its natural habitat. It swoops down and sinks its talons into his shoulder. He collapses from the pain of it and a moment later there is the shrieking wail of the creature - a death scream.

He whirls around and you have shoved his sword through the harpy’s throat. Dark red blood seeps down its mottled milk-pale body. Its stringy hair partially hacked and spilling like feathers.

“How?” he mutters - eyes wide.

“You do know that they train their women in Skellige?” The corner of your lips curl in mild amusement.

***

He likes you, which confuses him. It makes him anxious - sour with an unsettled ache in his gut. It becomes a problem. He lies next to you on the grassy grounds outside White Orchard. He stares at the sky - following the trails of stars that twist into shapes and creatures and mythical beasts.

“Why haven’t you wished to go home?” His voice is low - rumbles from his chest.

You turn on your side - resting your cheek in your palm. He can see the flash of your white teeth when you speak. “My home wasn’t very happy. It wasn’t good to me.”

His fingers curl into fists - his nostrils flaring. Rage pulses in his blood that he did not know could hit him so quickly. “Perhaps - I am delaying the inevitable,” you finish.

He exhales sharply. “You do not have to return.”

“I should...at some point. I have responsibilities.”

He is silent as he mulls over your words. His jaw flexes. “Then I will help you remove whatever - whoever - makes you unhappy there.”

You laugh. It is the first time you’ve done so.

***

His infatuation with you occupies his thoughts. Too much. Too often. He is distracted. The next time - he’s in Oxenfurt he decides to take care of it. He puts you to bed in a nice room above the tavern and goes downstairs where he finds Joanna - a woman he’s had before and one who might share a passing resemblance to you.

They fuck in a hallway. He buries his face into the curve of her neck - hitches her knees high around his waist. It is fast and hard. He threads his fingers into her hair and bites her jaw. He calls her your name, which Joanna doesn’t seem to mind.

He ruts like a dog in heat. He’s almost feral with it. He’s so consumed that he doesn’t realize he feels eyes on him. Something prickles at the nape of his neck.

When he finishes, he tucks himself away and returns to your room. He can hear your heartbeat thrumming wildly. He can smell your sweat.

He doesn’t confront you, of course. Instead - he slips into the bed and brushes the side of his arm against your back. He means it to be casual - thoughtless - as if he had shifted in his bed and accidentally touched you.

You roll your shoulders - knocking his arm away and slip closer to the edge of the bed.

***

It’s an impossible situation. It’s burning in the air - incense the smell of sweet apple and lavender and the sour bite of blackberries. You’re frowning as you peek over his shoulder.

“Don’t look,” he hisses as he pins you to the wall at your back.

There are people. Fucking. The whole room echoes the wet slap of flesh and high-pitched moans. They’re collecting clues in Novigrad for a very large contract and their journey had sent them to here. A “party” at Duke Irvin’s manor.

Your gaze narrows. “I think I can handle it.”

They need to leave. They need to get the fuck out of here.

He guesses that the sexual energy is for a spell - some form of magic that is feeding something. He’d place his gold on the Succubus he’d been hired to take out.

He glances behind him and the both of you are already attracting unwanted attention. There’s a purpose here - you must fuck. It’s a required ticket to the party and he just hadn’t realized until they’d stepped in here. .

“We need to go.”

“We can’t,” you say. “There are guards at the door.”

“Then I’ll take them out.”

You sigh - your eyes flit from the writhing bodies to his face. “We have to do it.”

“No,” he growls and you flinch - hurt.

“Shit,” he says. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean it like I don’t - I don’t want to do that, but not here. This - this is wrong.”

What he wants to say is that he’d thought about fucking you nearly every hour of the day. He had dreamt of it. He had fantasized about it and all the possible ways it could happen. He doesn’t want it to be here - in front of these people - these prying eyes. He’s not good with words. He’s not good at explaining anything.

You palm his cheek and he draws away out of instinct. Your thumb sinks into his flesh and he pauses. “It’s fine, Geralt. I know you won’t hurt me.”

“We don’t have to,” he mutters through clenched teeth. His heart is in his throat - his muscles are tensing and tweaking with tension. He is consumed by it - stressed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

You drag that thumb from his cheek to his lower lip - your press your nail into the fat of it and he groans. Your eyes are twinkling - dazed with fascination as you study his face. “I wouldn’t mind...”

Geralt is hard. He’d been hard since he walked in and scented the air. There is sex and slick and furious heartbeats. Pleasure and lust and, as a Witcher, his sex drive is already inhuman. He could fuck all night if he chose and never tire.

He cups the hinge of your jaw and lifts your face to his. “It won’t be gentle,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“I didn’t ask for gentle.”

He kisses you fiercely. Sloppy and insistent. He thrusts his tongue between your lips and you fist his hair - gasping against the smooth bone of his teeth. There is no one else in the room. There is you beneath him - your small, thin fingers hooking into his linen shirt. He picks you up easily - hands roaming the bare thighs under your dress. His touch is rough - brazen - as if he could strip you open and eat you piece by piece.

“Are you wet?” he husks between kisses - his tongue delving deep deep deep -

“Yes,” You’re burning. “So long - all night -”

His hand supports your ass as his other reaches under your dress. He can feel the heat of you and when his fingertips breach your cunt - he grunts like he’s tasted it. Your throbbing and soaked against touch. He pushes in and you clench around him - ripple and quake as you clasp his shoulders and cling to him.

His hold on you was unrelenting and it was amusing to see you arch into his chest. Your soft mewls and pretty moans as you scrape your nails over feverish skin. “Shall I eat your cunt?” he grumbles as he licks a long path up the line of your throat.

His senses are verging on extremes. The sounds of men and women screwing around them. The tight dripping vice of your sex around his fingers. The sweet-salt brush of too much - he can smell it all - he can smell the crevices of your beautiful body and he can feel eyes on him - on the both of you - watching as they rip at each other. He doesn’t care anymore. He’d throw you on the floor of the room and sink into you regardless of prying attentions.

He growls as he thumbs at your clit and then curls his fingers - pushing up against the top of your cunt from the inside. “Answer me,” he demands. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“I don’t know,” you sob - hips chasing his hand.

He puts his mouth to your ear - his tone gravely and full of hunger. “Shall I fuck you like I fucked that whore back in Oxenfurt? Right up against the wall. Mount you like some beast, princess? I know you saw me - I know you watched.”

You draw a breath in and he grins. “Did it wet your sweet cunt?” He nips your jaw. “Did you know that I thought of you while I fucked her? I wanted to return to our room and shove my cock into your beautiful little body - into that plump mouth of yours.”

You groan - unladylike and primal - and haul him to your lips for a frantic kiss. “Fuck me,” you plead against his roving tongue. “I want - want it -”

His fingers thrust in and out - scissoring and jamming up - and each push forward leaves a liquid-suck that thickens his blood. You really are a princess - a trembling damsel who had shared sleeping pads and thin cots and stews and ale with him. You’d wiped the blood from his brow - his chest - a particularly bad wound on his thigh. No complaints.

He removes his fingers and undoes his trousers. He is so stiff - throbbing and pulsing with his own ferocious longing for you. He was capable of controlling himself when the lines were set - when you had the option to say no, but now - it is done. It is over and you spread your thighs wider - hook your feet at his ass and he sinks into you.

Your mouth drops open and he can feel his expression go slack with the tightness of your cunt. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth - your brow knitting together as you try to accommodate his girth. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck - his words as soothing as he can make them. “Relax, little princess,” he murmurs. “Relax for me.”

He eases his hips back an inch before pressing forward. You cry out - choking on the air - squeezing his shoulders. “I know,” He kisses your cheek - his lashes tickling your skin. “I know it’s a lot for you.”

It’s a lot for him. His cock is in a vice. He may just spill his seed before he can get fully seated.

“Slow,” you plead. “Just - just give me a moment.”

He is only halfway and you're clenching around him - biting back a groan. He saws his hips - easing his way into you - conquering you by the smallest increments. He puts his fingertips to the apex of your cunt - stroking the puffy folds that are stretched around his length. He circles the bead of your clit and you jerk -

“Helping you,” He’s nearly wheezing now - unable to concentrate. “Just need some more to take your tight cunt.”

He’s shocked he is able to have so much control in this. The entire world has blurred and darkened - narrowing to the white-heat of your center - your insides and your soft, pliant body. It takes another minute until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Alright?” He’s grinding into you - savoring each spasm of your pussy. You grip his face and kiss him messily - sucking his tongue into your mouth before you rest your forehead against his.

“Move,” you wish. “Please.”

He does immediately. He draws his cock all the way to the tip before driving forward again. He feels as if he is splitting you with each long, bruising stroke he delivers. He can’t hold back any longer. He wants to ruin you - destroy you for anyone else. He wants to brand you completely.

There is the lewd smack of his hips making contact with the bowl of your pelvis. The fabric of your skirt is heavy and hot and he wants to rip the clothes from your form. Bare you.

Not here. Not here. Not here for others to see you.

You are trembling in his arms. Your thighs quaking around his waist - your sex dripping. He knows you must be sore and you still bear his ministrations beautifully. You accept every sharp punch of his prick.

His words in your ear are gruff - plainly dressed in his long-cherished desire for you: wanted this - your cunt - tight as a fist - let me lick you after - make you come on my tongue - stay with me - stay with me - stay with me

Your eyes roll back - lashes fluttering. He clasps your chin - dragging your face back down so his gaze can meet yours. “Look at me when you come around my cock..”

That’s it. It’s all it takes. You finish with a choked-off whimper - squeezing him in a vice that almost hurts. “That’s it,” he croons. “That’s perfect. Fuck - you did so well for me - took all of me-”

Your teeth flash against your mouth. The room is vibrating with all the sex and his own burning arousal. He can go and go and keep going and he doesn’t think it will ever be enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck - pull him near. “Please, Geralt. Please.”

“What?” he murmurs - lips brushing your temple - a kiss to your hair. “What do you want? What do you need?”

He will fill you - stuff you - plug you up. There are eyes on them - trawling over your skin - the crown of his silver hair. He swallows.

“More.”

[nsheetee]

One Foot in the Golden Life

Pairing: rich kid!renjun x caddie!reader Genre: rich kid AU, university au, romance, slight angst, mature content Length: 9.7k Summary: this is the story of a boy who is constantly pushed down by his father, a girl who just wants to not live paycheck to paycheck, and how they met on a golf course.  Warnings/Details: includes mentions of other NCT members, female reader, swearing, inaccurate depiction of golf, acts of sexual harassment towards the reader, mature content (unprotected sex, coming inside, oral [female receiving])

a/n: a big thank you to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ♡ also, if you are a minor, please beware that there is mature content in this fic!

You thought it would be the perfect opportunity to work at the most well-known country club in the state, but really the only thing your job brought you was perpetual cold to your hands and feet, and entangled your simple life with one of the youngest and richest bachelors at your university.

The only place on top of Mt. Carla is the Augusta Country Club, and it is a sight to see by the regular people who gaze up at it from the city below, like mortals looking up into the Gods’ chamber. The first time you went up the mountain for your job interview at the club, you got lost and were almost late. Thankfully, you didn’t crash your car on the winding roads, and got the job as well.

The Augusta Country Club is equipped with the largest and most expensive golf course in the region, but also has Michilin approved restaurants and the finest saunas and gym equipment any CEO could ask for. Those are usually the type of people that have club memberships: CEO’s, congress men and women, top-notch lawyers, and maybe the odd business owner that made it big enough to afford the price tag.

When you took up the job as a caddie, you had an idea of what you were getting yourself into. You’ve only been working for a month, but there are already a few regular golf players that prefer you as their caddie, which in your book is a success considering the type of high profile people that come to relax here.

However, today is different.

You can sense it when Kara and Mina, your coworkers who have been working here for a year longer than you, walk towards you and your friend, Lia, before your shift today. Mina has a small stack of info cards in her hands and they both hold smug smiles on their faces. The info cards have everything a caddie needs to know about who they’ll be working for that shift, and by the looks of it, today’s game will have a good match up.

“I’m going to be Mr. Huang’s son’s caddie. Don’t even fight me on this, you know I’ll win.” Kara states boldly as the two girls stop in front of you, snatching an info card out of Mina’s hand when she holds them up like she’s playing a card game, flashing the photos and names on the cards at you.

“I call dibs on Mr. Lee’s son.” Mina hums, not even bothering to keep up the act that they just want to be good caddies. “You two can have the old men.” She smiles tightly, shoving the other two info cards into Lia’s grasp and turning on her heel to walk away with Kara.

Considering you don’t even know what they’re talking about, you have no right to be mad at them. There is more confusion clouding your mind than anger at their rudeness. However, Lia does not share the same sentiment.

“I’ll shove these info cards up their-” Lia fumes, her volume rising as the sentence went on, and you quickly pulled her out of ear shot, around a corner by the bathrooms. “-stuck up two faced asses!”

“Lia…” You mutter, her wording making you shake your head at how unstable her temper is, “They’ve been working here for a lot longer than we have, just let them have those clients. Either way, what’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? ___, they’re talking about Lee Jeno and Huang Renjun. I know I told you about them before.” Lia states like she expects you to have those two names tattooed on the front lobe of your brain already.

“I think I remember them…. They go to our University, right?” You try to regurgitate your friend’s rambles from months ago out of your head.

“Yeah, business department.” She sighs dreamily, as if the business department is the sexiest thing on campus. “This might be our only chance to shoot our shot.” You can’t help but grimace a bit.

“It can be your chance to shoot your shot. Leave me out of this.” You randomly grab an info card out of Lia’s hands, turning it around to see Mr. Huang Lijun’s photo staring back at you. You send Lia one last look, walking around her to go change in the dressing rooms.

“Aw, you’re no fun.” You hear her whine, her footsteps echo through the hallway as she comes up behind you. She almost knocks you into the wall from how forcefully she grabs onto your arm and swings it back and forth like you’re two little kids on your way to the playground.

“Maybe we can shoot our shot at the old men?” You and Lia stop walking, turning to face each other for a moment of silence. You blink at each other as if you’re both considering it, before erupting into laughter at the ridiculous thought and continue walking down the hallway.

You and Lia constantly joke around about finding rich sugar daddies at work to pay for your college tuition, but both of you know you’ll never actually commit to the idea fully. Neither of you will admit it, but you both know you don’t have the guts to do something like that.

By the time you, Lia, and your other coworkers change into uniform and gather your supplies for the Lee vs. Huang game, it’s already 10am. The air is crisp and cool, the signs of fall creep along your skin and taint the deep green trees in light oranges and yellows.

Despite the chill, you and your coworkers still wear skirts, long sleeve v-necks, and puffy vests; the only thing keeping your feet warm is a pair of short white socks and tennis shoes. You don’t mind the chill knowing that once the game starts you’ll be moving around enough to get warm. You stop thinking about your cold toes as soon as the door of the country club opens and the Lees and Huangs walk out.

The first time you lay eyes on Huang Renjun, you think your heart might stop.

You know it’s him because he walks close to his father as they make their way to where you’re standing by the golf carts. He has obviously dyed blonde color, his dark roots proof of that; it’s neatly gelled back in an effortless way with the light wind blowing a few of the locks gently as if an angel is personally moving them for him. His white jacket and black pants are slim and look like they cost more than all of your college textbooks this semester. He walks with his head high, his pretty, pink lips set in a straight line, and his almond eyes gentle.

Okay, so... maybe you understand the hype now.

“Good evening, ladies.” Mr. Lee announces, looking at you and your coworkers. You all politely introduce yourself and state who you’ll be caddying for.

Huang Lijun isn’t as tall as his son, but he looks to be more lively than Renjun, even at his age. He has a permanent smile on his lips and you can feel a friendly demeanor radiating from him when you approach.  

“Good Morning, sir. Let me take those off of your hands.” You politely grab the bag of clubs from him, feeling shy as his gaze doesn’t leave your face the entire time.

“You’re new here, right? I feel like I would remember you if I saw you before.” You’re surprised when he suddenly pinches your cheek, and he laughs at your shocked face. An unsettled feeling plants itself at the bottom of your stomach at the unwarranted touch.

“I’ve only been working here for a month, sir.”

“I think I’ll be coming around here more often, then.” He winks at you and turns to go sit in the front seat of the golf cart. You can’t help but let the feeling at the bottom of your stomach grow at how the older man looks at you. You definitely misjudged his “friendly” demeanor. Your eyes can’t help but glance at Renjun, who’s standing a few feet away from the whole interaction. He gives you a blank stare before turning and following his father.

In the past few weeks, you had gotten many lustful smiles and lewd gazes at your bare legs, but also many dollars in tips just in one morning by letting those smiles and gazes happen. The need to make ends meet justifies it all, and the cash you earn at the end of every shift only fuels this need.

The ride from the club’s main building to the first hole is short, so you quickly recompose yourself. You still have a job to do— a job you’re being paid lots of money for. You believe in your strong will to put up with whatever antics Mr. Huang pulls for the next few hours. Upon arrival at the first hole, you pull the bag of golf clubs out of the cart and follow in Mr. Huang’s quick footsteps, suddenly feeling sweaty from the exercise you’re getting by carrying these heavy clubs. When your group reaches the first hole, you set the bag down on the ground and press your hand over your face, but Mr. Huang’s voice startles you.

“Woah, there.” You jump and face him. “Those clubs cost more than my car, and unlike my car, they don’t deserve to be on the ground, darling.”

“Yes, sir. I apologize.” You smile shyly and pick up the clubs from the ground, your shoulders already straining to keep them up. ‘They weigh as much as a car,’ you huff.

This is going to be a long game.

“You kids can clean the carts today,” Mina suddenly throws a keychain at Lia’s face, she barely catches it before it hits her, “I have plans.”

“Me, too.” Kara quickly says, following after Mina as they both walk away. The game ended right at lunchtime (the Lees won) and now you and your coworkers are back at the club. It’s supposed to be everyone’s job to clean the golf carts after they’ve been used, but it looks like today it’ll just be you and Lia… Maybe.

“___, please. I’m going to be late to the cafe, my boss there is already mad at me.” Lia turns to you and begs with her hands clasped in front of her chest, eyes pleading and feet bouncing. You sigh; you’re hungry and your muscles are sore, and all you want to do is go home as quickly as you can. Still, you roll your eyes and take the golf cart keys from her, making her face crack open into a smile as she hugs you quickly.

“I’ll bring you coffee on Monday!” She screams at you as she practically runs away, leaving you with two golf carts to clean. You sluggishly begin, crawling into the cart the Huangs were sitting in when you find a small notebook laying on one of the seats. Picking it up to examine it, you find out it’s your university’s yearly planner, a book that everyone gets at the beginning of every academic year. Along the binder reads “Huang Renjun” and your eyes widen, immediately looking up to glance at the direction that Renjun walked off to a while ago.

Your legs move quickly through the corridors of the club, moving past changing rooms, saunas, and bathrooms, the planner tightly clutched in your hand. Your head is on a swivel and your lower lip is stuck between your teeth, until you hear a door open and slam shut behind you, making you turn your head to catch Renjun walking out of a changing room.

“Mr. Huang!” You call out.. Renjun freezes at the name, spinning on his heel to see you walking towards him.

“Sorry to disturb you, but you left your planner on the golf cart.” You hold it out for him, but he doesn’t take it.

“How do you know it’s a planner? Did you look through it?” You blink at him, stunned, and then glance down at the notebook. You’re surprised by the sudden questions and at the same time annoyed that Renjun accused you of snooping through his things so quickly. The image you had of him earlier, graceful, classy, and attractive, slips out of your mind as he stares down at you. However, this is the first time he’s directly talking to you, and you can’t help the spark that ignites in your belly from the roughness in his voice. It’s higher-pitched, but unpolished and jagged as he speaks with you.

“No. I go to the same University. I have the same one.” You explain. Renjun’s stare turns into shock.

“Really? Which department?”

“Fine Arts. I study Studio Art.” At first you think that you’re seeing things, but after blinking, you can guarantee that Renjun has jealousy painted on his face. It’s so sour that he looks away, trying to preoccupy his hands by fiddling with his bag. “So, are you going to take this, or…?”

“Yeah,” The bitterness drips from his tone, but you have a feeling it’s not directed at you, “Thank you for returning it.” He finally accepts it and turns to his bag, taking out his wallet. The cards inside look thick and heavy; memberships to places you’ll never step foot in and credit cards with limits you could never even imagine. Your pride tells you that you don’t need anything he could give you, so you silently turn around and walk away.

Renjun shuffles through some crisp 10’s and 20’s, but when he looks up to give you the tip, you’re already down the hallway and halfway out the door. You have golf carts to clean.

The next time you see Renjun is a week after the last game. The chilly weather remains, along with the useless uniform you have to wear, but this time around you’re not Mr. Huang’s caddie, you’re Renjun’s.

Kara walks next to you with Mr. Huang’s heavy golf clubs, her lips straight and head turned away from you to show her annoyance at how the caddie match up situation went this week. You’re sure to get an earful about this for at least the next few days, but you kind of like this revenge that fate dealt Kara. Either way, it’s not like there’s anything you can do about the match up. Renjun requested you to be his caddie this week, and you weren’t going to risk your bosses being angry with you by denying the request.

“Driver.” Renjun’s voice pulls you into the game. You pull out the correct golf club and put it into his awaiting hand, your fingertips brushing with his. “Aren’t you cold?” The words shock you, considering they’re the first words Renjun spoke to you today other than commands for golf clubs.

“I-I’m fine, Mr. Huang.” You respond promptly.

“Don’t call me that.” His tone is icy, and he quickly realizes how unnecessary it is to bite at you like that, “Just call me Renjun.” His father walks back from his shot, looking very smug. Renjun’s face is calm as he trades spots with his father and prepares for his first swing of the day, correcting his posture and loosening his limbs.

You remember the first time you saw him, how elegant and poised he looked. Your cold hands break into a sweat as your chest heats up from the quick beating of your heart. Renjun has only been icy and accusing towards you so far, yet you still feel warm while thinking about him. There has to be something wrong with you.

“Doesn’t my son look like he knows what he’s doing?” Mr. Huang asks from beside you, a small, unnerving smile on his lips.

“Yes, sir.” You reply back with your own, more innocent, smile.

“I taught him everything he knows about golf…. And women.” Mr. Huang leans into you, turning his chest to face you so that his breath is hitting your cheek. You can’t help but swallow to relieve your dry and cold throat, keeping your eyes forward as Renjun swings his club back and forth a bit in preparation.

“Yes, sir.” The only thought on your mind is to stop this man from stepping closer.

“Is that the only thing you can say?”

Renjun swings his arm back, breathing in as he keeps his eyes on the small white ball and his hopes in the green before him. Mr. Huang’s right hand is warm on your waist, but you would give anything to freeze right now.

A sharp crack ripples through the air as Renjun hits the golf ball and sends it flying into the golf course. His eyes are not where the ball lands, but instead on where his father touches you.

Renjun’s mom died when he was not even three days old.

He never got to meet her— to lay on her chest and hold her finger with his whole hand. He’ll never know what advice she would’ve given him when he got his first girlfriend, and he’ll never know how she would’ve reacted to him crashing his first car when he was 17. He only knows that his mom would’ve been there for him through all of that, unlike his father, who was not.

Renjun has had “mothers” through his life; three, to be exact. The first was when he was 5 years old, and she quickly asked for a divorce after Renjun’s dad went on a three month business trip and she didn’t hear from him the whole time. The second “mother” was a bit more mature than the first and with a lot more time on her hands. She wanted to shape 9 year old Renjun into a perfect student, which was something Renjun’s father appreciated, but still divorced her for “being too strong-headed.” Renjun only met his third mother twice when he was 13: once at the wedding and the second time at her funeral. He didn’t ask any questions, he wasn’t very interested in the first place.

These were the type of people Renjun spent his life around, but they really weren’t his mothers. The only similarity he had with those women was his father, and he treated them as poorly as he treated Renjun. That’s why when Renjun looks at you, cowering away from the very man who is his only link to family, he feels sick.

When is his dad going to stop being a fucking predator? How young does he want his next conquest to be? Will Renjun’s next mom be the same age as him? Something swirls in the pit of his stomach when he watches his father and it takes a moment for him to figure out what it is: jealousy. He’s not sure why he’s feeling jealous over someone he just met last week, but the feeling engulfs his whole chest and it burns him to his spot.

Renjun doesn’t even notice that he swung his golf club or that the golf ball went somewhere far into the green, probably an overshot. He only sees you, afraid of the man touching you but not stepping away. Why aren’t you stepping away?

“Nice job, Renjun.” His best friend, Jeno, claps a hand on his back as he steps up, hitting Renjun back into reality and forcing him to walk towards you. As Renjun approaches, his father slyly takes his hand away, and Renjun notices how you let out a relieved sigh. Giving you back his driver, Renjun strategically stands between you and his father, pretending to watch Jeno swing.

“Good job… Renjun.” You whisper, unsure about calling him by his first name so informally.

“Thank you.” Renjun sends a side glance to his father to see the displeased look on his face. “How was that, Dad?” Renjun hopes that maybe he can remind his father of why he’s here (to win against the Lees this week, not to feel up a girl 30 years younger than him) but in this moment, his father is acting like a 5 year old in the middle of a silent tantrum, not a 50 year old who runs the most successful construction company in the country.

“I’ve taught you better than that.” Renjun is sure they’re not talking about golf anymore, the authoritative tone in his father’s voice sends a lightning bolt of surprise and slight fear down Renjun’s back. He hates how he gets scared, he hates how his father can control him. The fury churns in the pit of his stomach as he accepts his father’s words with a bow of his head.

One day, Renjun swears he won’t submit anymore.

After the game ended with the Lees winning once again, you, Lia, and your other coworkers convene at the golf carts after the clients leave to change inside the club.

“You ladies know the drill.” Kara throws both sets of golf cart keys at you before walking off with Mina. You push Lia towards the entrance of the building before she even has a chance to turn around and open her mouth.

“You should get to the cafe before your boss throws another fit.” Lia turns back to face you, her jaw slightly slack and her eyes shining.

“You’re seriously the best. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a few extra shots in my coffee on Monday.” Lia laughs at that, grabbing your face between her two small, manicured hands and kissing you on each cheek before hopping off inside. You can’t help but be amused at her antics, turning to the golf carts in front of you to start cleaning.

“They make you clean the carts by yourself?” The voice startles you, not because you weren’t expecting it but because it’s Renjun’s. You turn your head over your shoulder, he’s standing just a few feet away still in his golfing gear from earlier.

“Uh, not usually, no. But my coworkers haven’t been happy with me lately.” You explain, fully turning to him and crossing your arms over your chest to tuck your cold hands into your sides.

“The ones who have been working here for a while?” You nod as an answer, and Renjun nods back in understanding, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “They’ve been trying to get with me and my best friend for a while...” Renjun trails off when he sees your eyebrows raise at the comment, “... But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

“Oh? What are you here for?” The conversation has gotten too informal for a worker and their client to be having, but you kind of like talking to Renjun in this casual setting.

“I realized that the past few times we’ve talked I’ve been such a dick.” He laughs lightly as he remembers, “I wanted to apologize for that. I wasn’t in a good mood last week and this morning, and I ended up pushing it on you.”

Renjun feels lots of emotions when it comes to you, despite only having this one proper conversation with you. He feels envy towards you for being able to study something that he desperately wants to. He feels guilt when he remembers how quickly he made you into a thief when you were only trying to return his belongings, and he feels so many other secondary and tertiary emotions in between. His head is full when he looks at you. He finally feels like he’s thinking about something, not just doing the same day to day motions in a constant cycle of ‘when will this end?’

“You’re apologizing?” You ask, stunned when he nods his head in confirmation. Sincere apologies are important to you. You believe there are not enough of them in this world anymore, and his gentle almond eyes are too wholehearted and warm for you in this cold weather. Your heart feels full looking at him, and you curse at yourself in your head for being swayed like this.

“I also have a question… You mentioned you’re majoring in Studio Art and I was wondering if, maybe, you could let me into one of the studios after a class this week? I’ve been needing a quiet place to work since my house has been busy lately.” One of the hands that was in Renjun’s pocket moves to matte down his sideburns while he glances at his shoes. “Was that too forward? Sorry, I just know that you can’t get into a studio without a passcode and you’re the only person I know who’s in Studio Art.” Renjun explains after you stare for a while, blinking at him.

“You’re an artist?” You finally ask, Renjun giving you a weak ‘yeah’ in response. A part of you wants to say no, that it’ll be weird to do something like this for him when you’ve only known him for less than 2 weeks and up until this point, you’ve only been in a worker-client relationship. However, you’re curious about what he’s like outside of this setting, especially what he’s like when his father has no possibility of appearing, since that seems to be the factor that turns his mood up or down.

“Sure. Come by studio 3 after 6pm on Wednesday and I’ll let you in, but... I heard Mr. Lee already scheduled a game for next weekend?” Renjun nods, “Then in return, you can win that game. It’s embarrassing always being on the losing team.” You smile playfully at the end to let him know you’re only joking.

“Deal.” Renjun sends a smile back of the same caliber, holding out a hand to shake with yours. If you thought you were affected by Renjun’s nice presence, his hand in yours sends you into another realm. His touch is warm from staying indoors and from keeping his hands in his pockets, and they contrast to your cold skin. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when your hands connect, turning your hand in his grip to look at your knuckles. “Are you sure you’re not cold? Your hands are freezing.”

“I’ll be okay. I just don’t have any good gloves to wear while working.” He huffs, small traces of white smoke leaves his mouth as he digs through his pockets.

“Wear these.” He replaces his hand in yours with a pair of his own gloves, “Your hands are precious, they shouldn’t be freezing.” Before Renjun can get embarrassed by his own words, he shoves his hands back into his pockets and turns on his heel, walking away, “I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

A knock on the studio doors shakes you away from staring at your painting, making you turn to look at who it is. Renjun peaks through the small window and waves when you make eye contact. You get up to open the door, almost forgetting that today is the day you agreed to let Renjun into your studio.

… Okay, that’s a lie. You definitely remembered that you’re supposed to meet Renjun, but you keep trying to convince yourself that you’re not excited about seeing him outside of that stuffy country club.

“Hey, sorry if I startled you.” Is the first thing he says when you open the door. He’s dressed in slacks, a dress shirt with a sweater over it, and a long coat over that. His nose and cheeks are slightly red from the rough wind outside and his supplies are clutched to his chest.

“Oh, you’re fine. I was just deep in thought.” Something about the studio makes both of you speak in hushed tones. No one else is here, but you feel the need to maintain the peace and quiet the room naturally holds. You and Renjun make your way to where you’re set up, he puts his things down on an easel to your left and takes off his coat, watching you from his peripheral vision.

Those uniforms they make you wear at work are just for show, Renjun knows that well, but that doesn’t stop him from appreciating you in the tight vest and little skirt. However right now, he likes your laid back look consisting of loose jeans and a layered shirt, he thinks it matches you.

“I was going to leave when you got here, but I think I’ll just finish this and head out.” You comment, aimlessly waving at your project.

“Please, stay as long as you need to. This is your studio, I don’t want to kick you out.” He laughs and licks his bottom lip. It’s breathtaking how innocent and nice his smile looks on his face. His eyes scrunch together to form laugh lines and his cheeks rise, he truly looks pretty when he smiles. You think this is the first time you’ve seen him like this.

You mumble back with a mixture of words that probably didn’t make sense and turn back to your work, leaving the room to continue with its peacefulness and quiet. However, Renjun’s presence next to you is too big to ignore. There are so many things you want to know about him and you have no excuse as to why you’re so curious.

“How about a game while we work?” You suggest.

“Sure… How about 20 questions?” It’s like he read your mind, so you smile and nod at his idea.

“You can go first.” You suggest.

“Okay, uh… Why do you work at a golf course if you’re majoring in Studio Art? Shouldn’t you be working at a, I don’t know, museum?” The question catches you off guard and Renjun notices how you stop painting, your brush and your hand floating in the air as you think, “Oh, sorry, is that too personal?”

“No, no… It’s just, normally, the first question people ask in a game of 20 questions is something like ‘what’s your favorite color’ or ‘what’s your sign’.” Renjun lets out a choked and embarrassed laugh, ducking his head down to look away from you. You can tell he’s about to change his question, so you quickly go back to painting and speak before he can.

“I did apply to work at several museums. I didn’t get any jobs, so I had to look elsewhere and Augusta was hiring. I know it’s not very fitting, but it makes good money and rich people know my name, even if it’s for just a few hours.” Renjun nods at your answer as if he could ever understand the idea of being poor, but the insight into your decision brings a fact to light that Renjun wasn’t 100% aware of before: you’re not like him, you need money.

“Don’t you hate the way people look at you there?” The words tumble out of Renjun’s lips faster than he can process the weight they carry. He turns to face you with guilt pooling in his eyes and his mouth opening and closing to find some words to correct the situation.

“No, I don’t like it.” You surprise him with your quick response, “But people like you don’t understand what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, to have to worry about how to pay the bills every month for years on end, always on your toes about money. I bet you think I’m cheap and—”

“No.” Renjun cuts you off promptly before you can continue, “Don’t make me into a jerk. I’m not like that. But the fact that that is the first thing you thought of worries me.” Your eyes widen at that, prompting him to elaborate. “Doesn’t that mean that’s how you think of yourself? Maybe not on the outside, but subconsciously. Sure, I won’t ever be able to understand how you live, but I wish you would not look at yourself as cheap and think of yourself as… beautiful.” Renjun lets the last words linger on his tongue, saying it quietly as if to not startle you.

You stare at him, your paintbrush resting in your hand and your back slouched as you watch him watch you. This is not the type of conversation you thought you’d be having with Renjun tonight, but you have to admit he makes a point. Eventually, you turn to your painting and stare at it some more, making Renjun turn and continue his own work.

“Ah, I asked two questions in a row.” He suddenly breaks the tense atmosphere, making you sigh as you remember you’re just playing a game, “You can ask two questions.”

He allows and relaxes when he sees you go back to painting.

“If you like to draw, why are you a business major?” Now it’s Renjun’s turn to freeze. Maybe if he did ask what your favorite color was he wouldn’t have had to endure this question from you, but he feels like he should answer it since it’s of equal weight to the one he asked you.

“It wasn’t my choice. I will most likely take my father’s place in his company and I need to at least know the basics before that happens.” You nod slowly. He looks so calm when he’s focused on drawing, but it’s not the same calm that you see on his face when he’s playing golf. You turn away before you get caught staring.

“Is that why your mood always changes when your dad is around?”

“Is it that obvious…” He trails off and you nod, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud, but… It’s like everytime I’m around him, or at his office, or at home, my mind goes blank. I don’t feel like talking or thinking at all.” As he speaks, he sets down his utensils and turns to you, making continuous eye contact as he explains. You find yourself feeling comfortable at how easily he’s talking to you about such a deep subject.

“It sounds like… you’re angry.” You turned to face him now too, your paintbrush settled onto your canvas and your full attention on him, “My dad is like that. He gets so angry sometimes that he’s calm. No yelling or fighting, just silence. That’s how I know I messed up when he gets like that.” You nod, remembering all the times he’s been calmly mad at you.

“I don’t know… It’s confusing to me.” He straightens his back and stares at your foot as it moves around aimlessly. “What do I do?” He asks into the air, as if his pencil would suddenly start talking to him like a therapist.

“Just do what makes you happy.” Renjun’s glance over at you makes a smile pull at your lips, “I know it’s easier said than done. But you already know what it is that’ll make you happy, and that’s half of the battle. Why bottle it up?”

Renjun doesn’t know how he’ll ever get the courage to tell his father these things, but the way you’re looking at him as if he can do anything, he starts to feel tingles of confidence trickle into him.

“Oh, and why did you pick me to be your caddie this past weekend?”

“Well…” Renjun plays with his pencil. What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t want you to carry around his father’s heavy golf clubs? He doesn’t like the way his father touches you and gets jealous over it for some unknown reason? Yeah, he’s not going to say.

“Just because… I wanted you next to me.” The way he says it makes it sound so simple and true, but your heart drops to your stomach and springs back up going at 100 miles per hour. You can barely stop your hand from shaking as you pick up your brush, and it’s almost like you can’t see in front of you from the thrill of his words.

“Hey,” Renjun suddenly drops his pencil and turns to you, looking a bit confused and slightly upset, “Didn’t you ask three questions?”

“We’re letting the Lees win again today.” Renjun is in the middle of pulling up the zipper of his jacket when his father drops the news. Renjun’s footsteps stutter slightly at his father’s words and he stops walking next to the older man.

“Again?” He asks as he already thinks up an apology to tell you later when he loses.

“Yes, I need Mr. Lee to be happy when I bring up the new contract to him later in the sauna.” Renjun sighs and continues to walk next to his father. It’s the next weekend, and the third Lee vs. Huang game is starting in just a few minutes.

Renjun won’t lie, purposefully losing to his best friend and his dad every week is not the greatest stroke to Renjun’s ego, especially since Jeno won’t let it down around his other friends.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lijun swivels on his heel to look at his son, “Have you been requesting for ___ to be your caddie?”

The questions stuns Renjun, making it hard to answer so his father takes it as a yes.

“Well stop it. Dad wants to have some fun.” He claps a hand on Renjun’s back and  smiles. In the past, Renjun would’ve just rolled his eyes and let his father do whatever he wants, but this time his blood boils. He feels true anger when his father struts away with the intentions of doing whatever he wants to someone Renjun cares about. He can barely move his feet after the old man, his mind cloudy as everyone makes it to the golf carts.

“Let’s have a good game today, Mr. Huang, don’t make it too easy to beat you.” Mr. Lee jokes around and the two old men laugh as they settle into their own golf carts. Renjun walks up to his cart and you wave to him, the white gloves he gave you last week snugly on your hands. Renjun thinks his anger is what spurs him into doing what he does next.

He steps close to you, leaning into your ear and wrapping his hand around your covered ones with his thumb rubbing on your exposed wrist, “Keep these on for me, babe. I don’t want you to be cold.”

The amount of jaws that drops after Renjun’s words makes him bite down his smirk and slide into the front seat of the golf cart, pretending to not see the daggers his father is  throwing at him with his eyes.

Your heart beats so quickly and loudly you’re sure Kara can hear it next to you if she wasn’t busy huffing about what Renjun just did. Sitting in the back seat of the golf cart, you watch the back of Renjun’s head on the way to the first hole. What got into Renjun? Why did he all of a sudden call you ‘babe’ and get so close? Not that you’re opposed to it, you’re just shocked.

The game begins once you reach the first hole, and the Huang’s put up a good fight throughout the entire game, keeping the Lees on their toes and the score sheet even. Everytime Renjun comes back from a shot, you smile at him and tell him good job, which earns you a pat on the back from him that warms you up from the inside out.

Renjun can tell his father is getting more and more annoyed with him; how Renjun is keeping you as far from his father as he possibly can, the gentle touches on your waist that you welcome wholeheartedly compared to the ones Mr. Huang would lay on you before. He likes how angry his father gets, especially knowing that he can’t do anything about it right now. Not to mention, you seem to be enjoying Renjun’s attention, which just adds to his confidence.

Now, your group arrives at the last hole of the game. The Lees step up and swing, setting their total score to 357. All Renjun and his father have to do is move the ball around a bit more to get their score to be higher and the Lees will win the game. Mr. Huang is up first, acting clumsy so that the ball doesn’t make it into the hole and brings the game to Renjun.

As he sets up his posture, his hands suddenly go stiff. This shot is so easy to make, he has made this exact hole several times. He breathes in and out deeply, deciding on if he should throw the game like his father said he should, or give his one last ‘fuck you’ to his Dad.

He glances at you and makes eye contact; you nod your head and smile a bit as if to say ‘go ahead, we all know you can do this.’ Renjun then grips his golf club and swings it back to effortlessly hit the golf ball, rolling it along the green and perfectly into the hole.

You and the other caddies clap for the perfectly executed shot and Jeno and his father come up to Renjun to shake hands. They don’t look upset, instead they look pretty happy for Renjun. However, Renjun’s father is deathly silent, not even congratulating Renjun on his win. Renjun wasn’t expecting a whole ceremony for him, but it does feel nice to put his father down a peg or two today, and that’s the thought that fills Renjun’s head as everyone rides back to the country club.

While getting out of the golf cart, Renjun attempts to turn back to you but is promptly pulled away by the back of his jacket by his father. Renjun yelps and pulls away, but that doesn’t stop Lijun from grabbing onto his son’s arm instead and pulling him inside.

“What was that? I specifically told you to lose the game and you did the exact opposite. How am I supposed to talk to Mr. Lee now?” Renjun’s father fumes, his low voice belting out into the corridor and making some of the passing staff turn their heads.

“That’s not my problem.” Renjun shrugs and his father stops shaking, stepping closer to his son.

“Excuse me?” He asks with menace dripping from his tongue.

“I said, that’s not my problem.” Renjun is fired up. He doesn’t see a way out of this now, no way his behavior is being excused, so might as well go all in.

“You did it for that caddie, ___, right?” His father squints his eyes and turns his head slightly. When Renjun doesn’t answer, Lijun laughs in his face, “It looks like I’m right.”

“What?” Renjun asks dumbly.

“It’s okay. You’re just a boy and you can make some mistakes over a girl, we’ve all been there once or twice.” Lijun fixes Renjun’s jacket and pats his shoulder, his angry disposition turning passive. “Besides, you can’t do much for that girl anyway. Is a ball in a hole really all she deserves?”

“I won the game because I could. I won it because that’s what I wanted.” Renjun states, his blood beginning to boil once again when his father says he doesn’t deserve you. What is he thinking? Does he actually think he has a chance with you? He can keep dreaming.

“We can’t always do whatever we want. There are consequences we have to face for doing whatever we want. Are you ready to face the consequences?” At the question, Renjun is reminded about the words you told him Wednesday night.

‘Just do what makes you happy,’ Those simple words are so hard to turn into reality. Renjun wants to be happy so bad. He wants to be away from this man and he wants to be closer to you. The consequences? Sure, he’ll deal with it all if it means he can stop living in the personal hell his father set up for him. Renjun pushes his father away a bit and steps out of the trap his father pushed him into, making Lijun’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Renjun says and turns around, walking back towards the exit of the building.

“Hey, where are you going?” His father shouts after him.

“To do the thing that I want to do the most.” He yells back and walks around the corner, out of sight from his father. Renjun practically runs through the hallways to get back outside and run to you, but you surprise him by greeting him by the saunas. He stops in his steps and you smile as you walk up to him.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you that you did really well today. I know I said I wanted you to win last week, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” You laugh.

“Thanks.” Renjun simply says, afraid of what else could come out if he keeps talking.

“Oh, I also want to give you these back.” You dig out Renjun’s gloves from your pocket, holding them out. This is it. This is the moment Renjun will start to do whatever makes him happy, whatever he wants.

And what he wants right now is you.

He quickly takes the gloves and then tightly grips the wrist of your outstretched hand, leading you down the hallway and around some corner. He hears you exclaim a small ‘woah’ but you let him guide you into a sauna, the door closing tightly behind both of you.

There’s no one else in the room, just the stuffy steam that floats in the small space between you two. Renjun has a tight grip on the gloves you gave back to him and his other hand runs through his hair and messes up the perfect form it held.

“Tell me to stop.” He demands, looking straight into your eyes.

“What?”

“Tell me to stop right now.” He takes a step forward, his eyes full to the brim with lust and his hands shaking with how much he’s holding himself together. You’ve barely been in the room for a minute, but your clothes are already sticking to you from the intense heat.

“I don’t understand,” You reply back as he keeps moving toward you. You take small steps back in return, “I don’t know what I’m stopping you from.” Half of you is playing dumb right now; you know what Renjun wants from you just by the look in his eyes. The other half just wants to hear him say it himself

“I’ll fuck you the way you deserve. Right here, right now.” Renjun’s voice is too angelic to say such nasty words, but he growls them out like he’s a tainted angel. You’re pressed against the wooden wall of the sauna now, Renjun just a step away. You lean into him slightly and rip the gloves out of his hand to throw them to the side.

“Do it.”

It’s all the permission Renjun needs to feverishly connect his lips to yours.

The action is so sudden, you don’t remember how Renjun got close to you so quickly. Despite his forcefulness before, his lips melt into you like chocolate melting over a fire, so hot and delicious that you just want more. His hands hold the sides of your face, pushing back your hair and his body pushing you back into the wall.

He sucks on your bottom lip, softly biting afterwards and making you let out a whimper, and then a moan when his thigh pushes between your legs and further presses you against the wall. Amidst the kissing, you find the zipper of his expensive jacket, unzip it, and pull the piece of clothing off. Afterwards, you pull his shirt off and break the kiss while you’re at it.

“I’ve been thinking about you in this skirt since….” Renjun hums at the thought, his hand sliding up your bare thighs and under your skirt, then he grips your ass and brings your core down onto his thigh, the friction enough to have you letting out a strangled moan.

“Since the day I first saw you.” He finally whispers and connects your lips once again. His hand on your ass doesn’t move, his other hand is placed on your waist as he helps you ride the rough material of his pants. Renjun can only watch your reactions; the way your head lolls back into the wall and your eyes screw shut, holding onto Renjun’s shoulders tight enough he’s sure there will be marks afterwards.

“Fuck— Renjun, don’t stop, please.” He’s mesmerized, absolutely addicted to how you look and sound right now, and it’s all because of him. The thought spurs him along, he removes your jacket and you blindly help him in removing your top and bra. You must look like a mess right now, especially since you’re coming close to your climax just by Renjun’s touch and his thigh. Not to mention the sweat dripping down both of you, a glistening sheen coating your skin that makes Renjun let out a low growl before he leans down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

He sucks and swirls his tongue, and you can’t help but moan his name again, digging your fingers into his blonde hair and tugging. Renjun moves from your chest downward, not letting an inch of your stomach and hips go past him without a kiss and a nibble, leaving you breathing heavily. He makes his way down to his knees and folds your skirt up, glancing at  you from his position.

“You don’t wear anything under here except your panties?” You nod, your head stuttering as Renjun applies pressure with his thumb over your slick hole, a wet spot already there to greet him.

“You’re so fucking dirty, baby.” He groans and leans in to swipe his tongue over your center making you shake as a response. He slides your underwear down and throws it somewhere to the side, catching the sigh of your arousal dripping down your thigh. His intense stare makes you shake him, embarrassment crawling over you at how he’s not reacting.

“Are you shy?” You whine, not really answering his question. “You don’t need to be. You’re beautiful.” The softness from his voice contradicts his more dominating tone from before, but you don’t have time to think about it before he dives in. You sigh in content when the pressure in between your hips caused by Renjun turns into pure pleasure. His tongue laps at your essence and his lips suck on your clit, you can tell he’s trying to find what exactly will make you tick.

When Renjun slides a finger into your hole unexpectedly, you jump and whimper a bit but the feeling of him sliding in and out along with his tongue circling and sucking on your clit makes a knot form in the pit of your stomach, tightening up your muscles and making your eyes roll back.

“Right there. Oh my god, right there…” You keep repeating, praying that Renjun treats you good and let’s you come. He adds another finger and you gasp, starting to move your hips in rhythm to his hand, holding onto his shoulders for more stability. He glances up at you, watching your eyes screw shut and your tits bounce as you use his hand to get yourself off. Renjun hums against you, and you can almost feel the ecstasy of coming undone, until Renjun pulls away. You groan, feeling like crying when your orgasm fades.

“Hey..” You whine, pouting when Renjun stands back up and licks your juices off of his lips. He has some on his chin and you bring your hand up to wipe it away, Renjun stopping your hand and kissing the wetness away, then kissing up your arm and to your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear. He tugs at your earlobe, licking the skin under it and biting some more, his hands sliding up your waist at playing with your nipples, pinching a little to get whimpers out of you and making your hips buck up, ready to continue where Renjun left you at.

That’s when you feel the hardness in his pants; it must be painful. That’s why you understand his next words, whispered into the shell of your ear between kisses: “You’re not coming until I’m in you, got it?”

You nod quickly, attaching your hands to Renjun’s zipper and button, undoing them and sliding down his pants.

“But, you’re gonna need to do something for me…” He says, helping you pull down his boxers, watching his angry, red length swing out. You gasp, feeling a bit bad that you just left Renjun like this to eat you out, but you’re sure you can make up to him now.

“What is it? I’ll do it.” Your hands run over Renjun’s sweaty shoulders, moving away some longer hair in the back of his head that’s sticking against his neck.

“You’re gonna have to yell my name. I need you to let everyone know who’s doing this to you— who’s making you feel good, okay?” Your breath gets caught in your throat as the words tumble out of his lips. He tilts his voice higher at the end of every phrase to make him sound innocent, but you’re not fooled.

“There’s people outside…” You mumble back, sending a glance at the door. You know there are several staff and customers walking along the hallways outside. What will they think if they hear you screaming Renjun’s name? Not to talk about what will happen to your job.

Those thoughts melt away when Renjun’s dick slides between your folds slowly, making you turn your gaze back to him and hold on tight as he lubricates himself over your wetness, holding onto your hips so that you don’t move and take anymore than what he’s giving you.

“That’s exactly why I want you to scream. Can you do that for me?” He asks and you nod frantically, doing almost anything to get his dick inside you. You’re not sure what’s going to happen once you step out of this room, but at least you know Renjun is going to give you the best fuck you’ve had in a while, and you know it’ll be worth it for what’s to come after all this.

“Finally…” You moan when Renjun’s length disappears into you inch by inch, going slow as to not hurt you. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he bottoms out, picking up your thigh to hang it over his hip and wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you close. You hold onto him, adjusting as he kisses your lips sweetly and carefully, and waits to move his throbbing cock through your velvety walls.

“Go, Renjun, move….” You whisper, and he looks at you confused.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He asks, cocking his head.

“Please, move.” You say louder, but he shakes his head and purses his lips as if he still can’t understand.

“I said, fuck me, Renjun. Please, can you fuck me already?” You all but scream out, your voice almost cracking at how whiny you sound. No doubt, if someone passed by outside they would’ve heard you. The thought makes you tense up, but it feels so good to be able to yell out what you want.

“Your wish, baby.” Renjun mutters before he starts rocking into you. You both groan at the sensation, Renjun’s hips speeding up as he gains more momentum. His lips don’t leave yours, kissing you into oblivion while his dick stuffs you. He has you against the wall, his hips powering away and you don’t dare to disturb him, realizing he’s burning all of his anger away as well.

“Yes, Renjun, fuck me just like that…'' You moan loudly to spur him on, now not really caring about who’s outside or who hears you, just wanting Renjun to know you love how rough he’s going. He presses you higher up the wall and pulls your legs apart more, hitting a new angle that literally makes you scream out, tears mixing with the sweat on your face as he relentlessly pumps into you.

There are so many things going on at the same time. Your hard nipples and soft breasts rubbing against Renjun’s chest, making goosebumps rise on his arms. Your hot and sweaty bodies are basically sliding against each other. The clapping of his hips against yours no doubt attracts attention from outside along with your screams and Renjun’s grunts continuously get louder as you both get closer to the climax.

“I’m gonna come… Renjun, come in me…” You’re already fucked out, the words barely leaving your lips coherently, but Renjun understands and moves his finger down to find your clit, circling his thumb fast and steady, just like everything else he’s doing.

“C’mon come on my cock, babe. Let it out, I wanna hear it.” And just like that, you unwind and scream his name as your orgasm washes over and takes control, making you claw onto any part of Renjun that you can reach. Renjun feels your walls deliciously convulse around him and with a few more sloppy thrusts, he comes into you and fills you up, staying wrapped up in you as you both calm down.

Renjun presses small kisses wherever he feels like as your breathing settles down, his softness and the caring way he rubs at your sides and hips where he was holding so hard that you’re sure to have bruises makes you smile hazily.

“___… I don’t regret any of this.” He whispers into your skin, leaning back to look at you properly. “Do you?”

“No.” You answer truthfully, making his eyes shine and you both smile dumbly, your sticking bodies relaxing. The happy moment doesn’t last long before there’s a knock on the door to the sauna. You and Renjun stiffen up as you glance at the door, waiting for whoever it is to announce themselves.

“Renjun? Son?” Your heart drops to your stomach and you cover your mouth at the voice of Renjun’s father on the other side of the door, but when you turn to Renjun, he doesn’t seem bothered. He sends a smile at you and moves some hair from your face before answering.

“Occupied, go somewhere else. We’re busy.”

[jaskier-cult]

The Witcher With Blue Eyes

*throws this at you* random bullshit, go!

here, take some random ramblings of an au i came up with!! no fucking idea where i am going with this, but you can't stop me

*

There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.

Geralt was still a relatively new witcher, just five years on the Path, when this rumor appeared, and he was not naïve enough to fall for such fodder.

All witchers had yellow eyes. This was a given. None of the witcher schools had the exact same mutagens – every school was just slightly different, imbuing their witchers with the characteristics of the wild beast they represented – but all witchers had yellow eyes. That was how it was. That was how the mutagens worked. That was how a witcher could be recognized.

A witcher with blue eyes.

Geralt scoffed.

*

There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.

There are stories of a witcher who strangled a wyvern with his bare hands, out of madness.

There are stories of a witcher who laughed, with empty blue eyes, as he danced with his twin blades and wrought cold blood.

Geralt is no longer new to the Path, and he has heard these stories for a while now. Even among his own brethren, the stories are whispered and shared. His mentors talk about blue eyes with cold indifference, but it’s apparent they are unsettled. A blue eyed witcher – who ever heard of such a thing?

But then the School of Viper loses its most infamous witcher in its own keep. In the blink of an eye.

And Geralt’s not so sure they’re rumors anymore.

*

Julian was different.

Even before the mutagens and the training and the trauma, he was always slightly to the left.

When he arrived at the steps of the School of the Viper, he had been scared witless. Gorthur Gvaed, the Viper Keep, also known affectionately as Blood Gate Keep by its inhabitants, was located deep in the Tir Tochair mountains. It was the furthest south Julian had ever been; it had been months from the lands he had grown up in.

It was also the furthest he had ever travelled, dead on his feet as he followed the viper witcher down the beaten Path, in boots not cut-out for the long days walking.

The witcher rode his horse while Julian walked. Julian was never allowed to touch the stallion and was threatened with the loss of his hand otherwise. The witcher only stopped when Julian could go no further, and sometimes then, forced the stumbling boy on with a crushing grip on his arm. Julian would sway on his feet, his vision would swim, and not even his not-so-human blood could save him from his human needs, like food, and water, and rest.

The witcher never gave him his name. He did not speak except to give commands. He called Julian names like “wretch” and “bastard.” He never called Julian by his name.

He was cold and cruel, like the village kids used to be to Julian.

Julian did not like the witcher.

But then they would pass through a village or small backwater hamlet, and he would see the sneers and barely disguised looks of disgust on the humans’ faces. The witcher may have thought him a mindless child, but he was smart, and he noticed when the witcher was forced to pay over three times the asking price for services like horse stabling and food. He saw when the witcher was scammed on hunts when they made their way south. He caught the whispers and murmurs of half-baked plans to murder the witcher in his sleep, just for being different.

He bore witness to the mistreatment of the witcher.

And though he damned himself for thinking it, Julian understood. He felt a kinship with the witcher.

And it did not excuse the witcher’s behaviour. It did not excuse his cruelness. Hurting others was a choice, no matter how hurt you were. But even then, a small part of Julian could sympathize with the man who was beat into this cruel soul.

They weren’t so different from each other, cruelness and all.

It took a long time for the witcher to trust Julian enough to leave him unsupervised – always with a threat lingering, of promising to hunt him down and slit his throat if he tried to run away – but when he finally did, Julian made no attempt to escape because he knew there was no point.

But Julian would never forget the face of the witcher when he came back from a hunt to find their camp painted with blood, Julian sitting by the fire and methodically cleaning the dagger he had successfully slipped from the witcher without notice. Several bodies lay on the outskirt of the camp; bandits who had made the mistake of thinking Julian was helpless.

An arm was missing from one of the bandits and the fire in the middle of the camp was roaring, the wood stacked high and the flames impossibly hot. Julian roasted his meal over the fire. It served the witcher for leaving him to starve, he thought bitterly.

And just once, Julian preened when he saw the way the witcher looked at him.

With something more than contempt.

With something akin to unease.

Julian was eight that night.

*

Julian was nothing.

Julian certainly wasn’t special when he arrived at Blood Gate Keep. He certainly wasn’t the first more-than-human boy to be claimed by a witcher and taken for the Trials.

Julian was nothing.

Julian was a contradiction of bloodlines, was the product of a shameless family.

Julian was nothing.

Julian was not special. Julian was not different. Julian was not more.

Julian was nothing.

Julian was not going to survive, because he was weak and small and he didn’t listen, and Julian was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. That was drilled into him as sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

Because Julian was nothing.

*

Every witcher school had the boys relentlessly train. The mutagens only did so much, and there was no success if there was talent without skill. Julian learned this very early on.

But Blood Gate Keep, despite the Trials, and physical training, and reading in bestiaries, still had all young witchers in training go through a final exam: The First Hunt. It was a physical exam before the Trials took place. The young boys had to survive in the surrounding wilderness for several days isolated and alone and make a kill; every boy was put out prepared with weapons and camping gear and told not to come back until they had proof of their kill.

Blood Gate Keep was in a remote location, more remote than other witcher schools, far away from any human civilization in the mountains, and as such the surrounding lands were wild and untamed. Mindless beasts and monsters roamed the base of the mountains, hid in the passing rivers, and hung in the low clouds.

Nobody thought of running away, for that only led to death.

The boys were given two weeks to complete The First Hunt, and no more. If they came back without proof of kill, they were slaughtered. Sometimes the vipers of the keep would take pity and leave them to starve out in the wilderness, alone.

Any monster would do, as long as it was dead and killed.

Sometimes the boys went for small monsters, or babes of monsters not yet old enough to walk and open their eyes. Some boys killed wildlife and maimed it so much it was indistinguishable from any other monstrous corpse, and they would claim it a monster. No one ever batted an eye at them.

Julian was thrown out of the keep with nothing but a bedroll and his dagger.

His mentors laughed as they closed the door on the young boy.

No one thought he would survive the Trials, much less complete The First Hunt.

He set out with a vengeance.

He survived out of pure spite.

And he marched straight back up the mountain to Blood Gate Keep, soaked in the blood of an arch griffin, blue eyes wild, the tongue of the griffin ripped straight from its mouth with his bare hands.

His dagger was clean.

*

The other boys in the keep were cruel, just like the witcher who brought him there. Even within the confines of stone walls, with death imminent, his peers still couldn’t find it within themselves to be kind toward him.

Julian has watched many boys comfort each other on cold nights, has watched older boys console the younger, has noticed the way many boys sleep together because of nightmares.

But not with him.

They tease and mock him.

They push and shove him.

They point and stare.

He’s the only one with eyes as blue as his, with a streak of wild that could not be tamed by their mentors, almost feral. He’s the only one who didn’t bow and snap under the cruelties of Blood Gate Keep. The only one who was not infected with hatred.

And none of the other boys can sympathize with him because they don’t understand him. Julian does not wish to hurt others. All the boys at Blood Gate Keep were going through the same thing, but it affected all of them differently. And some of the boys took the lessons they were handed and grew up bitter and wishing others could feel their hurt; others took their lessons and grew up tired and wishing others would never feel their hurt.

But none of it matters because the other boys still hate Julian.

It hurts, because even among a group of those who knew what he was going through, he still felt utterly alone. He was slipped poison in his drinks. His food was swiped. His clothes were shredded. He was targeted in training. There was no end to the cruelness, from mentors and peers alike.

Some days Julian falls mute from the sheer pressure pushing in on him from everything and everyone.

One day Julian is almost killed in his sleep by another boy in his cohort, and no one says anything when that boy never shows up again. It was not uncommon – even normal – for those in Blood Gate Keep to betray each other and sabotage others. It was encouraged. And still, Julian forces himself from his bed to live to see another day.

Julian uses his disadvantages to his advantage.

Everyone underestimates him.

He understands why.

Julian is small. Even with all the hormone packed lichen and meat the witchers fed the boys at the keep in preparation for training and Trials. Julian is thin where the other boys are broad, he is lean where the other boys are muscled. Julian has soft features. He has soft floppy hair and soft blue eyes. The other boys have stringy hair and deep shit-coloured eyes, even if they weren’t brown.

*

Julian won’t survive the Trials because he’s too weak. He’s not quite human, but he is still weak in the eyes of his mentors. Julian doesn’t do what he’s told. He will fail.

But within Julian’s small frame is a feral animal.

And it’s almost laughable when he sees their reaction every time they push, push, push – and he finally pushes back, finally snaps at them – and they’re shocked. Like they never saw it coming, even though it happened every time.

You don’t see what you don’t want to believe, supposedly.

*

Julian learned that the School of the Viper did things a little differently than the other witcher schools, and he wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t surprised to learn of his school’s failings.

*

Julian passes through the Trials, to everyone’s shock.

Julian comes out of the Trials with his same inhuman blue eyes, to everyone’s shock.

Julian slits the throat of the witcher who had brought him to Blood Gate Keep, to no one’s shock.

Probably because they never found out it was him.

*

Witchers weren’t liked, but some schools had better reputations than others.

Certainly, the wolves of Kaer Morhen had the most heroic reputation; headstrong and loyal, with more morals than most witchers, disregarding that most witchers didn’t have morals at all.

The cats of Stygga Castle were known to be maniac, either lacking all emotion or treading the fine line of insanity with too much emotion; they killed not just traditional monsters, but also monsters of the human variety, and would take any contract for an innocent’s head if given enough coin.

But the vipers of Gorthur Gvaed were neither of those.

Vipers were predators, through and through.

The mutagens the School of Viper used did not tamper with emotions the way the mutagens from the School of Cat did; it did not need to, for every Viper that came out of Blood Gate Keep was beaten into a cruel and merciless man.

The School of Viper did not raise witchers with morals of a sense of duty to humanity, the way the School of Wolf did; vipers were not safe even within the walls of their own keep, for they never knew when a peer would turn on them for coin, vengeance, or fun. Witchers who stayed in the keep were constantly kept on their toes, their drinks poisoned in game, their training brutal and to the death, and vipers learned early on that you needed to strike first to win, lest your comrade do it first.

Vipers weren’t noble, and vipers weren’t insane; they were just senseless.

*

It was a lie that Cats were the most unstable witchers.

Cats may have had a reputation for being short a marble, but vipers were completely unpredictable.

*

Being the best got you nowhere in Blood Gate Keep.

His fellow witchers and mentors thought Julian weak. They only saw his blue eyes and small frame and soft voice, and their eyes passed over him.

That was good.

Being smart, being strong, being fast – those were traits that made you a target in the Viper’s den.

It was a constant battle of trying to best one another, trying to come out on top, trying to eliminate any form of threat, even if that threat was a fellow witcher, one of the few boys to make it through the Trials with you. Boys were poisoned left and right. Throats were slit. Witchers died in training if they weren’t strong enough, because a Viper never showed mercy, even when it was his brother who lay at the other end of his blade.

After all, if you couldn’t survive a spar, what good were you on The Path?

Julian used all weapons and tools at his disposal.

He never initiated an attack; he was never the one pouring acid in another’s stew, he didn’t engage in to-the-death spars, he never snuck through the keep and assassinated a fellow brother.

His behaviour wasn’t born out of morals, he soon realized.

It was predatory behaviour, like the Viper he was.

An opportunistic predator.

Julian sat in waiting; he waited for another to initiate the struggle against death. And then, before they could blink, before they could realize that their easy target isn’t so easy, they’re gone.

It was amusing to watch as his peers’ brows furrowed in confusion as to why he was still alive.

And yet, no one figured it out.

No one suspects the fool, after all.

Julian was probably the most dangerous Viper in the keep.

*

As soon as Julian earned his Viper medallion, he left Blood Gate Keep and never looked back.

Julian felt silly wearing two medallions at once, and with great reluctance, he took off the medallion from his parents and packed it at the bottom of his pack with care. He knew his new witcher medallion would be of more use, and would probably save his life, whereas he didn’t know the first thing about how to work the medallion his parents gave him. It was one of the few times he felt truly upset with himself, for all his achievements at Blood Gate Keep, he couldn’t figure out a simple magic piece.

Nonetheless, he didn’t bother with goodbyes or a grand departure. He felt no comradery with the vipers he had shared a den with.

And maybe he walked away with a few witcher corpses at his feet, but that was neither here nor there.

*

There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.

But those stories haven’t been told in years, and Geralt forgets about them like bedtime stories told to children when they’re young.

After all, a witcher with blue eyes doesn’t exist.

*

As is the cycle with history, new stories come about.

*

There are stories of a bard with blue eyes.

*

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[yanderenightmare]

hie!!! just read you're dragon warrior bakugo where he turn into a literal golden dragon, DUDE it was so dark and so poetic I loved it, pleeeaase part two?

I’ve actually had this in the works for some time but didn't think that many were interested hehe, thanks for proving me wrong<3

dragon warrior king ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: trauma, slavery, kidnapping, condescension, anxiety

PART ONE

MUTE AND NUDE - PART TWO

THE KING AND HIS NEW TOY

Floating, flying, dreaming. She felt reality tug at her every now and again, trying to pull her into consciousness, however she was pleasantly drifting with her eyes tightly locked. The smell of mountain daisies in the breeze, she could almost taste the salt of the sea that wafted up there, not entirely sure it was all in her mind. How she wished to see the sea up close once, and not just from afar. To feel the sand between her toes, to laugh nervously at the vastness of it all, all the secrets buried down there, sometimes washing up on the shore like treasure. Her vision trailed the stripe of sand she could spot from her village in the mountains, suddenly imagining herself down there, with a great shadow looming above, the water turning red and thick and boiling before catching fire, she heard screams, cries, the smell of metal and the taste of death, death, death.

She awoke abruptly. Flailing in the air like some knocked lantern. The pixies dodging her kicks and whips, holding onto the gems and paints midair. Currently hand sewing her customized dress, bejeweled with rhinestones and gold, cold smooth brushed lining her skin with art. 

They knew the procedure, Bakugo had a new toy, and she were to be dressed accordingly; royally. 

The pixies swung around her like bees around their beehive, small squeaky voices simmering about and buzzing in her ears. One caught her eye and her flailing subdued then, as the tiny brown-haired brown-eyed fairy blew sickly-sweet dust into her face, nerves somehow forcefully brought to their knees. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to her that the utterance had multiple meanings, as the look on the fairy’s face contorted into one of deep sorrow, as though in mourning for  the unfortunate soul that had fallen into Bakugo’s greedy attention.

Not much dawned on poor girl after that, and if it did, she didn't seem to mind the foreign things happening around her. How she was fussed around with, spoiled even, with flowers and gems and fabrics, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Fitted to perfection and adorned with a small tiara made up of flowers, poppies if she were to guess with the limited knowledge she had through books, as the harsh environment of the mountain doesn't allow for such frail things to grow.

Her doe eyes; softly fluttering every now and again, barely even feeling it, when her feet hit the ground, still bare. Perhaps she didn’t even realize they belonged to her, seeing how they were robbed of their red mud and clay. More and more, steadily coming back to her senses, she remained calm under the pressure of her strange surroundings. Creatures she’d never known existed, colors she hadn’t ever laid eyes on, perfumes that stung her nose in a pioneering act. She remembered death, she remembered fire, and the burning cold of sharp, deadly eyes. She feared that it was those same red eyes she was being prepared for.

Her mouth remained shut. Her silence casting a confusing spell onto the guards, however unaffected the busy pixies swirling about her in a working frenzy. The sounding of a horn didn’t shake her either, however seemed to dismiss the ones nitpicking at her ensemble, as well as signal the guards.

They didn't touch her, but their eyes did well in escorting her to the havoc outside. She didn't see much except for fire and shadow. Yet, mismatched tones of gold seemed to unsettle her even more than the different shades of red. 

She was guided to his side, gestured to sit down on the throne next to his. She didn't faze too much upon her surroundings, managing to keep somewhat of a respectable composure, even as girls and boys from her village caught her eye. They hadn’t murdered everyone it seemed, not the pretty ones at least. They were putting on a show, inexperienced in the art of dance, but no less amusing to the hooded ravagers, she guessed.

She held her tongue and assumed an aura of harmony, therefore not accepting anything given to her. Drink, food, trinkets, they were swarming her as if she were some shrine. She supposed she, more or less, was just that, which was more than what she had been before, but somehow less at the same time. 

The nerves trembled beneath her skin, as she did her best to calm her frightened state. She searched the spread sprawled out before her, wanting to accommodate to the new scenery. However, it proved to be quite difficult, as she felt the intense stare of the boy on her right, his eyes singeing and freezing her all at once. Having not dared look to him yet, the pressure of meeting those eyes of his, too much of a scare.

Sharp jewels stuck into her skin, and although she was used to gravel, they still managed to achieve her discomfort. “Not enjoying yourself?” 

She cleaned up nicely. He could see her complexion clearly now, soft and smooth glowing skin between what raked scratched and gashes marred it. He wanted to pull Kirishima’s teeth out as punishment for biting her arm so ruthlessly, but knew that would be foolish as neither of them could have known of her importance. It could very well have been him who had printed his fangs into her, yet it would more likely have fallen off then.

It took her longer than she’d like to admit before she understood the question was meant for her, and although she could speak, the thought of answering seemed so far out of reach. She didn’t know how he would want to be acknowledged either. What do you say to a King who massacres entire civilizations? What do you even call such a person? The title tyrant came to mind, but it seemed distasteful.

Even if her hesitance angered him, he didn’t let his temper prove it. And when her eyes flickered ever so slightly in his direction, his annoyance more or less faded away; replaced. “You’re thinking of what time will be the best to escape, aren’t you?” 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose at once when she heard his voice again, realizing the moment to answer his previous question had passed, and how he, this time, was accusing her not of ingratitude, but of deserting. 

“Wondering where you will go, where you even are?” She could spot the eerie smile from the corner of her eye. At least his teeth were wiped clean of gore this time, yet… they still managed to make her ears shift in discomfort. “Hmm...” He scoffed, then chuckled a laugh that somehow sounded like thunder, like barking. “Let me help you.” 

He shifted in his seat, leaning in closer to her. His fingers grazing her forearm, causing her to lightly gasp. Claws ever so slightly digging into her skin. 

“You could make a run for it through the foliage of the trees.” She felt the earnest, wanton pressure in his touch, furrowing her brows in both confusion upon his words and in a plead for mercy. “But I should warn you... the forest is much denser and darker and deadlier here, than it is in the mountain.” His voice; so very casual in its threats, the voice of a King. “Even if I felt so generous as to give you a head start, we would probably catch you before the night let up. It wouldn't be much a game for me, but you are welcome to give it a try if you want.” He was taunting, haughty, stroking her arm... almost lovingly. “Besides, any attempt at running in that dress will be a show.” His hot breaths hit the side of her neck in waves, as she felt the still foreign need to say something linger on her tongue, but she swallowed it. “What’s your name?” This was a question she needed to answer, yet… it was also the one question she had no answer to.

“I-” 

That was the first time she’d ever spoken. Sure, she’d sung for him… but that wasn’t her, that was… something else… something inside her, her but not her at all at the same time. 

She didn’t quite know the words, know them as in being comfortable with them. She’d heard them, she knew what they were supposed to sound like, but… they still seemed so foreign on her tongue as she rolled them around in her mouth, teeth grinding together. 

To his surprise, to his complete shock, she turned her head to look at him, face wiped clean of… well… blood, and alongside what panic displayed on her features there was also a look of something he couldn’t quite place, but almost as though she was asking for his help, or his patience as she pieced together the words. He nearly gasped as she placed her small hand over the calloused knuckles of his where he was digging his fingers into her arm, the action so parallel to his intentions, looking up again to be met with her soft eyes as she spoke with even softer words. “I- I ha-ave no na-ame…” She looked awkward, as though she’d bitten her tongue and was preoccupied with the metallic taste of her own blood, looking at him, eyes asking if she were at all understandable.

“Right… no point in giving a mute a name.” His tone was brisk, without anger and it helped with establishing confidence in her as it also aided in answering her question if she was understood or not.

“Wh-” She started, this time seemingly a smidge more confident in her determination. “What do I call you?”

He would be lying if he said it didn't take him aback. And he wasn't one for telling lies.“You’re not like the others.” He announced, small quirk playing on his lips. “Katsuki.”

She was unsure whether she should give it a try or not, trying to mouth it under her breath so he not hear her. “Ka- katsu- ki.”

He gave a sound of acknowledgement, a grunt of some sorts, an eyebrow raised in suspicion at her, watching as her gaze shifted onto the ongoing festivities before the two of them, her chin slightly raising, eyes flittering to perceive things he was sure was for the first time. Her hand remained on his, velvet against sandpaper, as though she found comfort in it, a safety of some sort. He enjoyed the gesture as well as that thought; sinisterly so. Her chastity so desperate in need of corruption, in his eyes.

He made to stand, bored of the display before him. This girl posed more entertainment than anything the circus could give him. “The air is thinner in the mountains…” 

He reached out a hand, gesturing for her to take it. Reluctantly, or rather anxiously, she agreed, wondering what purpose hid in his words. 

“The change of climate will be overwhelming for you.” 

Slightly provoked by his words of condescension, she made to stand her ground, but felt an overbearing weight nest in her mind. 

“You’ll get migraines.” 

She looked confused now, staring at him, a crinkle between her brows. 

“Your body isn’t accumulated to this environment yet.” 

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, as she stumbled slightly. He locked her arm with his, helping her down from the podium. 

“The effects will come soon. Blood pooling in your feet, weighing you down and dragging you to the ground, blood leaving your head, nausea and unbalance.”

He didn’t seem all that effected by what he was saying. Not exactly nonchalant, but amused. 

“Could be you can’t even walk!” He grinned, chuckling when she whimpered, almost falling to her knees. “Your muscles, bones even, not strong enough to carry your own weight.” 

Wincing as he pulled her to a carriage. She couldn’t remember if it were the same one she woke up it. But, something about the atmosphere told her it wasn’t, something about the invasive smell of burnt sugar. 

“You’ll feel the ache in your limbs soon, gravity isn’t generous.” 

Before she knew it, she was placed in a bed, his hand stroking her cold forehead. 

“Especially when you’ve hardly ever felt the full might of its power.” He sounded sympathetic, and in her state she couldn’t tell if it were sincere or not. His hand traveled down her cheek, stroking a thumb over her lips. “There were more things I wanted to establish, but I underestimated the toll the descent would have on your health.” Scarred fingers stroked down her throat. “You’ll have to survive the sick before anything.” Tracing her collarbones. “If you’re strong, the fever will pass before we reach our destination.” Down her chest, as though holding back in savory, where if her eyes were able to focus she’d see him lick his lips. “But... the up and coming days will probably be hell for you.” 

She didn’t feel much of anything after that, except for the foreign warmth accompanying her in her slumber, two large arms tightly locked around her midriff.

[littlepadika]

hi angel 🥰 i’m just in the middle of rereading calling home !!!! i was just wondering, could you ever do a one shot of like sweet pea calming frankie during the middle of the night if he has like an anxiety attack or nightmare? i love the dynamic between those 2 and would love to see how sweet pea calms frankie 🥺

Hi bb sorry this took me a hot minute to get to. First off... i'm thrilled you are re reading my series! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, comfort, fluff

AN: This is early in their relationship. Probably right after chapter 5. Therapy also referred to in this drabble

source: @uuuhshiny

You blinked up at the ceiling, sleep momentarily thinning. You heard low muttering beside you.

"Frankie?" You turned reaching over to his side of the bed. He was shaking and sweaty under your hand. "Frankie!" You sat up, this time going to the other side of the bed to flick on the bedside lamp. The dim yellow light revealed Frankie twitching and muttering incoherently. Sweat clung to his forehead. His mouth was pursed in between a frown and snarl. His jaw was clenched tight. His whole body was stiff as a board. He was deep in a nightmare. You heard him say something like "no no".

You had been over this scenario with Frankie. He advised you not to touch him when he was having nightmares in case he acted on instinct and accidentally hurt you. But now that it was real, you couldn't just watch him endure a nightmare like this.

"Hey... hey..." You stoked his arm with your fingers lightly. He jerked away from your touch with a grunt. When he turned his head you saw that there were tears in the corner of his eyes. "Oh, Frankie... Wake up please. Come on, baby. Please wake up." You just continued to slowly stroke his arm, his chest, eventually making your way up to his face. He seemed to be calming down.

Then he abruptly sat up, scooting away from you reflexively.

"Wha-What's..." He looked around the room and then trailed off when he saw you watching him, concern evident on your face. He wiped his wet eyes.

"Nightmare." You explained though you were sure he already knew.

"Did I hurt you?" He immediately asked, looking away in shame. His humiliation mixed toxically with his adrenaline and fear from the dream.

"No. You didn't hurt me." You answered quickly, pushing yourself up, but you resisted hugging him for fear he was still overstimulated. You offered your water bottle to him. "Do-do you want to talk about it?"

Frankie shook his head, looking down at his sweaty self. "It's the usual dream. The helicopter crash." He shuddered, trying to pull himself into the present and away from his distorted memory. He took a couple sips of water and then handed the bottle back to you. Mentally he did the exercises he had practiced. Name one thing you see: Sweet pea. Name one thing you hear: A passing car. Name one thing you feel: Soft sheets. Where are you? Home. Home. Home.

You waited patiently through all of this, giving Frankie space to speak when he was ready. He took a few deep ragged breaths, his fists clenched on the bed below you. Too scared to touch you yet. He worried that he may have scared you off. That now you would have seen that all of his demons were real.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, sweet pea." His gruff voice was dripping with guilt. You frowned, not in frustration at him but at the stigma that led him to feel so terrible about dreams he could not control.

"Frankie...you didn't bother me." You couldn't resist laying a hand over his bare stomach feeling him relax at your touch. "I'm glad I woke up. I want to comfort you."

He sniffed, new tears in his eyes. He was still looking away from you. You understood. It was such a vulnerable state for anyone, let alone someone who had endured as much rejection as Frankie had.

"Can I hold you? Is that okay?" You feel your own voice shake with emotion. Your power and your love was limited with him not in your arms. As much as you knew your voice could move mountains, you needed to console him with more than words.

"Yes. please." Frankie exhaled finally looking at you, his brown eyes misty and wanting. You wasted no time climbing over his legs and pulling his face into your neck. His arms linked around your back, holding you close.

His skin, that earlier vibrated like it was trying to break apart, settled under your touch. Solidifying enough so he could finally sense each part of his body. Hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and so on. He mentally listed each one as it related to you. Your hands on his head. Your chest on his chest. Your breath on his neck.

"I have you." You promised, knowing the words would help ground him. "I have you. I'm not going anywhere. Just be here with me."

"I'm so tired of this." He whispered into your warm embrace. "I just want to be better."

"I know." You sat back cupping his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb over that patch of grey in his beard.

"I was doing so well." He continued to beat himself up. He had been so pleased to have gone nearly a month without any nightmares or PTSD. He tried to think of something that could have triggered him but yesterday was a normal Thursday. He didn't drink. He didn't have a stressful customer at work. He had sex. He showered. Sometimes there was no trigger and that was the most unsettling type of episode.

Frankie ducked his head, resting his forehead in between your breasts. He wished he could crawl inside you and away from his thoughts. His PTSD made him nauseous and too hyper to sleep. He was both hyper-focused and dazed at the same time. Every nightmare always felt like an omen that things were going to get bad again. He was going to start craving and then eventually relapse.

You rubbed his back in slow circles trying to coax him into a more normal breathing rate. A minute passed, the only sounds were Frankie's rough breathing and your slower one.

"What else do you need?" You asked gently.

"Can you- can you light the candle please?" He requested in a muffled voice.

"Sure." You smiled, reaching over to his side of the bed and pulling out the lighter. Your candle, already well used, was soon flickering brightly. The floral scent you and Frankie loved, filled your brain making sleep slowly start to edge its way in. You could feel his breathing slow. "That better?"

"Mmhmm." He grumbled. Something about the scent grounded him to this chapter in his life; the one with you in it. He wasn't that lonely guy anymore. He wasn't in a war zone. He had everything he could ever dream of right in his arms... and yet... this still happened. "I'm sorry, sweet pea."

"What for?" You tousled his hair affectionally.

"For-for being messed up."

"Frankie..." You nudged his head up so you could kiss him deeply. You let him take the lead, pressing him tongue into your mouth and pulling you tighter against his chest. At your quiet moan he pulled back letting you finish your thought. You didn't care how many times you had to say it, touch it, kiss it into reality: Frankie was perfect the way he was.

"You aren't messed up." You murmured, holding his eyes with your earnest gaze. "You're strong. You're resilient and brave. I love you because of that. You're like... a phoenix. You rise from the ashes." Then you giggled. "Sorry I just thought of a hybrid between a catfish and a Phoenix."

"Ha." He laughed shakily, tightening his arms around you. "A fish on fire. Sounds about right."

"Or a bird with whiskers." You snorted.

He kissed you again, relishing your little giggles against his lips. You laced your hands with his.

"I'm here to remind you to be kind to yourself. Remember how far you've come. I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

Once again he reflected on how lucky he was to have you in the flesh. Your empathy amazed him. It had from day one but his awe grew monumentally tonight. You weren't scared. You saw all of his brokenness for what it was and you only loved him harder. He had to trust your vision of him when his own internal compass failed.

"You tired, little pea?" He chuckled when you yawned cutely, after trying to hold it in.

"No." You told a small lie, just to keep him from trying to put your needs first. You weren't going to sleep until you knew he felt safe. "How are you feeling? Be honest, please."

Frankie searched his body with another deep breath. "Better. I'm just really amped up from the adrenaline. But go back to sleep, little pea. I'll read or something.”

"Mmm read to me?" You asked holding back another yawn.

"Sure." He chuckled. You rolled off of him pulling the covers back over you both. Frankie grabbed his copy of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. You latched onto him like a koala bear and hung onto his deep voice. Frankie appreciated the weight of your arm on his stomach and head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat below your ear slowing.

Frankie paused his quiet oration to peer down at your relaxed face and fluttering eye lids. "I love you, sweet pea."

"mmm love you too." You breathed in reply.

For the first time, Frankie was able to go back to sleep after his nightmare.

~~~~~~~~~~

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