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thelastofhyde · 20 days

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a mercenary named time.

pairing. jackson!joel x fem!reader

synopsis. as joel begins to age, memories of sarah are beginning to fade. though he wants nothing more than to talk to you about his troubles, there's something standing in his way: he never told you about sarah.

warnings. this is more joel x sarah centric than joel x reader oops, hurt/comfort, ageing + difficulties that come with it, grief, mentions of death/religion/afterlife+ generally other sensitive topics, fluff, does this count as whump? (v minimum editing/proofreading)

word count. 4.9k

hyde’s input. wrote this as an attempt to distract myself from the fact i was on a plane (i hate flying). not much happens plot wise, and it just becomes me analyzing joel (in my own way) halfway through but hey, i wrote it and, though it's nowhere near perfect, i'm gonna post it!

due to the ties tlou has with zionism, here are helpful posts/links regarding the ongoing genocide in palestine. from the river to the sea. ( post, link, post )

Aging has become a threat again.

A part of him wonders if the threat ever truly left, or if it simply migrated south of his brain, chasing a warmth only leisure possesses, to make way for a survivalist winter’s cold. With the safety of walls and the sanctity of the commune, at last he’s caught on to the passing of time, the slow-crawling spider who spun its web into his skin.

During the cold, there'd only been movement. Pacing down streets divided by those who live in fear and those who brandish riot gear, and tip-toeing past fungal-faced mutations, and stumbling in a daze of pain through snow to find her. A safety distance of unmarked miles, away from that hospital, is what it took for him to finally pull over, cut the engine and exhale. Out with the panic, and the urgency, and the fear. Ellie was there, laid across the back seats, a paper gown as blue as any April sky, a cursed relic upon her sleeping form, terrorising him with images of what could’ve been, had he failed to save her too.

In the warmth, there’s tranquillity. Stretched out legs upon worn out sofas, quiet hums of forgotten tunes on rescued guitars, tangled limbs on love-stained sheets. A home, a daughter, and a you, whatever you may be. A fallen angel, a summer fairy, a ray of sun. Any form you come from, he accepts it, welcomes it. Thanks it for bringing you to him, smelling fresh as a daisy, riding up next to him on his first patrol, smiling as sweet as the honey he’d eaten with his breakfast when you asked him if he needed help reigning in his horse.

No, he’d grunted more than spoken to you. And wound up flung off its back, ten paces later. From the ground staring up, he’d watched your face appear above him. Bitten back laughter, a stretched out hand, and a question of if he wanted to swap rides, take your mare for the day.

She’s far friendlier, you’d assured him, after he let you think it was your strength that pulled him back to his feet. Takes to strangers a little easier than him, you’ll be safe.

And he’d believed it, against his own nature.

Tommy had been the one to notice, to nudge him hours later and nod his head in your direction. Real sweetheart, ain’t she? Joel’d said nothing. Shrugged his shoulders, dipped his head, sipped the whiskey out his cup. Tracked your movement across the room like a hunter stalks its prey. Or, maybe, it was more like a bee examining a flower, wondering if the pretty vibrance of your outsides carried a match to your insides, if the taste of your soft petals was a great enough sweetness to satisfy a craving he’d long foregone.

Four months of observing later, spring came and he stung.

Since then, you’ve been his, whatever that may mean anymore.

He’d already been yours.

And yet he finds himself unable to tell you of his recent trouble, the emerging signs of his age that the needle of time has begun to stitch into his seams.

The greys that curl upon his head grow more frequent. Blink, and they seem to double. His skin stretches differently than before, at times it feels he wears it more than owns it. There’s aches, and pains, and cracks from his joints, where before there’d been numbness and tiredness. A back that refuses to straighten like it used to, no matter how hard he stretches under the fleeting warm drops of his morning shower.

A guilty conscience whispers in a voice much like Tess’, a memory of her telling him ageing means he’s still here, even if she’s not. It’s harder to find the good in it, anymore, when he has so much to lose again.

It’s his memory that scares him most. Like a photo album, the images within seem to fade with time and, the more he grabs at them, the more they wear away.

It started with something small. Forgetting you’d told him you would be heading over to visit Maria and the baby after your patrol shift, leading his heart to near beat out his chest as he raced down to the stables like some crazed man, rambling about how something’s happened to you, you’re not back, only for some kid- Jessie, a friend of Ellie’s- to tell him you came back hours ago. He’d pulled you a little tighter against him that night as you crawled into bed, the earlier unnecessary fear a little too visceral in his racing heart.

Then, it happened more often.

Ellie asked him to help her clean out the garage space for her, he forgot and agreed to cover someone’s turn cleaning the stables.

You told him of your love of mint tea, and instead he found you green.

Tommy asked him across the dinner table- a double date, a cause to debut Ellie’s first solo babysitting duties- if he remembered the name of that old bar they’d liked, and his mind was blank. Empty.

All of it, inconvenient. Yet he could brush it off, let it affect him only like a bruise: momentarily, till it faded.

Until recently.

Until the memories of her began to fade.

He’d woken up one morning, earlier than you like always. Kissed your sleeping face, creeped down the creaking staircase, switched on the stove to boil some coffee. And realised he could no longer remember what she’d liked better: pancakes or waffles.

A few weeks later, he tried recalling what shade of blue her soccer team’s kit was. Was it light blue? Or a darker blue, like fresh denim? Was it even blue at all?

Ellie asked him, the caution she used to bring towards mentioning her name long gone with the changing of seasons, if she’d liked any comic books. The sound of a runner, itching and twitching behind some fence interrupted before she could notice he didn’t have an answer.

Sure, she read. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her curled up in bed, the light of her torch illuminating more than just the pages of a book, but her face, too expressive for her own good at times, reacting to each twist and turn of the story. Sometimes, he’d stand in that doorway, unnoticed, till her eyes dropped shut and the light rolled out her hand. Other times, he’d clear his throat, catch her off guard, and tell her get to bed, kiddo, or I’ll tell Mrs. Atkinson you’ll be round after school tomorrow.

What use is it, however, remembering all that, if he can’t remember if she liked comics?

He should talk to someone about it, he knows. He’d tried to, at first. Had tried to drink the courage into him, sat across Tommy one late night, sat around a fire as they settled in for a night in the ski lodge, stranded by some heavy snowfall. He failed then, just like he failed when he tried to tell Ellie, till she raced off to throw snowballs at some kids and he remembered she was too young to listen to his burden, too beaten by life already to deserve stress within the respite of Jackson’s sanctuary. When he failed a fourth time to speak to Tommy, the real issue dawned on him.

He wants to talk to you. You’re the one he talks to, the one he goes to bear his wounds to, trusting no other’s love but your own to patch him up and calm him down. There’s only one issue, however.

He’s not told you about Sarah.

It was never a conscious decision, some secret he’d chosen to hide. Speaking about her simply hurt and, after the arduous months of crossing the country with Ellie, finding a place to call home in Jackson, and learning to hold somebody close again, he’d wanted to get away from pain, for a little while.

Then came the first anniversary of her death spent inside the commune. He’d drank himself blind, like every year before. There’s a hazy memory of that night he’s glad to suppress, one where he’s covered in his own vomit and you’re struggling to hold his weight up under a pouring shower, the sounds of his sobs muffled into your soaked sweater. He’d awakened, and awaited the questioning. Expected to open his eyes and find you stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Seeing the room empty was a shock, but drifting slowly down the stairs and finding you scrubbing the stains out of his shirts near floored him.

The very same shirt you wear now, curled up on the sofa. Your eyes are shut, legs are bare, and there’s a gentle breeze that blows at the curtains you’d hung up, your first act upon moving in with him.

With a careful step, he avoids the creaking floorboard as he crosses the threshold. Slow as he can, he lowers the bag off his shoulder and props it gently against the wall, careful it doesn’t slip and let its contents spill out. Then he works at his laces, undoes them one by one, loosens them so his feet meet no resistance as he steps out of them. The summer’s heat affords him the liberation from heavy coats, less layers to shed now he’s returned to you at last.

You lay right, he strays left. Towards the kitchen, footsteps light as he can manage. Two chairs are pulled out at the table, two bowls sit drying neatly by the sink. Ellie must’ve stopped by for dinner. He’s glad to know she’s eaten, glad to know you kept each other company, glad to know the light is off in the shed and her snoring fills the hollow space. And he’s glad to find some food for him. He takes a bite, lifts the plate, finds a note beneath. Your handwriting, what do Joel Miller and breakfast have in common? followed by an arrow, urging him to turn the page around. The answer’s there, weakening his ageing knees. I can’t start my day without them.

Back by the sofa, a book sits split open, spine broken and pages pressed into ageing wood. Its cover is faded, frayed, much like he feels himself becoming.

He recognises it as one he’d gifted you, seasons ago. If he tries hard enough, he can remember the snow collecting in his unruly hair as he waited at your doorstep, and the way your smile melted the chill away, and the mumbling fool he’d made of himself upon handing the present over to you, some version of said you were bored, so I found this for you all he managed before turning on his heel and striding back to his own home, ignoring the teasing smile upon Ellie’s face.

After all this time, you still have it. Still read it. The fact slows his heart, soothes his aching back. Suddenly, he’s more than ready to head back out there, beyond the walls of Jackson, if it means collecting more books for you to remember him by when he’s long gone and withered away, no more than a familiar smell stained into your sheets and a fading warmth in the palm of your hand.

Two loud pops sound out of his knees as he crouches down by your side, the smell of your shampoo flooding his senses the closer he grows to your sleeping form. There’s a want, nestled deep inside his bones, to pull you into his arms and deliver you upstairs to a bed made for two, in search of a peace his soul has not found since he’d left for his shift in the early hours of the morning. It would be cruel, however, to wake you when you’re so beautiful.

Joel once thought he’d liked you best when you were smiling, till you’d fallen asleep on his porch one night, after hours of talking his ears off. Since then he’s liked you best sleeping, resting. Comfortable enough to trust his watchful eye to keep any harm away while your body takes back its much needed rest, even on days like this when he’s not physically there. You’ve got his shirt, his scent embedded into every thread of it, and that’s enough to keep you safe.

The rough of his fingertips reach out to graze the soft of your cheeks, gently dancing up to comb a few strands of damp hair away from your face. It seems you’ve gained your own spider, the faintest of lines beginning to take shape upon your skin. You wear it better than him, Joel thinks, the passing of time upon your body a picture of love, and prosperity, and hope for more time to come. He wears it like a burden, however. A death sentence, a timer on how long till the cold hand of Death takes the place of your warm one clasped in his.

Adjusting to a life he fears to leave has not been easy. There’d been a time where the promise of death was a comfort. To wake each day, reckless with his time and mindless to his body, a thought of all the pain, and all the sorrow, and that overwhelming, heavy, overbearing loneliness that hung over him like a storm cloud at last coming to an end and ceasing to exist, it had kept him going. Though faith died alongside her, a dream of reuniting with his babygirl on the other side was one he clung to on nights when no drop of alcohol and no unlabeled pill was enough to send him off to sleep. Death now, however, means parting from you, from Ellie, from Tommy. It no longer comforts so much as it disturbs him.

Would you comfort yourself, in the wake of his death, with dreams of reuniting someday, down the line, when Death takes you by the hand and guides you back to Joel?

He can only hope his babygirl can forgive the way he now longs to keep living, in spite of her waiting patiently for him in whatever comes after this life. Perhaps his failing memory is a consequence of this, a punishment she sends for making her wait even longer to feel his embrace again, slowly stealing away the only parts of her Joel has anymore.

Even in guilt, he can’t bring himself to believe his Sarah would do such a thing. Her heart was never touched by the bitterness that had hardened his own, her soul pure a freshly fallen snow.

I want you to be loved, dad. Echoes of her voice in his mind, words she’d confessed to him with teary eyes, a half-eaten birthday cake sitting between them, two candles, one in the shape of three, the other a zero, tossed messily on the table. There’d been no real fuss for his thirtieth, at his own insistence. Just his parents, his brother, his daughter. Those he loved, gathered around one table, eating away at food he’d made.

I’m already loved, kiddo. I got you, don’t I?

Joel knew what it meant to feel unloved. For a long time, that’s all he felt. The love only a child could gift died just as quickly in his arms as she had, under the watchful teary eyes of his brother. Grief he dragged around with him, dedicated to both her and the love he no longer felt.

First came denial. A steady 48 hours post-mortem, in which he walked ahead of Tommy and convinced himself she was there, a few feet behind him, talking her uncle’s ears off as he made sure to clear any oncoming threats The denial culminated in him bleeding down the side of his face, a missed bullet somewhere left behind, and Tommy’s pleading voice trying to move him forward, dragging him to tents set up by the army.

Eleven stitches, each one imbedding loss and cowardice into his screaming skin. The anger settled in a few days later. It made a home within Joel, latched onto his heart and began to beat in place of it. It changed him, aged with him, convinced him it was the only partner he’d ever need. A hopeful glimmer of bargaining came in the shape of Tess. But anger and all its roots were too deeply burrowed within Joel, unwilling to be weeded out, no matter how firm the hand.

Complacency was far easier than any fight. Tommy left, the buzz of a firefly seducing him with the idea of better, of more, of a cure. Joel convinced himself things were easier without Tommy and his morals around. The routine of waking, struggling, drinking, passing out was one he practised well and thoroughly. Till Marlene and her suicide mission.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Ellie, with all her snark, and her crass words, and her humourless puns, reminded Joel how it felt to be loved. Laid upon his chest, a need for warmth and a plea for him to survive, she became the closest thing that felt like Sarah in twenty years. How could Marlene expect him to walk away, to leave her in that hospital?

Pain rushes in like a wave meets the shore, dampening him in a melancholy he saves for whiskey. Still resting peacefully on the sofa, your chest rises slow, steady, and constant. He tries to mimic it, matching his own breathing to it. It reminds him of dancing with you in the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, arms entangled and forehead pressed to forehead, doing his best to stay in sync with your gentle sways.

The floorboards creek the further his aching body sinks to the floor. Like a man meets the altar, he’s on his knees. Blunt fingernails dig into the worn out brown leather of the couch, the only grip he has on reality.

A discombobulated memory dances across his mind. One of a much younger him, with a head full of brown locks and a sleeping daughter upon his couch. Outbreak night. He’d been peacefully unaware of the happenings outdoors, happy to turn another year older next to his Sarah, when a call came through. His brother, dumped in some jail-cell and begging for release. He’d not thought it through much, sighing in frustration yet rising slowly to his feet nonetheless. If he’d known how that night would end, he’d have held his daughter a little tighter as he carried her to bed, he’d have left every kiss he could afford against her forehead, and speak every I love you he had left in him.

Grief is a river that travels the mountain of his mind. Strong, cold, descending upon a downward slope. Its currents are unforgiving, grabbing a hold of anything that blocks the path. Too easy is it for him to slip and fall into the rapids, losing hold of his footing on reality before he realises he’s struggling to breath and there’s a whole new river carving a way for itself out his eyes and down his cheeks.

His eyes close. His breath halts. He tries to remember those breathing exercises, the same ones he uses any time the pain swells too much and the panic begins to attack his nervous system. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. Choke down a sob. Slow breath out. Joel. He pictures you, feet upon solid ground, hand stretched out as you try to goad him out the trepid waters of his grief. Joel. This image of you reminds him he’s got a name, got a life, got a purpose. To help Tommy on patrols. To make sure Ellie always has a place to call home. To keep you warm in the winter, and kissed during spring, and safe no matter where the sun may sit. Joel. The tears fall faster. Messier. He’s no longer a quiet companion at your side, but a mess of ragged breathing and nose sniffles.

“Joel?”

Skin to skin. Soft hand to wet cheek. You’re awake faster than he can process, too quick to wipe tears or feign smiles. Legs scramble off the couch, parted and bent at the knee on either side of him. Musk, and lilies, and every scent that makes him feel safe and close to you envelop the shared space between you.

“Joel, baby, what’s wrong?” Your thumb swipes uselessly at his cheeks, fresh waves rolling out his eyes before you finish wiping the last. Sleep is written all over you, woven into your breathy voice and weighing down the bags of your eyes. He feels a whole new wave of guilt, waking you from such a peaceful slumber with the sight of him and all his ailments bursting out the frayed seams that hold him together.

He thinks he says your name. It’s hard to tell. The blurred image of you through his teary eyes inspires a heavy burden of disappointing you that he can not cope with, and so he ducks his head between your legs, forehead pressing on the inside of your left thigh. His breath is short, his heart is sore, and he’s staining your delicate skin with his pain. You let him grieve upon you, pull him closer. A hand soothes up his back. Your voice tells him it’s okay, and you hum a sweet tune he’s sure he’s played you many a drunken nights, when the confidence kicks in and he’s serenading you with his country twang and guitar strings.

There’s no prying, no demand to rightfully know why you’ve awoken to your lover, steadfast and stoic at his worst, collapsing into your hold. You let him cry. He lets you hold him. You’re all he’s been missing, this feeling of support he’s denied himself for far too long. No fear of your judgement, but fear of pulling you in amongst the dangerous currents alongside him.

An anchor comes in the shape of your fingers carding through his unruly hair, a tether that pulls him back into the living room, into your home, into you. With the patience of any saint, you let him move at his own pace, head slowly rising from your thigh, back straightening to the best of its abilities. His hand, rough and hardened by time and grit and survival, paws at your thigh, clumsy in its attempts to dry his tears off of you, a fear of it sinking into your skin and some part of his sadness taking root inside your bloodstream.

Your hand stills his, gently, coercing his fingers to thread with your own as your other hand cups his face and guides him to look at you. You're beautiful, in a way that makes Joel wish he was better with words so he could spend the rest of his days finding new ways to tell you so. Instead, he has to settle with a simple, “my pretty girl.” You smile, bashful, as if that’s enough, as if you don’t deserve more.

“Hello to you too, handsome.” You peck his cheek, he chases after you with his mouth. Two small pecks, a third he fails to achieve as you hold him back. “Don’t think you can distract me with those perfect lips of yours, Miller. I’m worried about you, and no amount of kisses are gonna change that.”

He refocuses on his breathing exercises. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. No sob this time. Slow breath out. Your gaze, soft as a cloud, rests over him gently, your own chest rising and falling in sync with him. With every night he’d lay awake, trying to think of how to bring up Sarah and the details of her he’s failing to hold onto, never did he imagine the weight to fly off his chest so easily with just a supportive smile from you.

“I had someone before, who I loved.” He pauses. Clears his throat, shifts his weight. His knees are beginning to ache the longer they sit digging into the hard floor. He should have listened to your advice of scavenging a rug. “Not how I love you. Like I love Ellie.”

Silence.

Not the kind where you hear a pin drop, but one that allows the laughter of children playing down the street to blow in with the breeze, and the creaking of the old house you’ve both made a home, and the squeaks and chirps of wild-life continuing on outside, unaffected by the end of civilisation.

Then, “I know.” Joel’s eyes widen, disbelief painted across them. “Tommy’s let it slip a few times. Just when we’re on patrol and he sees something that reminds him of her. Or he’s telling me a story that’s sole purpose is to embarrass you.” A part of him wants to feel angry at his younger brother, stealing his right to reveal such a large part of who he is. The other part of him feels for him too, a reminder that Sarah’s loss is not one he tackled all by himself. She was his daughter, but she was also Tommy’s niece. How could he blame him for feeling comfortable enough to share his grief with you? “Ellie also mentioned it, once. Back before you and I were really…” You fall silent, trail off, as you both usually do when faced with tackling the task of labelling what exists between you.

“Why,” he chooses to distract himself from it, scared of a world where he asks for the right to claim himself as your husband. Those things don’t matter anymore, with the world gone to shit, but a man could still dream. “Didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your story to tell, I didn’t want to force it out you. I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

He may not know how to label what you are to him, but he knows he loves you. God, does he love you.

“Thank you, darlin’, I really-” He’s getting choked up, caught between his grief for Sarah and his love for you. You seem to understand, as you always do, hands slowly pulling and coercing him up onto the sofa, occupying the space next to you. “Can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” You promise, sealing it into his skin with a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t like to see you cry, Joel, but I prefer you do it in front of me. Don’t hide parts of yourself. I want all of you. Good, bad, and everything in between.”

There’s the urge to let himself fall into the river again, now that you’ve pulled him ashore and attached yourself to him like a life vest, an oath to never let him drown. He feels his eyes well-up, but doesn’t let them fall, as his mouth runs ahead of his mind and at last confesses the troubles he’s been keeping close to his chest.

“It used to be like this every day. Tears, unless I numbed myself free of consciousness. Then, things got better. With Ellie and you around. Anytime I felt the anger or the pain swelling, you’d be there and there’d be room for laughter. But I’m getting older, darlin’. Memories’ not the same. There’s things about my babygirl, my Sarah, that I just… can’t remember. And it scares me. Scares me so bad that I don’t know how to cope with it. If I ever woke up and couldn’t remember her face, it would kill me. I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

He speaks slowly. You cling to every word, a gentle nod lets him know you understand. A part of him wonders how deep that understanding runs, if you too had lost a child. He wants to afford you the same grace you’ve given in, and so he doesn’t pry. If you have a story to tell, he can only hope to still be around to listen.

Oblivious to the thoughts of you holding a faceless child swirling around in his head, you pull Joel into you, encouraging him to let you hold his frame. You’ve told him countless times he needs to let himself be cared for, a spark that ignited many arguments in the early days of your love. It feels nice to comply at last, head drifting down to rest on your steady shoulder. Your legs curl up onto the couch, lay gently over his own, as an arm wraps itself around his aching back.

Only like this does Joel feel he’s finally arrived home after weeks of wading through the depths of his own sorrows, evading a bounty placed upon him by time.

Joel is ageing. Everyday, a new line appears on his face. Every year, a new ache burrows in his bones. But, if each moment he can feel your love in acts of kindness, and left-over meals, and sleepy limbs upon a shared mattress, it doesn’t feel as daunting. He wonders what awaits him in the afterlife, when he and Sarah reunite as he so hopes. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be proud of him for finding solace in a heart like yours.

“Tell me about her.” You plead to him something he’s spent years longing to do.

Without missing a beat, words flow easily and memories play on in his head, his precious daughter no longer blurry in a haze, but fully in focus, smiling wide at him with a mouthful of food.

“She loved pancakes.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #joel miller oneshot #pedro pascal x reader

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obsidianstrawberrymilk · 1 year

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A short list of things I would have changed in HoO

It takes place ten ish years after the end of PJO. Percy and Annabeth aren’t a part of the seven but instead appear as cool older mentors to help out the Lost Hero trio. They both have careers and live in New York and go to Sally’s house for dinner every weekend.

Caleo isn’t a thing. In fact, let’s not even mention Calypso. At most we mention she was freed after the last war as idk proof demigods have some power or something.

More than 1 Asian character. Give this one ADHD and dyslexia bc shocker Asian kids can be disabled as well.

For that matter a properly disabled character. I have a deaf OC I would use if I rewrote the series.

Leo is aroace. His arc is about learning that his self worth doesn’t have to be tied to the people around him and his friends love and care about him and he doesn’t need romance to be complete. His flirting is overcompensation bc he doesn’t feel romantic or sexual attraction and is afraid he’ll be alone forever.

Drew and Piper become friends. Drew’s mean girl bullshit is outdated and boring and it would have been a lot cooler to see her icy exterior thaw and her help Piper with her charmspeck (explaining how Piper learned how to use it to begin with) and take on an older sister role

Neither Leo nor Piper become head councilors to their cabins because that’s dumb

Keep the chapter title style from PJO. It was so fun and one of the highlights of the series for me. The relatable nature of PJO in general was kinda lost in HoO and it’s a shame bc there was such a variety of characters for people to identify with there.

Give Reyna a girlfriend or at least a homoerotic friendship that can become an actual relationship in the next series or something

Frank is 14 and he and Hazel aren’t dating, they just have mutual baby crushes on one another.

For that matter what the fuck was ‘Frank is magically not fat due to Mars’s blessing’ bullshit? Frank is a fat character who stays fat but learns to be confident in himself and his body type.

Stop The Adultification of Hazel 2k23. Hazel is 13, she’s the youngest member of the seven and despite her trauma I think that should be obvious. I think emphasizing her relationship with Nico could be fun here - he’s in his 20s so him taking a more ‘that older sibling who toes the line between parent and sibling’ role here could be fun.

Also, I don’t want Hazel to have Hecate’s blessing or whatever. Between her being a magical horsegirl and the daughter of Pluto there’s already a lot of room to expand on her powers that was never used - I think doing more with her cursed jewels and metals powers and her learning the other aspects of her powers, like Shadow Travel, would be fun.

Instead I think having a daughter of Hecate as a part of the Seven would be cool, because we could still have a witchy character with mist manipulation and magic powers.

Give Jason an actual personality, please. Bro’s been a child solider practically since age 2 and has spent his whole life with the weight of other teenagers’ lives on his shoulders as praetor - give him perfectionism issues and anxiety. We’re told that he’s spent his whole life helping others compromise instead of being his own person - show that. Let his arc end with him deciding to try and live a mortal life and find out who he is beyond being a war general.

Show us that Octavian’s a piece of shit, don’t just tell us.

Leo and Piper are the ones who fall into Tartarus. Nothing romantic ever happens but we get heavy emphasis on their friendship and we get to see their grief over Leo’s mom and Piper’s grandfather respectively

Piper’s grandfather has died a few months ago and she cut her hair herself when her dad didn’t want to let her due to that (correct me if I’m wrong but it’s a tradition in Cherokee culture to cut your hair when a loved one dies, correct?), which is why it’s all uneven. A lot of her insecurities stem from going from growing up in rural Oklaholma (not in a reservation bc there aren’t any there) without much money to suddenly being catapulted into a millionaire Hollywood lifestyle and having everyone criticize everything about her and be really racist, all while her Dad drew farther away from both her and her grandfather. Her arc would be reconnecting with both her culture and Dad and learning to find who she is and her self worth again.

They defeat Gaea in a way that isn’t so anticlimactic and fucking stupid

#if anyone else wants to add on feel free to #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #hoo #riordan universe #piper mclean #leo valdez #jason grace #percy jackson #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna arellano #heroes of olympus critical #hoo criticism #octavian

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astroboots · 1 year

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Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces.

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes.

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession.

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy.

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all.

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets. Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise.

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect.

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot.

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat.

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window.

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life.

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you.

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room.

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again. He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder.

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer.

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe.

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching.

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not.

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over.

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4?

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange.

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO.

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself.

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan.

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full.

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point.

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds.

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?”

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say.

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest.

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu.

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard.

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why.

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

“Why do you hate him so much?” You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention.

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it.

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.”

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated.

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck.

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward. It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says.

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both.

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright.

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat.

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that.

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat.

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile.

That was easy.

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played.

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower.

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book.

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–”

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing.

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you.

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore.

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does.

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world"

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours.

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure.

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time.

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now.

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses.

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon.

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you.

You sigh.

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money.

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away.

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down.

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life.

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb.

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had.

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel.

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists.

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse.

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck?

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop.

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection.

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time?

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer.

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it?

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!?

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you.

Maybe you need to give up too.

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death.

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face.

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing.

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.”

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing. He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body.

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you.

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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omegaverse-anthropologist · 2 months

Text

going feral

i’ve mentioned feral alphas and omegas in a few posts before, but what does that mean? this post will discuss ferality,* its causes, common feral behaviors, and treatment.

*note: i will be using ‘ferality’ as opposed to the technically proper ‘ferity’ because the latter is based on the latin root and sounds pretentious, and the former is based on the english word and is more accessible

what is ferality?

ferality is a medical emergency caused most commonly by social isolation. it causes those afflicted to behave erratically, and is the most common cause of forced bites. it is one of the top ten causes of death for those over 80 years old. it is also called ‘loneliness disease’ or ‘bite fever,’ and is often euphemistically described as ‘losing oneself.’ in the past, more than a week of ferality was incurable. today, synthetic hormones and careful medically supervised management leads to over 90% of those afflicted to make a full recovery if treated before one week, and over 80% to regain most normal function if treated before two weeks. outcomes become less positive the longer someone experiences ferality, but there have only been 1,762 documented deaths directly from ferality in the US since 1980.

why does it happen?

humans in the omegaverse are pack animals not only because their ancestors saw practical advantages to living, hunting, and raising pups in groups, but because they were biologically dependent on one another. in simplest terms, interacting with pack aids the body in maintaining its optimal balance between the twelve dynamic (i.e., alpha, beta, and omega) hormones. prolonged lack of social support means that these hormones become unbalanced, leading the body to a state of multi-system disregulation.

ferality greatly reduces people’s access to the areas of the brain responsible for decision making, planning, empathy, and abstraction. it is the body’s desperate bid to regulate itself by any means necessary. those afflicted become impulsive, aggressive, and violent in some cases, so it is essential both for the afflicted person and those nearby that if you spot a feral person, you call emergency services immediately.

how do you spot it?

feral humans are fairly easy to spot based on their unusual, erratic, impulsive behavior. they may sniff the air (or other people) unsubtly, grab or touch things (or people) and fail to respond to spoken language. ferality is most commonly associated with inappropriate scent marking and biting for good reason: a feral person’s primary drive is to share scent with someone to help bring themselves back into balance. there are also some behaviors that can generally be attributed to the different dynamic sexes:

alphas

feral alphas tend to make aggressive eye contact as a posturing behavior

growling, snarling, and clicking at no one in particular

clenching and unclenching the fists and shifting from foot to foot

violence, especially toward other alphas

an acrid scent, like burning rubber or sulfur

betas

feral betas’ eyes tend to shift rapidly, settling on nothing for very long

humming, clicking, huffing at no one in particular

similar to alphas, they clench and unclench the fists and shift from foot to foot

general restlessness, moving quickly

climbing and perching inappropriately (e.g. on tables, vehicles, or buildings)

a rotting scent, like old meat or milk

omegas

feral omegas tend to make glancing eye contact—they meet someone’s eyes, hold, and look away several times

whining, purring, and clicking at no one in particular

baring the neck indiscriminately in a bid to entice a bite

hiding/burrowing (e.g. under tables or in closets. there have been several cases of feral omegas in clothing stores nesting in the clothing racks)

a chemical scent, like bleach or ammonia

how is it treated?

if you spot someone afflicted by ferality, it is essential to call for an ambulance immediately.

treatment begins in the ambulance. typically, EMS technicians anesthetize the individual for everyone’s safety. once it is safe to do so, the technicians draw blood and begin measuring vital signs and hormone levels to ensure that the individual truly is feral. in the past 30 years, rapid tests have made measuring hormone levels faster than ever. these levels are recorded and passed off to hospital triage, along with a record of any emergency hormones administered.

the hospital then brings the individual to the feral ward, where they have an individual room and nesting material marked with synthetic pheromones of all three dynamics. if the individual has been feral for less than ~three days, typically this is enough to trigger their body to begin regulating itself. in some cases, the individual may need direct scent marking in order to jumpstart regulation. if it’s necessary, a nurse or technician will swab the individual’s face and neck with a cotton swab soaked in a synthetic pheromone solution.

in more moderate to severe cases, the individual may need further assistance regulating themselves. in these cases, the individual will receive intravenous hormones and extremely frequent monitoring.

typically, after a few days of hormone therapy, the individual’s body will have reached a state of equilibrium and will be able to maintain the balance itself again. however, in some severe cases, the individual’s body may be unable to maintain the balance. these people will need hormone therapy every other week indefinitely. in some cases (especially those where there is also malnutrition or other severe condition), the issue will resolve itself with time. in others, the hormone treatment is for life.

how is it prevented?

the best prevention is maintaining healthy pack bonds. if, for some reason, this is inaccessible, clinics, health departments, and hospitals typically have nesting materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in the past five years, some nesting material companies have begun offering materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in addition, matching agencies sometimes offer scent-marked clothing or nesting materials for sale, though this practice is judged fairly harshly.

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star-anise · 2 years

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You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

#staranise original #agriculture #potatoes my beloved

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melbatron5000 · 1 month

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More crap about story rules

I dunno if this is helpful, but I read somewhere that Tumblr is just talking to yourself until someone goes, "Oh, I like this," so here goes. It helps me to get this sort of stuff out and be able to reference back to it.

I'm a novelist. I write speculative fiction, primarily urban fantasy with a dollop of mythopoeia (wanting to lean more towards the mythopoeia, but anyway). Neil is definitely a role model of mine, and has been since I was 19. Terry came a little later for me, in my mid-twenties. I'd read Good Omens by then, but believed Neil had a heavier hand in it than Terry did (Ha!). Once I finally picked up some Discworld, I was hooked for life.

I also recently learned I have ADHD, so not only is traditional institutional academia not my thing, I also have trouble sussing out meaning and details from things unless I have specific instructions on where to look. Once I have that in hand, I often go on a tear and find things that I never imagined were there, and frequently surprise not only myself but others. But I absolutely have to have that first step laid out for me in order to make more of my own.

When I first started writing in the 80s (yes, I'm old), I started looking around for the elusive "story structure" I'd heard about vaguely from other writers. I really couldn't find anything written down about what constitutes the steps of a story, the journey a hero must take for a story to be told start to finish. The other writers I'd heard discuss it didn't have concrete ideas for me (lots of hand-waving and "oh, you know"s), so I figured I'd find it in a book somewhere.

I found a little something about structure from Greek philosophy, but that mainly boiled down to stories needing a "beginning, middle, and end," like, duh, and not a lot about what made those three parts up. As a very basic story-telling model, it is incredibly concrete and important, but it's something we've known for thousands of years by now so it doesn't exactly light up the night sky with insight anymore. It's become such common knowledge that it almost doesn't seem like knowledge. I found more from Joseph Campbell, but a lot of what I found written by him was very airy and sort of dream-like, and hard to follow. So I gave up and muddled along the best I could.

About ten years ago now, I decided to try again, and found a whole ton of stuff written about story structure, from Greek philosophy decoded to Shakespear's five-act structure to The Hero's Journey first talked about by Joseph Campbell to modern Hollywood 3-act structure. Around about 2010 there was an explosion of work done on story structure, and damn if it wasn't eye-opening.

My favorite book so far on structure is The Story Grid by Shawn Coyle, because he has broken down all the various types of structure into very concrete, easy-to-comprehend steps that make sense. He talks about exactly where there is wiggle room, exactly where there is not, the general shape of a story in comparison to the general shape of the five stages of grief, what precisely constitutes a scene and what the sequence of scenes has to be to tell a whole, complete story. (In case you're interested, my next favorite book on structure is Save the Cat! Writes a Novel. It fills in a few holes that The Story Grid misses, and together they make a beautifully complete map of how to tell a good story.)

My favorite, in particular, are the Five Commandments of Storytelling. Each scene, each act (however many you want, I like 4), and the story as a whole, all have to follow the Five Commandments. These are elements that have to be present for a scene to work, and for a story to reach its beginning, middle, and end satisfactorily.

Inciting incident. This is something that happens that forces the main character to change course, take action. It has to be either an Act of God, or another character acting on the main character.

Progressive complications. The main character forms a plan to put life back in order and tries it, but is blocked. They have to regroup and form a new plan. Threes in storytelling are always good, but the main character must be blocked until they reach the Turning Point Complication, where they realize that in order to move forward and have a hope of getting where they want, they must make a hard choice. Often the hard choice is that they must do The One Thing They Didn't Want to Do, though the introduction of new information will drive this decision as well. New information can come from another character, or be realized by the main character as a result of the action.

Crisis. They reach the decision point, where they must choose one thing over another. The decision must be between two irreconcilable good things, where they can't have both; or the lesser of two evils, where they can't escape both. The Crisis can also be boiled down to a "what will they do?" question. They're going to have to pick, but they're going to resist before they choose, and that creates tension which keeps the reader invested.

Climax. They make their choice. It's really that simple. They pick.

Resolution. The consequences of their choice are laid out. In a scene, this means the inciting incident of the next scene is introduced because of the character's choice; in an overall story, this leads to the end of the tale where our hero emerges, having learned whatever it was that the author deemed they needed to learn.

For example, Aziraphale is listening to music when a knock comes at the door. (Inciting incident) He forms and enacts a plan -- answer the door, probably hoping to get rid of whoever it is quickly. It's Gabriel. (Complication) He forms and enacts a new plan -- find out what Gabriel is doing here. Gabriel says he doesn't know. (Complication) Gabriel asks to come in. (Complication) Aziraphale forms and enacts a new plan -- tell Gabriel no. Gabriel says oh-kay and turns to the people on the street. (Turning point complication) Now Aziraphale has two bad choices -- bring Gabriel inside, or leave him to wander naked around Whickber street doing God only knows what. (Crisis) He chooses what he thinks is the lesser of two evils -- he tells Gabriel to get in. (Climax) Now Gabriel, possibly Aziraphale's worst enemy, is inside his home, the book shop. (Resolution) And because this is a scene, this Resolution is also the inciting incident of the next scene.

This can go different routes, as when the inciting incident rouses curiosity or creates a promise of something the character wants, instead of inflicting discomfort -- although if a character wants something bad enough, deciding to say no to pursuing it could inflict discomfort, so that counts, too. The inciting incident just means that something happens so that the main character can no longer keep living life as it was. Something has to change, and they have to change it. In the end, it all boils down to something outside the main character knocking them off course, them deciding how to try to get back on course and failing, and what happens as a result. (Beginning, middle, end!)

A good way to create a mystery is to hide the Inciting Incident from the readers/viewers. Or at least, the Inciting Incidents of certain character and scenes. In the above example, we see Aziraphale's Inciting Incident, but we don't see Gabriel's until episode six.

I believe we haven't seen the Inciting Incident of Crowley and Aziraphale's storyline for season 2. It seems like Gabriel showing up is the Inciting Incident for the entire season, but I believe his arrival is a Complication, not the Inciting Incident. As far as what the original Inciting Incident was, well, first and foremost, the Resolution of season 1 would naturally lead into the Inciting Incident of season 2, just as a scene would do for the scene following it. So there's one Clue. As for the answer -- we just have to keep looking where the furniture isn't.

I hope this story breakdown was interesting to someone. I find it completely fascinating, but I am a story nerd, so maybe what I like and find interesting isn't up everyone's alley.

Cheers!

#good omens #good omens 2 #story structure #scene breakdown #the five commandments of storytelling #the story grid #story nerd #looking where the furniture isn't

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Text

{16} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Smut (Save a horse, ride a cowboy)

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on ??? 👀)

Words: 15,600

Warnings: Blood, lots of it. Minor cutting of skin mentioned. Mentions of past insecurities. Praise, slight body worship, face sitting, minor breast play, intense emotional intimacy, marking/biting, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), possessive natures, love confessions. (I think that’s all). This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Here it is! The next part!! Thank you all for waiting so patiently for me to finish this part, I really hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations!! I’m really proud for the build up in this one, I think it’s honestly more important/significant than the actual smut, so I tried to emphasize that. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Mini Masterlist

The next day, you wake up actually feeling fully rested for once. Your head no longer throbs, and you find that there’s a slight spring to your step. Seems as if Hongjoong really eased your worries yesterday more than you both realized.

Getting ready for the day takes you no time at all, and you figure you’ll spend it doing something exciting. Since they have another council in a few days, perhaps you can convince one of them to take you out of the house for a little bit, even if it’s just for an hour or so.

An idea strikes you then. Perhaps you’ll ask Yunho to take you out to see Brego once more, considering you haven’t seen your horse in a little while. Besides, you’d be together the whole time, so it’s not like Miyeon could just show up out of the blue and attack you.

Which is exactly how you find yourself brushing up against that all too familiar yellow string in the early hours of the afternoon.

Is everything alright, Petal? Always, your comfort and wellbeing are the first things on his mind.

Of course, you smile, quick to reassure him. I was just wondering where you were.

Oh, the genuine surprise you can hear in his voice has you chuckling, and you know that it’s pleasant on his part, nonetheless. You’ve never really inquired about where any of them are in the house before, simply wandering around until you spot one of them, or they find you. I’m in my art room, Petal. You’re more than welcome to come and join me, if you’d like.

Your breath hitches as your heart positively flutters in your chest. You have been meaning to ask him to show you his art room as of late, but you just haven’t found a way to bring it up. You never want to seem pushy or entitled about entering his own space, which is why it makes you so unbelievably happy now that he’s invited you into his studio.

I’ll be right there, you smile faintly, already thinking to yourself how this is a much better way to spend your day than you originally had planned. Perhaps if there’s time, you can still do both. It is quite early in the afternoon, after all.

Keeping your mind open to him, you begin to make your way towards their side of the house and upstairs to Yunho’s art room. Once outside the door, you raise your hand to knock, only for Yunho to suddenly be standing before you in the open archway. A soft smile rests on his face as he chuckles at your surprised expression.

“I heard you coming,” his voice is low, a gentle rumble as he steps aside for the moment. “Please, come in.”

His heart positively warms as he sees you smile faintly at him, slowly crossing the threshold into the room. The whole while you had been walking over here, he could hear the excitement lingering in your thoughts at him showing you his art. A fact of which could not have made him giddier, or any more nervous than he already is.

Sure, Yunho is more than willing to show you anything and everything of his art if you ask, but there will always be that lingering uncertainty within himself surrounding how you may react. Which is why your eagerness is like a breath of fresh air to him.

Stepping into the room, you are careful not to let your gaze linger for too long, except to stare at your feet. You do not want to simply barge in and assume you can look at whatever you’d like. Besides, you’d rather have him show you the parts of himself that he’s comfortable with.

Either way, you both strongly acknowledge the significance of this moment, especially as your thoughts wash over him unashamedly through your mental connection. Another fact which makes his heart sing in his chest, a fondness shining in his eyes as he closes the door softly once more.

“You can look around, Petal.” He chuckles softly, noticing how you have still yet to lift your gaze from your feet. “I don’t mind.”

Finally, you raise your head to meet his eyes, and the softest look he’s ever seen you give him rests on your features. Yunho’s heart positively flutters in response.

“Would you like me to look around, or would you like to show me?” Your tone is low, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes sparkle with that lingering anticipation that he’s only ever dreamed of seeing from you directed towards him.

Yunho smiles, a gentle pull of his lips upwards as he gazes at you with such love in his eyes.

“Come then,” he extends his hand out to you, “let me show you.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you take a step forward, placing your hand in his.

Gently, he guides you through the room, showing you some of his earlier paintings that he’s kept throughout the years of various buildings, plants, and animals. With each new painting, you can see his art style taking shape, noticing the improvement as he compares them to later pieces he’s completed. There are many different types of art, too. Paintings, drawings, sculptures: anything and everything you can think of, he’s created at some point or other.

Each reaction you give him, expression full of awe resting on your features, combined with the shameless way your thoughts echo throughout his head, he drinks in. Yunho absolutely revels in your praises, both subtle and not, and with each passing minute, that worry from earlier dissipates, only further proving how perfect you are for him.

You then take a moment to fully take in the room after he’s shown you the majority of paintings resting against the walls, as well as the canvases rolled up in stacks in the corners. A red velvet antique couch rests off to the side beside the large bay windows, the sunlight filtering in unashamedly and shining off of all of the pieces that you can see. A few easels rest off to the side, one sitting in the middle of the room facing away from you as a stool and a small table with art supplies scattered across the top rest beside it. That must be the piece he’s currently working on.

There also seems to be a few closets lining the room, seeing as one is full of supplies as you peek through the opening. The other remains closed for the moment. A few shelves line the wall closest to the hallway door, filled with little sculptures and sketchbooks, one of which he pulls off of the one shelf.

“Here,” he hands you the black sketchbook. “This is my most recent one.”

Carefully, you take the book from his outstretched hand, an excitement shining in your eyes.

“May I?” You can’t hide the eagerness in your tone as you grasp onto the sketchbook for dear life.

Yunho smiles. “I want you to.”

“Okay,” you mirror his expression, gaze drifting to the black cover as you turn the first page.

A gasp escapes your lips as the first drawing you are greeted by just so happens to be a peony. One of your favourite flowers.

Turning a few more pages, you notice how this sketchbook seems to have a common theme. Each new drawing that is revealed relates to you in some way or other. More sketches of your favourite flowers are on the next few pages, along with your favourite fruits, a picture of your shelves which house your own collection of books and trinkets, as well as some of your favourite animals. Though, the further you get into the sketchbook, the more intimate the drawings become.

Sliding a finger beneath the next page, you drag your hand up the side of the book. What appears to be a case study of your own hands stare back at you, though that’s not what catches your eye first. No, the largest sketch right in the middle of the page is of two hands, intertwined together with their fingers locked in embrace.

You recognize it immediately.

Sparing a glance up at Yunho, you notice he’s moved to sit on his stool resting just beside his easel for the moment. He smiles at you, somewhat nervously as your gaze once more darts down to the sketch of your intertwined hands on the page.

Your lips pull upwards softly in the corners as you stare at the memory, preserved on paper, of the first time you ever held his hand. Your heart skips a beat as you recall that very moment now.

You turn the page.

This time, the sight you are greeted with is another sketch of your hands, only this time, they seem to be weaving flowers together steadily. You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat as you watch the image come alive in your mind, seeing yourself creating that same flower crown which hangs proudly beside the large windows, on full display to any and all that enter the room.

The next image you see is of you, standing right next to Brego as you lean into him. You recognize the field you’re standing in as the one right outside of the stables, and you know that these are his own memories being drawn on the pages in real time.

Your heart begins to race in your chest.

A few more pages are simple sketches of you, candid pictures from times where he’s been looking at you, or you at him, that Yunho has wanted to commemorate as best he can for the time being. One is of you sitting around that table at the mall with all of them, and how you looked as excitement flashed in your eyes. Another is of you standing between bookshelves, condemning such a vile man as you passed your judgement for all to hear. Though, the one that makes you smile the most is the one in which you seem to be holding a tiny little kitten in your arms, an awe filled expression on your features as you smile at whoever it is you’re looking towards. Of course, you know it’s him.

Turning to what appears to be the last page filled in the sketchbook, your lips part as a silent gasp escapes you. There, staring back at you from the page, is your own soft expression, an extremely fond look in your eyes as you gaze almost lovingly at the person on the receiving end.

A warmth blossoms in your chest as you understand this to be the very day they told you about Miyeon, and the way you embraced Yunho as soon as he got back home. The fact that he wanted to commemorate this, all of these moments with you, makes your heart simply flutter inside your chest.

“Yunho,” the way you breathe his name, such tender affection dripping from your tone as you meet his gaze with that look he’s always only dreamed about being on the receiving end of, has his own heart thundering away in his chest. “These are beautiful.”

Another wave of relief washes over him, and he cannot fight the smile that stretches broadly across his lips. “Thank you, Petal.”

“Thank you,” softly, you close the sketchbook. “For sharing this with me.”

“Of course, Petal,” his gaze is soft as he looks towards you. “Though, I’m not done yet.”

“There’s more?” The excitement he can hear bleeding into your tone has him chuckling softly.

“Plenty,” he nods, that loving smile still pulling at his lips. “There are three more that I want to show you right now. Wait here.”

“Okay,” you find yourself repeating your word from earlier as he stands quickly from his stool.

Making his way towards the side door that’s still closed, Yunho is quick to open it and step inside. The small room is filled to the brim with artwork - canvases and the like - all depicting you or the things that you love. For now, though, he’ll reveal them to you slowly, as he can tell you’re already overwhelmed by your emotions at being shown his other pieces for the moment.

Grabbing two canvases, he’s quick to make his way back to you.

Hearing him approach, you turn back around to face him after gently setting his sketchbook back onto the shelf he got it from. You notice him lean one of the canvases against the side of the small table before motioning for you to come closer.

You do.

The angle you stand at still keeps the main canvas on his easel currently out of sight, but that does not matter all too much to you right now. Especially not when he turns the canvas currently held in his hand around to face you.

A small gasp escapes your lips as you see a bouquet of your favourite flowers staring back at you. The detailing alone, even of the ribbon of your favourite colour wrapping around their stems to tie them all together, has your jaw dropping.

The painting doesn’t even look like a painting at all, for the image that stares back at you appears as if it’s a picture, printed out and displayed like a photograph.

“Thank you, Petal,” Yunho grins, hearing your thoughts wash over him shamelessly as you still have yet to close your void to him since entering the room.

“Yunho, this is…” you attempt to find the right words as your eyes flit over every inch of the canvas before you, “incredible.” You meet his gaze, eyes shining as you do. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you, Petal,” Yunho’s heart leaps inside his chest, a warmth flooding through his veins as he smiles. “Your words mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“This all means more to me than you’ll ever know,” briefly, your eyes dart around his art room before meeting his own once more.

Yunho doesn’t even need to look into your mind to know how truthful those words you have just spoken are. Still, the significance behind them floods his very soul, causing his breath to catch in his throat, tears threatening to begin lining the corners of his eyes at any second.

After another minute of observing the painting, Yunho slowly puts it down to grab the other canvas he has leaning against the table.

“You’ve already seen a version of this one before, but I couldn’t help myself,” he admits, turning the canvas around to face you as a soft smile paints his lips.

Your eyes widen in awe as you see one of the same sketches from the book you’ve just looked through staring back at you.

There you stand in that open field, holding onto Brego as you lean into him. Your head is turning towards your horse, a gentle expression on your features as his mane sways in the breeze. Again, it looks as if someone took a photograph and printed it onto the canvas before you.

Your throat tightens, suddenly overcome by your emotions as you place a hand over your chest. You can feel the way your heart pounds beneath your skin as your eyes shine with such awe and adoration.

“I love it,” you whisper, voice gentle as you meet his gaze. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Yunho’s heart simply flutters in his chest as a bashful smile stretches across his features. “Thank you, Petal.”

“Seriously, Yunho,” you breathe, the fondness dripping from your tone. “I appreciate you sharing this part of yourself with me. I am honoured to see every piece you have shown me today.”

This time, you don’t fail to miss the way he suddenly has to blink back tears as he places the canvas gently back against the table.

“I’m just glad you like them,” his voice is raw, rough from the emotions coursing through his veins in this very moment.

“Like them?” You meet his gaze. “Darling, I love them.”

Yunho swallows thickly, your words meaning everything to him at this very moment. There’s a certain light now shining behind his eyes. A light of which you think you’re beginning to understand.

Finally, he has found that one person that he can share every part of himself with, and who is glad to learn everything there is to know about him. Finally, he has found you, that long since added piece of his soul needed to feel like he is two hundred percent himself again.

You are his Muse. His Petal. His everything. And he will stop at nothing to prove that to you. To prove that his love is true.

“Come,” once more, he extends his hand out to you in offering. “There’s one final piece that I want you to see.”

Briefly glancing down at his hand, you notice the way his fingers tremble slightly in what appears to be nervousness. Sending him a soft, reassuring smile, you step into his embrace.

The feeling of your hand gently wrapping around his own has his heart racing inside his chest, making this moment all the more real for him. This moment, and what he’s about to show you, could not be any more significant to him right now. From the way that he sees you smiling at him, he knows you know it, too.

“I just finished it last night, and I think it’s the crown jewel of my collection,” he admits, allowing you to take a step toward him. “Close your eyes.”

You blink once in mild confusion before doing as told.

In an instant, you can feel him coming to stand behind you, slowly guiding you around the table and to face the final canvas he has resting on the easel in the centre of the room. His grip is firm, but not so much as to hurt you, more so from his own nerves racing throughout his entire body.

Taking a deep breath, Yunho leans in to whisper in your ear. “Open your eyes.”

Immediately, you do as told, blinking a few times to clear your vision as your gaze focuses in on the canvas in front of you. The way your breath hitches in your throat as you observe the painting before you is synonymous with the way your legs give out beneath you. Yunho’s hands immediately move to support your waist as your back presses against his chest.

You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until you raise a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the first of your tears on your skin as you look at the most beautiful piece of artwork that you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

There, resting on the canvas in perfect colour, shines your image, smiling with a crown of flowers resting on your head. A familiar clearing surrounds you in the background as the sun illuminates your figure.

Radiant would not even begin to describe how you look in this painting right now.

“Yunho, I-“ your voice catches in your throat as you slowly lower your hand, heart racing inside your chest as an unbelievable warmth swells within you, filling your lungs with every breath you take. “I don’t know what to say."

Finally, you manage to steady yourself on your feet, Yunho’s hands still gripping firmly at your waist as you lean into him.

“Do you like it?” His voice is low, rumbling out right by your ear as you sense a hint of nervousness to him as he clings onto you for dear life.

“I-“ your voice catches in your throat, overcome by your emotions for the moment, “I love it.” Your reply is breathlessly, and you can feel his grip tighten around your waist.

You take a hesitant step forward and out of his arms, before halting in your tracks. Yunho follows your every move, a fond expression on his features as a warmth blooms in his chest.

“Is this-“ you turn to glance back at him from over your shoulder, “Are you sure that’s me?”

Your voice trembles the slightest bit from the emotions swimming through your very soul. Emotions of which Yunho can feel echoing shamelessly throughout his own mind. Emotions of which have a warmth unlike any other flooding his veins as he is overcome by your awe, your gratitude, but more than all of that, your love.

“Of course it’s you, Petal,” he smiles, eyes shining as you turn back around to face the canvas. He takes this opportunity to step forwards and wrap you back into his arms, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“I-“ your voice catches once more in your throat as you swallow, “I don’t think I’ve ever looked that beautiful in my entire life.”

“Nonsense,” Yunho chuckles, his arms tightening around your waist ever so slightly. “You always look like that, Petal.” He leans in closer to your ear, voice dropping subtly. “Beautiful. Radiant. Regal.”

Your breath hitches, and you find yourself resting your one hand over his arms wrapped around your waist.

“I don’t-“ you attempt to blink back your tears. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s because, Petal,” he chuckles, pulling you closer into his chest, that sense of nervousness long since having fled from his body as he completely revels in this moment with you. “This is how you always appear to me. I painted you exactly as I see you; exactly as you are. I am just glad I could finally show you your true beauty through my art.”

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

“Am I-“ you blink once more, another tear falling from your eyes, “am I really that beautiful?”

Yunho’s gaze softens as he rests his head gently against your own, his lips tugging upwards slightly in the corners.

“Of course you are, Petal,” he squeezes you slightly while still holding you in his arms. “Do not ever doubt that for a single second.”

Turning around in his embrace, you stare deeply into his eyes. Your lips part slightly as your gaze shines with such tender love and affection, that Yunho gladly drowns himself in it. A look which he knows is mirrored on his own face right now as he holds you to him.

“I’m beautiful?” Your eyes search his own as your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

“Every second of every day,” he confirms with a soft tone, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his own hands tighten their grip on your waist.

“I’m beautiful.” This time, it’s not a question that you pose, but rather a statement. A statement which makes his heart swell in his chest as you say so, because he knows you’re starting to believe it, too.

“Yes,” he nods eagerly, breath hitching in his throat as he continues to stare deeply into your eyes. “You are, Petal. Always.”

“I am beautiful,” you breathe, and you watch as a brilliant smile takes over his features, eagerly nodding along with your words once more as a single tear falls from his eyes. “And you have made me believe it.”

Immediately, Yunho pulls you into his embrace. One of his hands rest on the back of your head as he cradles you to his chest, while the other wraps securely around your waist. You can feel his chest shaking with his sobs as he holds you to him, a happiness unlike any other surrounding you both as you cling onto each other for dear life.

“Thank you,” your voice is raw with your own emotions as you whisper into his ear, tears falling freely down your cheeks and soaking into the material of his shirt. “Yunho, thank you.”

His grip tightens subtly on your body, burying his nose into the side of your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. A comfort unlike anything that he’s ever felt before settles within his very bones as he attempts to catch his breath. His heart swells, happy to know that you finally believe what he and his brothers have always known to be true.

You are beautiful. Mind, body, and soul. Always.

“I’m glad I could make you believe,” he whispers, voice strained with the weight and implications of his own words.

A few of his own tears land on your shoulder as he pulls you in impossibly closer, absolutely revelling in this moment with you. There is no greater gift you could have given him today than sharing in these tender moments with him. The fact that you have opened your heart up to him in so many ways, over such a short period of time, has him overcome by a deep happiness that he has not felt in centuries. Not to mention how receptive you are to his art: to him.

“I am so in love with you, Petal,” he breathes out, pulling away to stare deeply into your eyes. “I will spend every day of the rest of our lives proving that to you, in whatever ways that I can. You mean everything to me. I love you. So much.”

Your hands have once more found purchase on his cheeks, cradling him gently in your palms as you search his face for any signs of hesitance or uncertainty.

You find none.

“Yunho,” the way you breathe out his name has his heart fluttering away in his chest, skin tingling as he feels you beginning to brush your thumbs over his cheeks softly. “I am in love with every part of you.”

Yunho’s breath hitches in his throat, and despite the fact that he does not actually need air to breathe, he forgets how to for the moment. Tears gather in his eyes once more as your words wash over him, and he knows that were his hands not firmly gripping your waist right now, they would be trembling uncontrollably. Even still, he can feel his whole body beginning to shake as he stares into your eyes.

“My Queen,” his voice nearly catches in his throat, the first of his tears spilling over from his eyes for the second time in the past five minutes.

You do not hesitate to wipe them away before pulling him into your embrace once more.

For a solid minute, the two of you revel in each other’s touch, simply basking in one another’s presence. Nothing could take this moment away from you, right here, right now. All too soon, you’re leaning away to stare deeply into his eyes.

“Please, do not cry, My King,” the way you hear his breath hitch slightly as you say this has a gentle smile tugging at your features.

“I cannot help it, My Queen,” he blinks, leaning further into your touch as you brush the remainder of his lingering tears away. “You have just made me so unbelievably happy, that I cannot control my emotions.”

“Then, what I’m about to say should make you even happier,” you smile, staring deeply into his eyes with such fondness shining within your own.

“Simply being with you makes me happy, Petal,” he says honestly, fingers digging a littler firmer into your skin. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.”

Your heart swells with warmth in your chest, pulling him in that much closer to you.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Universe.” You hum contently as your gaze flits all over his face, eyes briefly lingering on his lips. “My Universe.”

Yunho swears his heart has stopped beating for the moment as your words settle over him. A roar of happiness wants to escapes him, but he fears it might shatter the windows were he to allow himself the pleasure of releasing it. This moment could not be any more significant to him, nor could what you have just said mean any more to him than it already does. Honestly, this day could not go any better than it has, and to him, it’s only just begun. The fact that your thoughts still echo shamelessly through his own mind is simply icing on the cake.

A fleeting thought of yours has him glancing down at your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. He pulls you impossibly closer.

You smile at him, such tender love and affection dripping from your gaze. Only, instead of leaning in like he thought you would do, you slowly pull away, creating a little bit of space in between your two bodies.

“Thank you for today, Yunho,” you begin, sliding your hands down his neck in order to rest your palms over his shoulders, and feeling him shiver beneath your touch. “I will cherish these memories for as long as I live.”

Yunho smiles softly, giving your waist a small squeeze beneath his grip. “Will you keep me company for a little while longer?”

“I would love to,” you reply, stepping lightly out of his embrace.

“Actually, if you’re alright with it, I would love to draw you right now,” he admits, a hopeful gleam resting inside his loving gaze.

Your heart skips a beat. “I would be honoured.”

Five minutes later and you’re sitting on one end of the couch while Yunho rests on the other. That all too familiar black sketchbook is in his hands, a pencil gently scratching against the page. Though, he doesn’t have you sitting in any particular pose for the moment, simply stating that he wants to preserve this moment in its raw glory for years to come.

For the next forty minutes, the two of you softly converse between each other as he draws you. Neither of you want to disturb the moment you’ve created, simply happy to bask in each other’s presence with idle small talk filling the silence. In fact, the original reason for seeking him out practically slips your mind, perfectly content to spend the day with him like this instead.

Still, you have yet to close off your mind.

“Alright,” Yunho’s voice manages to pull you out of your thoughts a few minutes later as you watch him sit forward on the couch, “I’m finished.”

Immediately, you scoot closer to him, wrapping your arms around one of his own as you lean into him. Glancing down at the page, you see a beautiful sketch of yourself staring back at you, and once again that sense of awe and wonder fills your veins.

“You’re incredible,” you breathe, resting your head against his shoulder as you continue to observe the image before you.

“Thank you, Petal,” a blush begins to creep up his neck, his whole body warming as he feels you clinging onto him. “I’m just glad I can capture your beauty like this, and that you like it.”

“I love it, Yunho.” You turn your head ever so slightly to glance at his profile, a tender smile gracing your features as you place a lingering kiss onto his cheek. “I love you.”

You can feel the pleased growl reverberate throughout his entire body as you say this, only causing you to chuckle.

“I am curious, though,” you begin, and you notice the way he gently closes the sketchbook only to turn his gaze to you in the next moment. “Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to paint but you have yet to do so?”

Something within his eyes flash as he meets your gaze. “You, Petal.”

You blink, “you mean like me posing for you?”

“Not quite,” he chuckles. “Though, I would never say ‘no’ to that if you offered.”

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, gaze drifting to the canvas in the middle of the room with your image proudly displayed on it. “I don’t understand.”

“Sure, I’ve painted your image before,” he hums, noticing how you lean slightly away from him to stare into his eyes. “However, I long for the day where you will allow me to paint you.”

Once more, you blink. Until realization hits you.

“Oh. Oh,” your eyes widen ever so slightly as a heat blooms on your cheeks. “You want to paint me. My body.”

“More than anything,” he breathes, his hands subconsciously tightening around the sketchbook still clutched in his grasp. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, though. I would never expect it of you, nor do I want you to ever be uncomfortable-“ his words get caught in his throat as he watches you lean slightly away from him in order for you to slip off your shirt. His eyes nearly bug out of his head, “what are you doing?”

Folding your shirt and draping it over the back of the couch, you turn back to him.

“You said you wanted to paint me, no?” Your smile is soft, the slightest of quirks to your brow.

“I did,” he confirms, his voice slightly strained as he goes to clear his throat. Briefly, his eyes flit over your now exposed torso, breath hitching as he sees you wearing a yellow laced bra. His favourite colour. “I do.”

“What better time than the present?” You inquire, meeting his gaze once more. “My back should suffice for now. Then, we can take it from there. Okay?”

The fact that you’re even letting him paint your back for the moment fills him with a sense of love unlike ever before. Not only that, but the fact that you trust him enough to be this vulnerable with him has a warmth unlike any other flooding his veins.

Yunho will never forget this, for as long as he lives. The intimacy of this moment alone has his head spinning. Besides, the added implication that you’ll possibly allow him to paint more than just your back for the moment has a content rumble building in his chest.

“As long as you’re comfortable, Petal,” his words are slightly strained with the significance of this moment, his emotions swirling unashamedly through his chest as he meets your eyes.

“Of course I am, Universe,” you smile at him reassuringly. “I trust you.”

The way you can visibly see his throat bob as he swallows his emotions has you placing a gentle hand onto his arm once more.

“As long as you are comfortable, Yunho.”

Turning his head to meet your gaze, he gives you a soft nod, his eyes shining with his overwhelming emotions. You can see the joy clearly represented there, but also the love, affection, and care swirling within as well. Not to mention the excitement.

“Where would you like me to sit?” Your voice is soft as you tilt your head slightly in inquiry.

In the blink of an eye, Yunho has made a simple wooden chair appear in front of him.

“Is this okay?” He turns to look at you once more, carefully observing your features to see if he can find any hint of discomfort or hesitance from you.

He finds none.

“This is perfect,” you shoot him a reassuring smile as you move from the couch to the chair. You cross your arms over the top of the back, resting your chin over them in the next moment. “Will this be okay for you?”

“Of course, Petal,” he replies softly, the tips of his fingers reaching out to trail gently over the skin of your shoulder blade, and causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Just let me grab my paint, and I’ll get started.”

Just as Yunho goes to stand from the couch, your next words nearly have him stumbling over his own feet.

“Oh, so you are going to use paint, then?” There’s a hint of curiosity in your voice, and even as he searches your thoughts, he cannot seem to figure out what other implications you could be referring to.

Besides, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

“What else did you think I would be using, Petal?” He chuckles, moving to step around you in the next second as he goes to place his sketchbook onto the table.

You catch his gaze, and the intensity he sees swirling within you orbs has him freezing in his tracks once more; Yunho stands completely mesmerized by you for the moment, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Sure, you can use paint if you still want,” you shrug, seemingly nonchalantly. “I just thought since it’d be your first time painting me, you would want to use something a little more intimate.”

Yunho’s gaze darkens as he licks his lips, “intimate how, Petal?”

“You’re the artist, Universe,” you grin deviously. “What do you think I mean?”

Oh, there are many different interpretations to your words. Ones which Yunho gladly, and shamelessly, indulges in right now, thoughts flitting through his mind of all the different intimate ways he could paint you in him.

At the way you see his eyes swirl with that all too familiar blackness, you chuckle.

“Use your blood, Yunho,” you watch as his eyes flash black, a pleased growl escaping him as he maintains eye contact with you as your words wash over him. “I want you to paint me in you.”

“My Queen,” he breathes out, attempting to control himself for the time being. “Do you understand the meaning behind something so intimate?”

“I do,” you nod once, a knowing smile stretching across your features as you move to undo the clasp of your bra behind you. Once the offending material has been removed from your body, you’re leaning forward, resting your chin on top of your crossed arms over the back of the chair once more. “Which is why I am offering myself to you, My King.”

“Those are dangerous words, Petal.” Yunho swallows once more, slowly stalking back towards you with dark eyes.

“Then these will be even more so,” you grin, your own eyes flashing as you watch him take a seat once more on the couch behind you. You glance at him from over your shoulder, “because once you’re done, I’m going to paint you.”

Yunho doesn’t even attempt to suppress the pleased growl that rumbles from his chest as he pulls the chair right between his open legs. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against your back as he strokes a tender hand down your spine, his thighs encasing your own.

Carefully, you extend your back upwards, stretching your spine and displaying your bare skin to him fully. A dangerous smirk tugs at your lips as you spare him another glance form over your shoulder, noticing how he barely suppresses the darkness swirling in his eyes as he studies the beautiful blank canvas before him.

“Paint me in you, My King,” your voice is but a low drawl on your lips, causing a shiver to race down his spine. “Mark me as yours.”

“As you wish, My Queen,” a pleased rumble is all you receive from him in response as you feel him lean into you.

Your whole body jolts as you feel him place his lips against the skin of your back, right in-between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he trails sensual kisses upwards against your spine as his hands find purchase on your sides, thumbs stroking at the skin tenderly. Your breath hitches as you feel him bite down lightly on the back of your neck, right where it meets your shoulder.

“Mine,” the word is but a low growl against your skin, and you cannot help the way your heart positively flutters in response.

Yunho smirks hearing your reaction loud and clear.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from you, his hands leaving your sides for the moment as he meticulously rolls up his sleeves. He can tell even without looking into your thoughts that anticipations claws away at your chest, given the way your breathing becomes just the slightest bit unsteady as you wait for him to properly begin.

Slowly, Yunho raises his one wrist, allowing one of his nails to sharpen into a point as he drags it across his skin. Immediately, blood begins to swell against his flesh, the vibrant colour contrasting against his skin. Dipping two fingers through the substance, he takes a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heartbeat for the time being, and focus in on the task at hand.

For too long has he dreamed of painting you in him like this. Nights have been spent shamelessly fantasizing about how, and what he would paint his marks on your body with. Already, he has the design in mind, and there is nothing more intimate, nor significant than what he is about to do.

The first touch of his fingers against your spine is nothing more than a gentle caress, the blood causing tingles to erupt along your skin despite the warmth that you feel. Each stroke is fluid. Precise. A design unlike anything you’ve ever felt before being drawn over your upper back, just to the left of your spine. A design of which rests directly over your heart from behind.

With each drag of his fingers over your flesh, Yunho paints his name on you in the ancient tongue, claiming you in any and every way he knows how. Languidly, his fingers trace patterns over your skin, swirls like wisps of smoke and vines branching out over every inch of your exposed back as he continues to claim you as his own in such an intimate way.

His touch is soothing, and so, so sensual, that you find your breathing deepening along with his own. Your hands clutch onto the top of the chair for dear life as you attempt to ground yourself, not wanting to think about how good his hands feel tracing along the curve of your spine for the moment as he works meticulously on the design on your back.

With each press of his fingers, Yunho can feel your heartbeat syncing with his own. A fact of which that could not make him any happier than he is right now. You still haven’t closed off your mind to him, either, so every single fleeting thought of yours echoes throughout his own as well. The way he can sense how much you’re enjoying this, which is just as much as he is for the moment, has a pleasure unlike any other flooding his veins. The fact that you shudder when he shares his own thoughts, his emotions and desires with you, has a pride unlike any other swirling within him.

It seems as if he’s not the only one having trouble controlling himself right now.

The whole time he works, Yunho unashamedly allows his eyes to bleed black, absolutely revelling in each new design that he creates against your skin. Slowly, each red swirl branches out, covering you in him, just as he’s always dreamed of.

As it should be. As it will always be.

His thighs tremble, doing his best to hold onto his last bits of sanity as he takes a deep breath in. The way your scent is now intertwined with his own in such a way makes his head spin, a pleasure unlike any other flooding his veins. Already, Yunho finds it hard to control himself, and the added fact that he can smell your arousal beginning to permeate the air does nothing to help the way his already semi-hard cock twitches once more beneath his slacks.

He clears his throat.

“Almost done,” his voice rumbles out, strained and low.

You nod softly as you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat.

“Do you-“ your voice catches slightly as you lick your lips. “Do you want to do the front?”

Yunho’s breath hitches, his thighs tightening ever so slightly around your own as his fingers pause momentarily in their movements over your back.

A brief silence passes over the both of you. Enough to have you turning to spare a glance at him from over your shoulder. What you see staring back at you has your breath hitching in your throat.

There Yunho sits, eyes swirling with that all too familiar blackness as his intense gaze is already locked onto your own. His chest heaves with every silent breath he takes, whole body tense as his hands begin to shake.

“Yes,” he practically moans out, lips parting as his breath comes in ragged pants. “Please, My Queen. I would love nothing more.”

Turning back around, you raise your head, sitting to your full height as your back straightens.

“Let me know when to face you,” your voice is low as you stare forwards, and you don’t even need to look at him to know that he’s heard you loud and clear.

Not even two minutes later, you feel his fingers lift from your skin.

“Whenever you are ready, My Queen,” Yunho breathes, his chest rising dramatically with each inhale that he takes, “you may turn around and face me.”

It’s as if the whole world moves in slow motion. Carefully, you begin to rise from the chair, your own legs trembling slightly as you turn to face him.

The whole time, Yunho keeps his gaze locked on your face. He wants you to know that he respects you enough to not sneak a peek at your body, nor does he want you to think that that’s the only reason he agreed to paint your front. He is an artist, after all, and he can control himself. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself for the time being.

Throughout his many years of perfecting his hobby, Yunho has seen many naked and exposed bodies of all shapes and sizes. However, never has he ever had to exercise such restraint as he does with you.

To him, there is no greater significance, nor moment than this one right here, right now, with you. The fact that you trust him enough to be exposed and vulnerable in this way has a love unlike any other flooding his veins, drowning him in a warmth that he has never before felt in all of his long years of life.

You are the greatest masterpiece he has ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes upon, and the fact that you are allowing him to touch you in such a way, claiming you as his own using such intimate and sacred means, has his hands shaking once more. His head spins, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Gently, his hands move to rest on your hips, careful not to smudge the trails of blood wrapping around your sides for the moment. Looking up at you with such a tender gaze, his eyes shine, throat bobbing as he swallows the sudden dryness within at the feeling of your hands coming up to cradle his face tenderly in your palms.

For a moment, nothing is said between the both of you as you continue to gaze lovingly at his face, eyes taking in every feature before you.

“Is there something wrong?” Yunho voices gently, worried he may have done something to make you hesitate for the moment, or uncomfortable.

“Not at all,” you smile softly, shaking your head. “I was simply admiring the art.”

“Petal,” Yunho’s gaze softens, his breath catching in his throat as his heart swells with an unbelievable amount of fondness in his chest for you and you alone.

Slowly, carefully, Yunho guides you onto his lap, pulling you as close as he can for the moment while still giving him ample space to work. He needs to feel you pressed up against him now. He cannot continue any other way.

However, before he can so much as reopen the cut along his arm, your tender gaze captivates him once more.

Softly, his thumbs brush against the skin of your hips, gazing tenderly into your eyes as you keep his face cupped in the palm of your hands. Neither of you move, too caught up in the moment with one another, absolutely mesmerized by the way the other’s eyes shine beneath the light of the afternoon sun.

“You are a Goddess amongst mortals, My Queen,” he breathes, nothing but the sincerest form of truth dripping from his honeyed words as he continues to stare deeply into your eyes.

“How lucky I am, then, to find solace with My God,” your own voice is low, nothing but a mere whisper as you both lean in closer to one another.

He glances down at your lips as another moment of stillness passes between the both of you. That is, until he’s breaking it once more.

“Please,” he swallows once more, heart fluttering in his chest, “kiss me, Petal.”

Your lips are on his own without a second thought.

The pleased hum you can feel reverberate against your lips has you smiling into the kiss, Yunho pulling you even closer into him for the time being. The way you hum against him as you feel his hard cock pressing delicately into your core has his grip tightening around you.

A small gasp escapes you as he helps you grind down into him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he deepens the kiss. The way you whimper into his mouth is simply music to his ears.

Desperately, your hands tangle in his hair, threading through the soft locks as you pull him closer into you for the time being. The way his tongue feels, slowly moving against your own has a fire igniting within your veins, burning beneath your skin with every beat of your heart. A heart which you know echoes his own right now.

Carefully, you pull yourself away. Enough so, that you begin to trail gentle kisses along the skin of his neck, biting down and creating your own marks for all to see.

“Petal,” Yunho groans, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you lave your tongue over a particularly firm bite you’ve just given him. “I still need to finish.”

Yunho can feel you smirk against his skin before leaning away from him. The devious look he sees shining in your eyes has him twitching once more beneath you. A fact of which he just knows you feel, especially as your smirk widens.

“But of course, My King,” you settle yourself back into the first position he had pulled you into on his lap with ample space between your two bodies for him to continue. “I would love nothing more.”

The pleased rumble that escapes his chest has you smiling once more as you watch him reopen the cut on his arm to continue right where he left off. Only this time, there’s a thicker air of tension surrounding the both of you.

With each movement he makes, your eyes shamelessly follow him, flitting between his face and roaming all over his still covered torso in front of you. From the way you lick your lips, Yunho doesn’t even need to look into your thoughts to know that you like what you see. A fact of which that has a pride unlike any other swirling within his chest.

Slowly, meticulously, Yunho connects the swirls and branches from your back over the skin of your chest and stomach, wrapping himself around you in every and any way that he can. Another design is drawn directly over your heart, depicting the symbol for Queen in the ancient tongue, and once it’s complete, another pleased growl is escaping Yunho’s chest. His eyes flash black once more.

Gently, his fingers trace over your collarbones, connecting the lines from your back in two large swirls over your upper chest. Each new line branches outwards, intricately wrapping around your entire body as he continues to paint you in him in such an intrinsic way.

For a brief moment, Yunho pauses. Slowly, carefully, he takes your one arm in his hands, raising it up and bringing the back of your hand up to his lips. The tenderest of kisses is placed onto your skin before he turns your palm to face him, repeating the motion until he’s trailed his lips up your arm as far as he can go. Turning his head, he’s quick to mirror each kiss onto the skin of your opposite arm, too, stopping only briefly to press his lips onto the skin of your wrist and feeling your pulse flutter beneath him.

In the next moment, Yunho begins tracing designs down your arms, wrapping the swirls and branchlike vines down your skin and all the way to your wrists. He can feel your eyes on him, watching his every movement, and only causing his whole body to heat from your intense stare. Already, he’s finding it so hard to control himself, and with the way you’re looking at him right now, he finds the task even more difficult to do so.

Yunho is smart, though, saving the most sensitive of places for last as he finishes wrapping the design around your stomach. Finally, he moves back upwards, branching his blood outwards from the symbol over your heart.

This time, when he places his fingers against your skin, his touch is light, nothing more than a tender caress against you. Slowly, meticulously, Yunho guides his fingers over the sensitive flesh of your one breast, following the gentle curve of your body.

His breathing deepens, eyes flitting up to your own to check in with you and make sure you’re still okay. At the way he sees you staring down at him, eyes hooded as your own breathing deepens, Yunho has to swallow the sudden dryness in his throat.

The closer his fingers get to the skin of your hardening nipple, Yunho can feel the way you shiver beneath his touch. A pleasant thrum begins to echo through his veins with every pulse of his heart, and the fact that he can feel your own beating in time with his is simply icing on the cake. There is no greater feeling to him right now than sharing such a tender moment with you.

All too soon, he’s completed the swirl around your one breast and is moving on to the other. Again, his fingers are but a gentle caress against your skin as he traces the swell of your tender flesh, eyes dark as he keeps them locked with your own.

Teasingly, he allows his fingers to ghost over the skin of your opposite nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “May I?”

“Please,” your response is but a breathless plea as you arch into him.

Immediately, his mouth is on you, encasing your one nipple as he laves his tongue over the pert bud, suckling gently all the while. At the whine he hears you let out, Yunho cannot help but to hum contently against your flesh, savouring this moment as he allows his eyes to flutter shut.

He pulls you closer.

Carefully, he releases your one nipple after giving it a final flick with his tongue, moving over to give the same attention to the other. The way your hands tangle themselves in his hair, pulling him closer into you as you feel his mouth attach itself to your skin once more has another pleased rumble escaping him.

The whole time his lips are on you, his eyes never leave your face, wanting to catch every single beautiful expression you give him and commit it to memory. The way you keen into him as he suckles gently on your flesh has his eyes swirling with that all too familiar darkness once more.

Shamelessly, Yunho’s fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as you begin to slowly grind yourself against his aching cock once more. At the way you feel him moan against your skin, you smile.

In the next moment, you’re gently guiding him off of you, pulling him back using the hair at the nape of his neck to meet your gaze once more. Without another thought, you place your lips onto his own, not bothered in the slightest by the small bit of his own blood you can see shining along his mouth. The fact that you go so far as to trace his bottom lip with your tongue has a pleased growl escaping his throat, you immediately swallowing the sound.

Your breaths mingle as you pull away just the slightest, chests heaving as he begins to nip at the skin of your jaw.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, placing an open mouthed kiss onto the skin of your neck.

“Radiant,” he bites down on a particularly sensitive spot which elicits the sweetest of moans from your lips.

For only a moment, his lips part from your skin. Leaning back, his eyes glance down at the mark on your chest before staring deeply into your own, the fondest of gazes shining within, hidden behind that all too familiar swirling darkness filled with nothing but desire for you.

His thoughts echo shamelessly throughout your own mind and your breath hitches as he reveals the meaning of the symbol he’s painted directly over your heart.

“Regal,” his grip tightens once more, the word but a growl on his lips as he feels your hands come to rest on his chest.

Not even a moment later, your fingers begin to toy with the buttons of his shirt.

“May I?” You meet his intense gaze, staring at him with a soft look shining in your own.

“Yes, My Queen,” he replies almost immediately, tone but a whisper on his lips. “Anything for you.”

“Good,” you smile, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, “because I still need to claim you.”

The moan that escapes his throat is nothing short of desperate as he tosses his head back. His eyes squeeze shut, that all too familiar tightening of his abdomen causing his whole body to tense as he attempts to control himself.

Never could he have imagined the effect those simple words of yours would have on him. Given the context, too, Yunho finds his head absolutely reeling. Pure desire courses through his veins, heart feeling as if it’s about to beat right out of his chest at any moment.

The feeling of your hands roaming over his bare torso draws him back to reality, and he opens his eyes just in time for another shiver to caress his spine. The dark gaze he sees swirling behind your own irises has his whole body shaking as you slowly push the material of his shirt down his arms. The way you lick your lips as you see his own body fully revealed to you for the first time has a pride unlike any other coursing through his very soul.

“You’re so pretty, Yunho,” your voice is low, as if sharing the most intimate of secrets with him as awe paints your features. “So pretty, and all mine.”

The snarl of approval that tears from his lips has his eyes flashing black in an instant.

“All yours, Petal,” his voice rumbles out, words but a growl on his lips. “And you’re mine.”

The way his grip tightens once more over your thighs elicits the sweetest of giggles from your throat.

“I’m yours, Universe,” gently, you stroke his hair back from his forehead, placing a tender kiss there in the next second. “Now, let me claim My King just as he has claimed His Queen.”

The second snarl that tears from his throat is nothing short of feral, mouth parting as he attempts to control his breathing for the time being. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding onto you for dear life just as he attempts to hold onto whatever last bits of sanity that he has for the moment.

“Are you-“ he pants, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more, “are you sure?”

You cup his face gently in your palms, a loving smile resting on your features as you continue to straddle his lap. “More than anything, Yunho.”

A moment of silence passes between the both of you as you stare deeply into each others eyes. An understanding unlike ever before washes over the both of you, feeling connected in a way neither have felt in your entire lives.

Slowly, you raise your arm, wrist on full display as his eyes lock onto an untouched piece of your skin.

“Will you do the honours?” Your voice is gentle, a tender caress as he glances into your eyes once more.

Yunho takes a moment to look at you. To fully and truly look at you. Here you rest, the love of his life, his Queen, offering yourself to him in ways Yunho has only ever dreamed about. The fact that you want to claim him in the exact same ways that he has just claimed you has a warmth flooding throughout his very soul.

Nothing can take this moment with you away from him. Absolutely nothing.

Yunho takes the time now to search your eyes - your mind - for any sort of hesitance or uncertainty on your part. He finds none.

“I would love nothing more, My Queen,” he breathes, hand coming up to gently cradle your wrist.

Once more, Yunho places his lips over the skin of your wrist before bringing his opposite hand up and gently tracing a soothing line over your skin. He meets your eyes briefly once more in one final confirmation. At seeing the subtle nod you give him, he sharpens his nail into a point, creating the faintest of cuts along your flesh.

Of all of the sensations you expected to feel against your skin, you never expected this. You were sure it was going to sting slightly, especially the initial breaking of your skin. However, you weren’t expecting it to simply tingle, a warmth blooming within your veins wherever his fingers grace your skin.

You just know that he has something to do with it.

Of course, Petal, his voice resounds in your head, the gentlest of caresses to your mind as you find yourself leaning subconsciously into that phantom touch. I swore to never hurt you, even in such a way as this.

Without question, and without any hesitation, Yunho takes away any and all pain his intrusion would have caused.

You smile, thumb gently caressing his cheek for the briefest of moments before you’re shifting your position. Leaning back slightly, you observe the plains of his chest, noting every dip and curve of the blank canvass before you.

Taking a deep breath, you begin.

The whole time you work, your own hands shake, though from a completely different reason that his own had. Yes, you yourself cannot believe that this is actually happening right now, but more than all of that, you do not want to mess this up.

You start slowly at first, fingers gently trailing over the skin of his exposed chest until you find your own rhythm as you work. Shamelessly, your eyes trail all over every expanse of his body revealed to you, and you can feel the prideful rumble that builds within his chest every time you do so.

Yunho’s eyes flutter closed, heart thundering away beneath his skin as he feels your delicate fingers tracing patterns over his own skin. What truly makes his head spin is the way you recreate the same swirls and branches over his own flesh in your own blood, paining him in you in such an intimate way as he painted you.

His breathing deepens, chest practically heaving with each inhale he takes. Not only is this moment so, so significant and meaningful to him right now, but the way you’re staking your own claim on him using your own blood has his head spinning. The way he can smell your own scent now mingling with his own drives him insane, and the way your arousal permeates the air only adds to the emotions swirling inside of him right now.

His waning sanity already feels so close to snapping.

Gazing down at his chest with hooded eyes, you pause momentarily in your movements. You know he knows that you’re not done, but there’s a question lingering in your mind which has his heart warming more than you’ll ever know.

A moment later, an image is appearing within your thoughts of a design similar to the one on your own chest. Meeting his gaze, you already know that this is the matching symbol to the one you already wear, especially if the way his eyes shine with such a tender love and fondness as he stares into your own is any indication.

Without another second of hesitation, your fingers are back on his skin.

The care you put into every movement does not go unnoticed by him as you work to recreate that same symbol over his own heart. A heart which thunders away beneath the skin of your fingers. A heart which pulses alongside your own, beating for you and only you.

There, directly situated over his heart, resides the matching symbol to your own in the ancient tongue. Your King to match His Queen.

An overwhelming sense of happiness and love floods his veins. The meaning of this claiming could not be any more clear, and the fact that it was you who suggested it be done in each other’s own blood has a warmth unlike ever before growing within his soul. A soul that belongs to you, along with everything else that he is.

The feeling of your fingers slowing over his skin draws his attention back to this moment here in time with you. He can tell that you’re close to finishing, that pleased look resting on your features enough to have his whole body heating as you continue to stare down at him with a hooded gaze. Your breathing has long since synched, chests heaving with each inhale you make.

His thumbs begin stroking over the skin of your thighs.

“My Queen,” his voice rumbles out, low and rough from the emotions swirling within him at this very moment.

The way your whole body jolts as he pulls you further into his lap, your aching core settling directly overtop of his hard cock once more, has a pleased rumble building in his chest. Your scent floods his senses, his entire body screaming in need for you: the need to touch you, to please you in every way he knows how, until the only thing left in your mind is him begins to drown his every thought. He needs to feel you pressed up against him.

He needs more. Yunho craves it more than anything. Whatever you’re willing to give him, he will take. Shamelessly and selflessly. And then some.

Yunho closes his eyes, attempting to control the last bits of his sanity for the time being. The last thing he wants to do is to make you uncomfortable, or scare you away. Especially not after this tender moment he’s just shared with you.

His whole body begins to shake.

“Yunho,” the way you breathe his name does nothing to help his waning sanity as his mouth parts in a breathless moan.

“Please, Petal,” his voice is strained from the way he desperately holds himself back from absolutely ravishing you for the moment. “Please, let me touch you. Let me claim you in every way I know how. Let me drown you in a pleasure only I can provide for you, until all that you can think about, until all that you know, is me.”

The way your breath hitches has another shiver running down his spine.

“I want to watch you lose yourself on me over, and over, and over again as we become one,” he meets your gaze, his eyes the darkest you’ve ever seen them. “I want to watch you succumb to the pleasures of your own body, taking everything and anything that you need from me. I want to be there every step of the way to help guide you through an ecstasy that I have created just for you.”

“Please,” Yunho’s lips part, “won’t you let me?”

“Yes,” the word escapes you breathlessly before you even have the chance to hesitate. “As long as I get to do the same to you.”

“Petal,” his heart warms, gaze softening as he stares deeply into your eyes. “You already have.”

You blink, clearly caught off guard by his words. He chuckles.

“Just let me take care of you, Petal,” he leans forward, placing a brief, tender kiss to your lips. “Let me please you.”

“Alright,” you smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead once more. “But only after I’m done claiming you first.”

Yunho’s heart skips a beat as he sees you begin to move off of his lap in the next second. Sinking down onto your knees, you slowly, teasingly, trail your hands up his clothed thighs, his skin tingling everywhere you touch. The dark gaze he sees swirling within your eyes makes his head spin, his throat bobbing as he swallows the sudden dryness within.

“Petal, you don’t have to-“

“Shhh,” you coo, hands slowly moving upwards to begin undoing the button on his jeans. “I want to.”

A low moan escapes his lips as he feels you palming his throbbing erection over his jeans, his eyes locked on the way your hand moves over him. His hands grip the sides of the couch for dear life as you meticulously drag the material of his pants down his legs, ridding him of his final pieces of clothing in the next minute. The way you lick your lips as your eyes lock onto his weeping cock has him twitching against his lower stomach.

“So pretty, Yunho,” your eyes dart up to meet his own as your hands slide teasingly up his thighs once more, “and all just for me.”

The moan that tumbles from his mouth is low, chest rumbling in approval as he feels you gently grab his aching cock in your one hand. Slowly, you drag your thumb over his leaking tip, pumping him a few times as your lips attach to the skin of his inner thigh. He nearly comes from the feeling of your teeth sinking into his flesh, your tongue laving over the sensitive mark in the next second.

“I’m all yours, My Queen,” another moan escapes him as he feels you trailing open mouthed kisses along his inner thigh. “All for you.”

The way your grip tightens ever so subtly around his cock, your eyes flashing, has him twitching once more in you hand. Already, he’s been close to coming at least three times today, and you’ve barely done anything to him yet.

Yunho wouldn’t want it any other way.

You take your time, marking up his thighs with your mouth, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh. All the while, your one hand never leaves his cock, stroking him in time with the movements of your lips over his skin. Though, just as he watches you lick your lips, eyes hungrily gazing at his throbbing erection, he stops you.

Immediately, concern is washing over your features, worried you’ve gone too far, too quickly. “Are you okay?”

Little do you know of how much your concern for him makes his heart warm.

“More than okay, Petal,” he assures you with a smile, helping you back onto your feet.

He can see the questions forming on your lips, as well as in your mind, but before you can utter a single word, he steals your breath with another passionate kiss. Pulling away, he rests his forehead against your own.

“Another time, I promise, My Queen,” he breathes. “I simply do not want to come before the time is right.”

“Oh,” a pleasant heat blooms on your cheeks at his words, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “That worked up, huh, Universe?”

“You have no idea,” he breathes, caressing the side of your face gently in his one hand as his thumb strokes over your skin.

In the next moment, he’s shifting on the couch, laying down as you watch him with curious eyes.

“That, and I do not think I can wait a moment longer,” he pulls you closer by the thighs, eyes dark as he scents your arousal once more. “I have to taste you, Petal. I need to feel you dripping onto my tongue and drowning me in everything you.”

The way your own breath hitches in your throat is synonymous with how you can feel yourself clench around nothing. Your thighs begin to shake.

“Please, My Queen,” his eyes briefly glance up into your own, nothing but a desperate look shining within as he pulls you in closer to him, “sit on my face.”

You lean over him slightly, hand grasping onto the back of the couch as you begin to raise your one leg. Only, you find yourself pausing momentarily as you stare into his eyes.

“Are you sure-“

“More than anything in my entire life,” his voice is desperate, pleading as his gaze darts to your core situated practically right beside his head. He takes another deep breath, a shuddering moan escaping him as you scent absolutely overwhelms him. “Please, Petal. I want to make you feel good.”

Your heart positively flutters within your chest, and your movements now seem to almost have an eagerness to them as you situate yourself above him. Immediately, his hands are gripping at your thighs, helping to guide you over his mouth and making sure you’re comfortable all the while. A fact which makes your heart warm at the tenderness he still shows you despite the position you find yourselves in.

Sparing a glance upwards, Yunho meets your gaze. His eyes are dark as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, an eagerness shining within his own as you slowly lower yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

Yunho licks his lips, eyes drinking in your dripping entrance as he pulls you into him. A content hum builds in his chest, rumbling just beneath the surface as he inhales deeply once more.

The first brush of his tongue over your folds has a moan escaping you while his eyes flutter shut in bliss. His grip tightens, pulling you impossibly closer as his lids flash open, eyes pure black as a pleased snarl escapes his throat. Without another second of hesitation, he dives back into you.

Shamelessly, his mouth laves over your folds, drinking in every drop of sweet nectar you provide for him, and absolutely adoring how you keen above him. His hands hold you steady, your thighs shaking around his head as he caresses your entire pussy with his lips, tongue delving greedily between your folds as your essence begins to drip down his chin.

The first flick of his tongue over that sensitive little clit of yours has your whole body jolting, a whine of his name slipping past your lips. The way your one hand comes to tangle itself in his locks, tugging at his roots as he repeats the action lets him know you’re enjoying this almost as much as he is. Only, the fact that you bring your opposite hand up to cover your mouth has a frown pulling at his features.

Immediately, his one arm reaches up, tearing your hand away from your mouth as his sucks you clit between his lips.

Don’t you dare hide your beautiful sounds from me, his voice rumbles out throughout your head, and Yunho can feel you clench around his tongue. I want to hear everything.

The whine of his name he receives in response is like music to his ears.

Slowly, his hands begin to trail up your thighs, fingers digging into the skin of you ass as he pulls you in closer. His eyes flash black at the first curse he hears you moan out, loving the way your hips begin to grind down against his mouth, meeting every movement of his tongue over your wet folds.

That’s it, Petal, he groans, the vibrations sending pleasant shockwaves echoing throughout your core. Just like that. Lose yourself on my tongue.

Your chest heaves, breath coming in ragged pants as you feel yourself clench around nothing once more. You never realized how intense it could be hearing his voice echoing shamelessly throughout your head, tone nothing but a low growl as he laves his mouth over your dripping cunt.

At one particular flick of his tongue over your clit, you’re practically folding in on yourself, a loud moan escaping you.

“Fuck, Yunho,” your voice is airy, breathless as your thighs tighten the slightest bit around his head, “just like that.”

The growl that he lets out is nothing short of pleased as he pulls you in impossibly closer, suckling your clit into his mouth once more, before repeating the same movements which had you keening above him earlier.

So fucking sweet, My Queen, he moans against you, cock twitching as his eyes flutter closed for the briefest of moments. Absolutely addicting. I could get drunk on you.

The whine that escapes you strokes his ego like never before, his tongue gliding through your folds as your juices drip down his chin.

So fucking beautiful, his eyes shine with nothing but adoration as he looks up at you, that all too familiar darkness swirling within as he watches you toss your head back in pleasure. He hums as he feels your fingers tighten in his hair. You are perfect in every way, My Queen. So unbelievably perfect, and all mine.

“Yours,” you moan, eyes closing in bliss as nothing but pure ecstasy begins to flood your veins. “Fuck- all yours.”

The snarl that escapes him is nothing short of feral as his grip tightens on your ass. The way your thoughts still echo through his own mind has a pleasure unlike any other flooding his veins, and he can tell just from the way your hips begin to rhythmically grind against his mouth that you’re getting close.

That’s it, My Queen. Let yourself go. His voice is nothing but encouraging the closer and closer you get to your release, feeling him beginning to caress your mind just as tenderly as his lips caress your clit.

The added stimulation has your entire body shaking, that coil winding tighter and tighter within you with each passing second. You lean into him more than you know, and Yunho would not have it any other way.

Your fingers grip onto his hair for dear life as your whole body trembles, the edges of your release creeping even closer.

Go on, Petal, his voice is but a desperate plea as he continues to caress you in every way he knows how. A desperate snarl builds in his chest, needing to see you come undone for him like this. Bloom for me.

Your whole body stills, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm washes over you. A loud whine of his name escapes your lips, walls rhythmically clenching as your release floods his every sense, Yunho dinking up every last drop you offer him with a pleased growl on his lips.

Slowly, languidly, he laves his tongue over your folds, not wanting to waste anything that you have to offer him as he absolutely revels in everything you. The way you look, chest heaving with his design over your body as you attempt to catch your breath is a sight he knows that he will commit to every memory of his, eyes shining with a deep fondness as he pulls the slightest bit away. Gently, he trails his lips over the skin of your inner thigh, kissing lightly along the sensitive flesh there as you come down from your high.

The way your fingers begin to lightly thread through his hair, a pleased hum escaping you in the next moment has a pride unlike any other swelling in his chest. The added way your legs tremble as you move off of him has a pleased rumble building within his throat once more.

In the blink of an eye, he’s sitting up, pulling you back into his lap as his lips find purchase on your own.

This kiss is much more relaxed, his tongue softly stroking against your own as he allows you to taste yourself on his lips. His hands are back on your thighs, and he can feel the warmth from your chest radiating against his own as he keeps but a hairsbreadth of space between your two bodies. The way he can hear your subtle praises floating through his mind warms his heart like you wouldn’t believe.

Parting from your lips only for a moment, Yunho absolutely adores how you come to rest your forehead against his own.

“I love you,” he breathes, staring deeply into your eyes. Eyes of which he knows are reflecting that same look of care and adoration as his own.

“I love you,” your tone is soft, voice a mere whisper as it tenderly caresses his ears. Your one hand gently moves to cradle the side of his face, a loving smile pulling at your lips. “Now, become one with me, My King.”

Yunho’s eyes flash black once more, his heart thundering beneath the skin of his chest as he claims your lips with his own.

“With pleasure, My Queen,” he hums against your mouth, breath hitching as he feels you take his throbbing cock into your one hand.

Pumping him a few times, you line him up with your entrance, steadying yourself with your free hand on his shoulder. His own grip tightens around your thighs, gaze flitting downwards as he feels your thumb tease over the head of his cock.

You lock eyes for the briefest of moments.

“Still okay?” His voice rumbles out, and you can hear the tender love and care he has for you bleeding through.

Your heart warms, a soft smile painting your features as you nod. “Very okay.”

Again, your thumb strokes teasingly over his slit and he has to bite his lip to suppress his moan.

“Are you okay, Universe?” You turn the question back on him, and this time, it’s Yunho’s chest that swells with that unquestionable warmth as he hears that same tender love and care dripping within your own tone.

“Never better, Petal,” he smiles, eyes crinkling slightly in the corners.

You mirror the expression before placing your lips on his own for the nth time this day.

Slowly, you begin to sink down on his cock, parting only briefly from the kiss as you let out the sweetest of whines. The way he feels stretching you out has your eyes squeezing shut, lips parting as you cling to him for dear life.

Yunho, on the other hand, is faring no better. The way your wall feel, warm and wet, sliding down and enveloping his cock draws a low moan from his lips. He can feel himself twitch within you once he’s fully seated, holding onto you desperately as you clench around him.

“Fuck, My Queen,” Yunho’s head falls forward, forehead resting against yours as he attempts to control his breathing for the time being. “Fits perfectly.”

“Feels so good, My King,” you hum contently, eyes still closed as you clench around him once more. “So full.”

His lips part, another moan tumbling shamelessly from his mouth as your words wash over his very soul.

Another moment passes by like this with the two of you simply holding one another in each other’s arms. Nothing is said, nor does it need to be, as you continue to bask in this tender moment, sharing in this intimacy as one.

“Whenever you are ready, My Queen,” he breathes, fingers digging a little firmer into the skin of your thighs.

You nod, taking a deep breath and feeling your chest rise and fall along with his own.

In the next second, you begin to move.

A low groan escapes his lips as he helps to guide your movements over his cock. The way you clench around him again has his eyes swirling with that all too familiar blackness as he takes in every single expression you offer to him. Leaning in, he claims your lips with his own once more.

Slowly, carefully, Yunho begins to trail his hands up your sides, causing a pleasant shiver to caress your spine. Of course, he’s careful not to smudge his designs, but at this point, he doesn’t care. The only thing on his mind is pulling you closer, and making you drown in the pools of his ecstasy that only he can provide for you.

“That’s it, Petal,” his eyes shine as he meets your gaze, thighs twitching beneath you as you continue to move over him. “Just like that.”

“Yunho,” the whimper of his name falling from your lips is like music to his ears.

“So good to me,” he breathes, his one hand caressing along your spine before his fingers are digging into the skin of your back, right over where his name is drawn on you in the ancient tongue. “So perfect and all mine.”

“Yours,” you repeat the word from earlier, nothing more than a breathless moan escaping your lips as you feel the tip of his cock brush up against such a tender spot inside of you. Your breath hitches, walls clenching involuntarily around him as he smiles at you. “And you’re mine.”

“That’s right, My Queen,” his voice edges on a pleased growl as he meets your gaze, pulling your body flush against his own as he leans further back into the couch. “I’m all yours.”

“Fuck, Yunho-“ your eyes flutter shut as his cock brushes up on that special spot inside of you once more. “My King.”

An unabashed moan tumbles from his lips as your voice washes over him, cock twitching inside of you as his grip tightens around your body.

His breathing deepens, gaze dark as he watches you move above him like this. A moment later, his lips are back on your skin: biting, licking, sucking - anything to have you keening against him. He has to see you fall apart again. He has to be the sole reason for your ecstasy once more.

“You’re doing so well for me, My Queen,” his fingers press a little firmer against the skin of your back, your blood mixing with his own against his skin and drowning his senses in everything you.

Picking up your pace, you allow your head to fall forward, succumbing to the pleasure he is providing for you at the moment. Burying your face into the side of his neck, you cling to him for dear life as he continues to guide your movements over his cock, nipping at the skin of your ear.

“That’s it, Petal,” his voice is but a low growl against the skin of your neck. “Lose yourself on me. Lose yourself to the pleasure only I can provide for you.”

His lips are back on your neck, sucking tenderly at the flesh there and feeling your pulse rushing beneath the skin. He smiles.

Your one hand comes to rest over his chest, right over his own mark as you lean the slightest bit away from him. This new angle has you gasping, eyes rolling as you continue to move over his cock. Each stroke along your inner walls makes your head spin, lips parting and brow furrowing.

Slowly, carefully, Yunho reaches down between your two bodies as his thumb begins to flick at your clit. The way your whole body positively jolts, a whine of his name falling from your lips has his eyes flashing black once more.

“That’s it, Petal,” his breathing is ragged as he attempts to hold onto his last bits of shredded sanity for the evening. He has to see you falling apart on top of him - because of him, once more. “Let yourself go. I’m right here.”

Again, he caresses your mind with the tenderest of touches, feeling your thighs begin to shake against his own.

That all too familiar coil begins to wind itself tighter within your lower abdomen, and with each flick of his thumb over your clit, combined with the sinful way his cock fills your tight little hole, you know you won’t last much longer. From the way his growls become more frequent, you can tell that he won’t, either.

“Come on, My Queen,” his words are but a snarl on his lips, gaze locked on where your two bodies meet as he can feel your essence beginning to drip onto the skin of his thighs. “Come for me. Come for Your King.”

Your whole body trembles, the nails of the hand you have resting over the skin of his heart digging into his flesh as your lips part in a silent scream. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, clinging onto him for dear life as your orgasm washes over you for the second time that day.

Not even a moment later, Yunho is following close behind. The way your walls feel spasming around his cock, combined with the way you desperately cling onto him, has a low groan of your name falling from his lips.

He holds you close, bodies pressed firmly against one another as he releases deep inside of your walls. You can feel yourself clenching around him as you attempt to catch your breath, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.

Lovingly, his hand strokes along the skin of your spine, tracing the design along your back softly.

“You did so well for me, Petal,” his voice is low, right by your ear as he begins to place tender kisses along your bare shoulder. “So good to me.”

“Yunho,” you curl in closer to him, face buried in his neck as you hum contently. “I love you.”

“I love you, My Queen.” You can feel his entire chest rumble with a pleased hum, his grip tightening ever so subtly around you.

For the next few minutes, neither of you move, both simply content to revel in each other’s embrace. Still, Yunho brushes a tender hand along your back, your breathing syncing with his once more as your hearts continue to beat as one.

“Are you alright, Petal?” His voice pulls you back out of your own thoughts and back to reality as you finally lean away from him for the time being.

A soft smile is sent his way. “More than okay, Universe.”

“Good,” he hums, a smile of his own painting his features. “I’m glad.”

“Are you okay, Yunho?” Once more, you find yourself repeating those same words from earlier in the day.

“Never better, Petal,” he repeats his own words yet again, a large smile taking over his features as he continues to gaze lovingly at you.

A minute later, you reluctantly separate yourself from him, feeling your combined releases dripping down the skin of your thigh as you stand back on shaky feet. Immediately, Yunho is there to steady you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he transports the two of you to a bathroom. One that is unfamiliar to you, but at the way he swiftly draws a bath for the both of you, you know that you must be in his room right now.

Walking over to you, Yunho gently caresses the side of your face with his hand.

“Make yourself comfortable, Petal,” he smiles softly. “I’ll be right back.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s disappeared from in front of you. You hardly get one foot in the tub when he’s reappearing, two glasses of water held in his hand.

The image makes you smile as you sink into the warm water, gladly accepting the glass in the next moment when he offers it to you. In the blink of an eye, he’s sliding into the tub beside you.

Placing the now empty glass to the side, you lean into him, loving the way his one arm automatically wraps itself around your shoulders. The security you feel as he pulls you into his side has your heart swelling in your chest.

Then, your eyes are catching on the intricate swirls still adorning your arms.

“It’s a shame to already be washing such a beautiful design away,” you comment, raising your arm slightly above the water as a slight pout pulls at your lips.

“Don’t worry, Petal, I have plenty more where that came from,” Yunho chuckles, placing a tender kiss onto the side of your temple. “Besides, I will never forget how you looked today, or the meaning behind it. For as long as I live, I will always remember.”

A heat blooms on your cheeks. Grabbing his one hand in your own, you bring the back up to your lips, placing a gentle kiss against it. Slowly, your thumb begins to brush over his skin, resting your head against his shoulder as your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” Your voice is soft, allowing the sound of the trickling water to surround you both as you bask in each other’s presence for the time being.

Yunho hums, pulling your intertwined hands into his lap so that he can run a finger gently over the small scar on your arm. In the blink of an eye, he’s healed the cut, beginning to slowly wash his blood from your skin in the next moment.

You smile, “neither will I.”

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emilykaldwen · 29 days

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: We've got Rhaenyra POV! We've got Aemond POV! We've got a surprise in the end! Thank you for all the support and patience. You're all getting this chapter early since I'm out of town for the weekend! Enjoy!

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my love to @vampire-exgirlfriend for her love and support and holding my hand through this chapter that just kept kicking my fucking ass. If you need more Aemond content, you must read, They Say I killed You (Haunt Me Then)! Now complete! (epilogue going up soon!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Parrying the Daggers Thrown At Us

Rhaenyra receives a letter. Aemond cannot find peace until he gets a taste of it.

Grandfather is still ill, much like we saw him last but he prefers his wheel chaired more oft than not…

Things have been tense, understandably so, but Queen Alicent has been cordial and has made sure we are comfortable and have what we need…

Aegon and Aemond keep their distance, perhaps so they can glare all the better…

I do not know how to make amends for what happened…

…and they say Aemond is taken by his pains at times, darkening his room as his head aches from his wound…

I should make amends, it is right…

What do you think I should do?...

Heleana has been the warmest…

…we danced together at the feast and she was quite happy to do so. It is nice spending time with her…

Aegon is happy around Lady Abrogail and she laughs freely with him. He is not like how he used to be as much with her…

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased to see how well she is treated…

Many houses were represented at Aegon’s nameday…

Most seemed to wonder if Aegon would have been named heir and displace you but none came to pass…

…they will inherit Harrenhal. I can see the wisdom in it as Luke will have Driftmark one day, but I think of Joffrey and Aegitsos and my uncles who do not have lands and holds to occupy them…

I love you much, Muñus, I hope you are well and that I will see you soon…

Rhaenyra ran her fingers over her son’s careful script, her mouth twitching in fondness amidst her worry of her zēapos. His letter was long, too much for a raven’s wings and she started from the beginning once she had read it through once. Twice. Her ribs ached as if Jace had been carved out of her to go on this journey and she shook her head, trying to let the feeling flit away on the breeze. Her eldest had a temper, much as she did in her youth, much as his father had, in the ways that drew her in. Time stole away much, and her own bouts of temper had cooled with each broken toy, each yelling fight, each ‘he pulled my hair!’ and ‘He pushed me and won’t share!’

The sounds of swords clanged in the yard and her gaze flitted from her son’s letter - pages crinkled in her grasp - to the courtyard below where Daemon was testing the new recruits to the Dragonstone guard. His silver hair was twisted back from his face in braids as he preferred, something about war and mindset and always be prepared.

He called something towards Joff and Aegitsos as the knight before him panted, having been bested against her husband.

Baela had not written, that much she knew, though Jace had said that she had found a friend in Helaena after a tense standoff. Rhaenyra had found the mention of it surprising, for her little sister, in the times she’d been around her, had been a quiet thing, eyes large in her face, gaze flitting to everyone and no one.

Helaena has been the warmest…

Helaena was not yet married. The match with Aegon had never come to pass.

The invitation lay on the table before her next to the plate of lemon cake she liked for her morning meal on days such as this.

The wedding of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Lady Abrogail Strong of Harrenhal…

In five moons, the spectacle would be held in the Riverlands. In five moons, the realm would look upon her brother once more, peacocked and pulled out, as Daemon sneered, by Otto Hightower to show him off as a contender, to put pressure on her father to change his mind. Her father had nearly twenty years to change his mind and still, he had not. Not even in her absence, cowardly as it sometimes felt to retreat and lick her wounds, had her father’s support of the claim and her family seemed to waver. Try as the Hightowers might to scream and spread slanders that would call for bloodshed, her father still would not be swayed. It was the sense of satisfaction that she had felt when he came to her defense in that shadowed hall those years ago, the heated of curl in it that no matter what, there could be no question as to his choice.

He had chosen her.

Even as the feeling waned over time to give over to those moments where she doubted, all the times he had failed to reign his wife in with her abuses and vitriol, the words her son had sent her bolstered her.

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased…

Harwin’s little sister, big blue eyes and red curls bound in braids, peeking curiously over the edge of Lucerys’ cradle next to Jace because ‘She asked if she could see the baby and give him this,’ Harwin had said, as the little girl presented her attempts at embroidering a little dragon on a pillow. Little Abrogail, half Harwin’s, half Alicent’s. She had tried to bring the girl to Dragonstone with them. Would she not be happier away from the court politics with her brother and the quiet? Lord Lyonel had given her a surprised, then hard look, and Rhaenyra had felt chastened in a way her own father had never been able to evoke within her.

“I will keep my daughter with me, and should I send her away, it will be back to her home, at Harrenhal, with her brother.”

Grief washed through her like the crashing of the waves on the rocky shore below and she felt her own jagged edges inside of her. Lyonel Strong had been the best of them, putting the realm first, always by her side at every council meeting she attended, encouraging her, even as his face grew graver with each brunette curled boy she bore.

Violet eyes swept across the parchment again. A servant in the camp had tried to attack the girl, Jace said. Crept into her tent, assuming she would have been alone. Inquiries were being made, but as far as anyone could see, the man had just been a baseborn servant - blending in like no other. Rhaenyra pursed her lips and looked down at the training yard once more, fingers drumming along the stone ledge of the terrace.

She wondered how wrapped around Lady Abrogail’s finger her half-brother might be… and how opportune this moment was.

Alicent’s eldest was marrying and taking a seat in the Riverlands. It was not the bold choice that Rhaenyra had thought would happen. Surely one of the many Lannister girls, or one of the Baratheons - a great house who would be invested in their own daughter becoming queen would have made more sense.

Harrenhal, for the wealth and lands that it had, did not command armies the way the Stormlands did. It did not have endless coffers the way Casterly Rock boasted of. It was a moody fortress on the edge of the God’s Eye, surrounded by lush farmland and woods that were dark and deep and felt that you were somewhere fanciful, somewhere that didn’t hold dragons nor thrones, nothing except for a warm hand wrapped around her own.

The clashing and screaming of steel in the yard below pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and away from the path of her sorrows and regrets. Turning her back to the sight below, she reached for her own parchment and quill, pushing aside the letter from Lord Celtigar.

Lady Abrogail… Good tidings on news of your approaching nuptials…

Aemond pursed his lips, his gaze rising from the book before him, a study on the Conqueror’s approach to the first Dornish war,to squint across the barrel room near the top of the tower that held the library in the Holdfast. He drummed his fingers upon the scarred wooden table, a fingertip running along the crescent burn from the time Abby had accidentally knocked over a candle while they were reading about Harren the Black.

He exhaled slowly, the way the Braavosi manuals advised and looked back at his book.

It had been weeks since his brother’s festivities, and the chill of the end of the growing season had crept in. It was not cold by northern standards, but the air cooled, the rains rolled in for the next several months, and angry storms fell over them from the Narrow Sea, their winds piercing and frightening, as if they were dragons themselves in the winds that the Storm God rode, threatening to tear apart the Red Keep brick by brick.

Helaena’s nameday had passed with quiet fanfare, the lingering lords of the realm who had not left parading their sons in front of his maiden sister. As if any of them were worthy of a dragonrider, someone as clever and kind as Helaena.

It had been complicated over the past weeks since the talk in the garden, and Aemond still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. What had been most surprising had been the strange sense of release when his sister let him go, leaving him to sit in the rain before Visenya’s statue, her words ringing in his ears.

‘I would burn Dorne for you… but I do not want to leave behind a world of ash and bone.’

How desperate Helaena had looked, angry and frightened and full of hope as she begged not to have a husband, but a brother back. ‘How else am I supposed to protect her?' he had wondered. How else could he offer his sister protection and security if it wasn’t to marry her, to tie her to him so that she would never have to fear, never have to doubt her acceptance and those who loved her?

Aegon had not wanted to marry her. She was weird, he’d sneered. How miserable Helaena would be, how miserable they both would have been. Aemond had done the right thing. He’d stepped up, he had gotten Mother and The Tower to break the betrothal. Even if they had not promised him and Helaena to one another, that was alright, it would simply be a matter of time.

He had Vhagar. There could be no further doubt that he was truly a Valyrian. There could be no more doubt as to his place in the world. All that was left was his sister.

Guilt gnawed deep in his stomach, shame twisting around his throat when the thought filtered through. Helaena was not a bauble he needed to collect to prove something. Collecting her was not protecting her. Collecting her was not about her, but for him, and it was this knowledge that he had thought about constantly.

His sister deserved more than being a broodmare, to be a pawn in the games. The forced distance the last few weeks had given him, after Helaena pushed him from the proverbial nest, had left him unsettled and snappish.

The loud thud of a book hitting the stone floor reverberated through the room. A heavy tome, judging from the heft of the sound, followed by a soft giggling, a deeper snickering sound chasing after it before they muffled and fell quiet.

He knew, with the utmost certainty, why it had fallen quiet.

Ever since the betrothal, the grip on his best friend had been slipping. Oh, him and Abrogail were an unlikely pair, but few appreciated books and history as his cousin did. While digging in the dirt and helping Helaena catalog her collection had been fulfilling, there was something joyous in being able to have someone who understood the quiet and sanctity of the library, and who loved books and reading and learning as he did. Lyonel Strong had always indulged his questions when was young - far more enthralling than Mellos and Orwyle were, and he had fostered that curiosity in his daughter.

‘All she’s going to care about is making babies with Aegon!’ Helaena had cried, frustrated and angry when they’d been alone after the fight in the brothel.

There was a soft cry, and Aemond scowled at his book before his chair scraped across the stone floor and he strode purposefully towards the source of the sound. The histories of the Riverlands were there - not just observational books, but the census, the trade information, things used by the small council’s not-quite-so-small army of clerks and counters and lawmakers. The section of the library that Abby had frequented since the announcement and that he had helped her with.

“Not here,” came the whispered whine, laced with laughter. Aemond rolled his eye as he turned the corner of the aisle. It was shadowed somewhat this far down, The strategically polished silver angled to bounce the light around so as not to pose a fire risk among the precious books, although the day was gray and cloudy and the light reflected was that of a lamp. Abby was pressed against the bookshelves, the blue and silver brocade of her skirts rucked up with her stockings on display, her legs at present, wrapped around his stupid brother’s waist. One arm was stretched out to grab onto the bookshelf behind her, and the fallen book that had been in its place was still on the ground. Aegon’s face was buried into her chest, or maybe her throat?

He was half-blind, after all, sometimes details could be mercifully missed. Or ignored.

“This,” Aemond said, his voice even and dripping with every ounce of annoyance and betrayal he felt, “is the library, not a brothel.”

Aemond’s fists clenched at the disrespect both of them displayed to a place they knew was important to him. At the announcement of his presence, Abby squeaked, Aegon’s arms tightening around her as she scrambled to lower herself without sending them both toppling. He held his arms folded behind his back, his hand scraping along his elbow as the pair of them got themselves in order and he shook his head when Aegon looked at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Abby had turned to straighten her gown.

“Are you really going to act like this?” Aegon said, for it was barely a question. “We weren’t in front of you and your book. You were the one seeking us out.”

“Because you both weren’t as quiet as you thought you were,” Aemond snapped. “It was distracting.”

A lazy smirk crossed across his brother’s flushed face and he wanted to punch him square in his stupid nose. Let him kiss his future wife with his face bashed in. “Well, my lady is distracting-.” There was a soft sound as Abby smacked Aegon’s shoulder, cutting him off with an exaggerated ow, the flinch was nowhere near the violent response that inhabited his brother when it was their mother doing the hitting. She peered around Aegon’s shoulder, her mouth just as swollen, her cheeks just as flushed and her features apologetic.

“We’re sorry, Aemond. Things just got out of hand. I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t you apologize,” Aegon interrupted her this time, a fierce look on his face.

“No, actually,” Aemond cut in, taking a step forward, using the few inches he now had on his brother to straighten his shoulders. “She’s right. Thank you, Abby, for apologizing. Are you upset that she has to apologize for you, since your self-awareness is worse than a billy goat ramming his head into things?”

Aegon’s mouth gaped in offense, his flush deepening. There was a bruise along his neck that was going to be difficult to hide. The glib nature of his eldest brother was a trial at the best of times, but this? “You know this isn’t your place to run about as you please. Shall I just unlock my doors, let you roll around in my sheets and over my personal things while you’re at it?”

“It’s the fucking library, Aemond. It doesn’t belong to you-”

Abby let out a startled cry as Aemond’s fist shot out, but as much as he would love to punch his brother, he shoved him instead, feeling the crackling of frustration, the rumble of Vhagar in his chest. “Because it’s all yours, is that it? You mewling fucking kitten. This isn’t just my library, it’s hers too, but you don’t fucking care about anything that means something to anyone else if it gets in the way of what your limp cock wants.”

“Aemond, truly, we’re sorry - Aegon, no!” Abby’s voice was lost in Aegon’s growl as his brother came back with another shove, sending him back a few steps. Aemond laughed, a hint of a sound like the thin scrape of wind whistling through a crack. Yes, yes let the idiot push him around. Let him continue to pull his friend away from him, from him and Helaena both. His gaze darted briefly to the redhead, blue eyes wide as she pressed herself back against the shelves, before meeting his brother’s lighter gaze.

“You are a glib fucking fool, Aegon,” Aemond said lowly, his mouth curling as he readied for a fight, needing to expend the burn of flame inside of him. “I don’t care what the pair of you do, I’ll say nothing should Mother hear of it, but-” he stepped forward and shoved Aegon hard into the bookstack. The ancient wood creaked and groaned, but the stacks were bolted to the floor to prevent them from topping. A few books fell from the force of Aegon’s frame smacking into it. “Stay the hell out of my library.”

He did not look over his shoulder, even as Abby called his name, apology rife in her tone. He strode through the halls, calling for his horse to be saddled while he went to angrily pull on his riding leathers. The left side of his temple ached as it was wont to do when his face was full of tension. Helaena would make him tea, protect him in the quiet, but that was not meant to be today. The last he saw, his sister was in the gardens with Jacaerys.

How he ached to wring the stupid bastard’s neck.

How bright he seemed to make Helaena laugh.

How betrayed Aemond felt by it all.

Why hadn’t Helaena said anything? Why hadn’t she told him that she didn’t want to be married? Why had she just let him wander around like a puppy and now left the fool?

‘But hadn’t she told you?’ a little voice drifted through Aemond’s mind and he paused in the lacing of his leathers. Had she not told him by pursuing that fool Warren Fossoway, and the time that he had spied her kissing him - for he had seen Helaena push the squire behind the carved dragon pillar by the gardens.

‘But she would let me kiss her, she would kiss me, and she’d touch me and I her and-’ The flurry of thoughts ached as he pulled on his boots.

It would not hurt as much if it was anyone but Jacaerys.

The ride to the beach beneath the shadow of the Red Keep was a blur. The rock outcropping of Aegon’s High Hill was a craggy, sheer thing, but the beach below was one that Vhagar enjoyed sunning herself, a guard dog laying at the foot of the bed in a way. Her head lifted as Aemond approached, lowing in greeting and shaking sand from her scales. The tension in Aemond’s chest began to ease at the sight of her, and he approached, patting a gloved hand along her scarred neck, scratching along a vicious scar she must have received in Dorne. There were no words exchanged, not the way Aegon chattered with Sunfyre. Aemond’s bond with Vhagar was one of feeling, of such deep understanding that no words needed to spill from him. In no time, he scaled her great bulk and yelled out the command to fly, which his dragon responded with her own, what he assumed was excited, call in return.

Vhagar landed on the cliffs on the western side of Massey’s Hook, the bay below dotted with smaller fishing boats this far out from King’s Landing and away from the bustle of the capital. Rage and grief, anger and fear were a tempest in his gut and he rankled at the call of Moondancer as his cousin circled above them.

If Baela wanted this fight, then he would meet her, unflinching. Let her see what dragons were made of. They did not all reside on Dragonstone.

“Laodijes peldios!” Baela howled at him, her voice a sharp shout on the breeze, her face twisted and ugly with fury, fists at her side as she readied herself to hit him should he get within reach.

Aemond glared at her, the distance between them shrunk now to an arm length. Vhagar was a great shadow behind him and he could feel the sulfuric heat of her breath as she exhaled buffeting at his back. Moondancer was a little ways away, shrieking fearfully and Aemond could not tell if the dragon reflected her rider’s mood, or her fear of Vhagar.

“You’re a fucking fool. Daemon Targaryen is your father, your mother a Velaryon, and you still don’t realize that a dragon cannot be stolen.”

“You had no fucking right!” Baela snarled. “Vhagar was for Rhaena to claim-”

“If Vhagar had not wanted me, she would have eaten me and you damn well know it.” Aemond cut her off, watching her jaw click shut with a curl of satisfaction. “Vhagar chose me, not your sister. What? You want to kill me to give her another chance at claiming her? Is that what you’re here? To finish the job that you all started?”

“Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?” Balea cried, and this time, there was a choked quality to her rage. Aemond’s eye widened slightly and he leaned back from her, a curl of uncertainty that he despised. His words had been harsh, full of the anger that he had felt simmering these past years. Aemond shrugged it off. He had earned his harshness in this. He’d been the one attacked, the band of them setting upon him simply because he chose to claim his right as a Valyrian prince.

‘Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?’

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned back on his foot, watching Baela gasp for air amidst her choking sobs, and turn from him to look out to the bay, towards Driftmark and High Tide.

He remembered his mother’s cries, her rage, her such careful and elegant control snapping as her voice cracked in the silence of the Hall of Nine.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“Why did Moondancer choose you?” Aemond asked. “Why did Moondancer choose you, and my egg never hatched?” Baela did not look at him but he could see the way her shoulders tensed. “Why didn’t you go find the guards? Why did you come, thinking a thief had stolen a dragon and Jacaerys brought his blade? Why did they give me a pig, pretending they had found me a dragon as they both had their own? Why did they do nothing but terrorize me with that fact for our childhoods?”

Aegon had done it too, gone in on the fun, drunk on being the eldest. It had lessened considerably in the wake of Rhaenyra leaving the capital, even if his brother sought other ways to tease him - he’d never again mentioned his lack of dragon.

Aegon had come to him in his sick bed, his curls shorn, red eyed and puffy faced, tears on his cheeks, had knelt at his bedside and vowed to him.

“We protect our own and I did not protect you. I do not care if you’ve claimed Vhagar, for I was not there for you when you needed me. It will never happen again. I will protect you. I will be by your side.”

Aemond had sometimes wondered how much of the words were his brother’s own, but he had known, with certainty, that the feelings were genuine. His brother was an idiot, and they butted heads, but his brother loved him in his own way, and for as angry as Aegon could make him, he loved him too. In his own way.

He might admit that on his deathbed, unlike Aegon, who would only need to be in the depths of his cups and into the sad and tearful mourning edge.

“What do you know, Baela?” Aemond said, his voice even, coldness creeping along the edges. “Of fighting and scraping for everything that is owed to you?” He forcefully bit his tongue, copper exploding in his mouth as he broke skin, to keep from pressing further at the loss of her birth right to Driftmark for Rhaenyra’s folly.

“A prince has to scrape for all that is owed to him.” It was rhetorical, biting, and Aemond snorted, taking a step forward, his own gaze looking out at the water.

“You may have been an idiot child, but don’t play me for a fool.” It was impossible not to see how little Viserys thought of his second family, and he had seen it plainly on Jacaerys’ face, the surprise in witnessing it. “I’m sure your father relishes every word you send to him. His little spy.”

Baela’s lip curled in a snarl and she stalked closer. Aemond stayed where he was, watching her with a narrowed eye as Vhagar let out a low growl behind him. She did not move, did not lift her head, but her nostrils flared and Aemond felt the heat of her breath swirl around him. Baela’s eyes widened, and she paused, the indigo of them shining with tears.

He turned his head slightly to look at Vhagar. “Ȳgha iksi,” he reassured her, feeling Vhagar’s displeasure seeping through him, her warning and the remembered rage from those years ago when she could not protect him or take away his pain. He reached for her snout, pressing his hand to the scar above her left nostril, rubbing against it. He turned his back to his cousin and brought his other hand up, feeling the anger hot as coals, hot as dragonfire in his chest. Vhagar was full of tension. He could feel it. Would she feel that way if it wasn’t him? If she was not so worried for him, would she recognize the girl behind him as the child that Laena Velaryon surely brought to her, as Aemond would have brought his own child? Had his grandfather, Baelon, brought his sons to this dragon before them?

The silence filled the air around them, the wind thick with tension. Aemond pressed his forehead to Vhagar, took strength from her, squeezed his eye shut and ignored the pain that lanced through his head and pulsed behind his scar.

The sob behind him was soft, and Moondancer’s cry was mournful.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“I did not mean to tarnish your mother’s memory,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice carrying as he looked, blind side towards Baela. “It was not done to hurt you, or to take something from you. It was… It was my only chance. And it’s something I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand. I am… I am sorry about the loss of your mother. I did not have the opportunity to give you my condolences then, but I can give them to you now.”

The sound Baela made was strangled. Aemond turned to look at her. Baela was stiff beneath her red and black riding leathers, the metal rings in her hair tinkling as the wind tugged at her braids. He recalled the mourning child she had been sitting by her twin and Jace, the vicious yell she’d let out when she punched him in the nose that night, the howls and scream of pain. He felt Vhagar twitch and groan beneath his touch, another warning and he hushed her again, stroking her snout. He watched her gaze go towards Moondancer, who was crying fitfully, grounded still, her aquamarine wings more green against the lush grass of the clifftop.

“Do you want to pet her?”

Baela stared at him, the hostile lines to her face instantly slacking in surprise. “Skoro syt?” Her voice was small and wary, even as her eyes were wide with grief.

“My condolences,” Aemond repeated, and he found the words genuine. It was not Baela, nor her sister, or even his bastard nephews that rankled him. Oh, he wanted his revenge, He wanted what was due, but more of the blame lay with his eldest sister and their father. Of that, Aemond was secure in. He would gladly feed them both to Vhagar, to take an eye as payment for his mother.

His cousin shifted on her booted feet before whatever compelled her brought her forward. Aemond shifted, beckoning her to take her place by his side as he murmured words to Vhagar. Baela had taken her glove off, her slim, tanned hand reaching tentatively up before resting along the scar on Vhagar’s nostril.

They stood there for how long, Aemond was not sure, quietly beside one another as Baela grieved for the mother at the bottom of the Narrow Sea, and his own grief at what was taken from him.

“Do not mourn me, mother…”

‘But mourn the boy dead on Driftmark.’

It was not lightness or peace that settled over Aemond when he and his cousin parted later. He was not certain how much time had passed, only that after she had sobbed, they sat there in a strange, companionable silence eating hunks of bread and cheese and apple that Baela cut with a wicked blade. She did not give him thanks, she did not say anything, but Aemond took the offering of shared food as her own gesture of whatever truce was settled between them. The exchanged curt nods before parting, Baela northeast and away from the city to what Aemond assumed was High Tide and her grandmother and twin, while he circled back towards the city.

Aemond was not certain of the feeling he held except that it felt like he had scratched something out on a list, or deposited a burden that he was trying to carry with all his other, more cumbersome burdens. It was a closed door. That was enough for Aemond, and there was a part of him that wanted to march to his sisters and tell them that he had made nice, to have Abby’s warm smile proud with him, and Helaena’s little clap and promptly being the receiver of her latest mountain spider that Uncle Rodrik had brought her.

Instead, after entering the inner courtyard of the Red Keep and handing off his horse to one of the stablehands, he made his way to the gardens and to his own preferred solitude when the library - so recently desecrated - was not an option. No, Aemond needed air, he needed the statue of Visenya to look down upon him. There, where Helaena had snipped the strings and released him from the vow he had made, the goal that held him that was more about him than it truly was about her.

Where his sister had set him free, and he loved her all the more for it.

The problem, he found, upon striding down the paved path and through the dripping ivy, was that his garden was not, in fact, as empty as he hoped. Wylla Karstark was kneeled in front of a bush of hyacinths, carefully cutting the purple blooms and placing them in a basket beside her. She was clad in a dove gray dress, the black fabric of her kirtle beneath poking out through slashes along her shoulders and puffed at her elbows. Her fox features were pinched in concentration and Aemond watched her for a moment, silent as she had clearly not heard his approach.

Wylla Karstark was an unknown. She was pretty enough, with a long nose and sharp jaw, gray eyes that flashed when she was annoyed, which was the majority of the time. She had a rather frustrating talent of being able to look down at him even as she had to arch her neck, for she was as petite as Abby was. Their joint misfortune, just like Aegon’s. She was also well read, their conversation at the feast turning from a mutual annoyance to discussing the book of poetry that he had seen her reading, which itself had turned into a rather long and in depth conversation on the Valyrian poet, Praxilla, whose work had survived by the grace of her living the life of leisure in Lys when the Doom happened. Wylla and his elder brother unknowingly shared a fondness for drinking songs penned by the scribe, although Aemond was smart enough to know he shouldn’t bring that up.

Not until he needed to.

“It is polite to speak when coming upon someone, Your Grace,” Wylla’s northern burr was arch as she focused on her task. “I would curtsy, but you can see I’m already on my knees.”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed at the turn of her words, and he was not certain if she understood how they could be taken. He decided that she didn’t, for she did not turn to look at him, seemingly unbothered. All for the best, he supposed, for Aemond did not think he could meet her gaze should she be facing him.

“Why are you cutting my flowers?”

“Your flowers, Your Grace?” Wylla laughed, a sharp, lilting sort of sound and he wondered if that’s what she sounded like when she sang. Did she sing? He had not asked her. “These flowers belong to Queen Visenya, for it is her garden, is it not?”

“It is my garden,” he pushed back, frowning at the back of her head, the mass of thick, twisted black braids kept in place with a woven, pearl hair net with wicked looking, pearl tipped hair pins to keep the heaviness of it in place. He flexed his hands, wiping them on his riding leathers as he approached. There were other flowers in her basket, like wisteria and some of the roses from the main garden. He sat, bending his one leg to rest an arm on while the other reached in.

Up close, he could see the red flush to her pale cheeks. He did not recall them looking so red when he saw her the day before, outside of the bit of sun all the girls had gotten during the sun.

Her smack was quick, the sound of flesh stinging flesh loud and he immediately pulled back with a hiss and a glare. “How dare-”

“Those aren’t for you,” Wylla said forcefully, the gray eyes of her bright in her face as she finally looked at him. “They’re for Lady Abrogail.”

Aemond had killed a man for the fox-faced woman before him without hesitation, and the knowledge of it settled in him still, generally buried over the past few weeks because he had no idea what to do about it. They’d been attacked in the night, and Wylla Karstark had shoved a knife between the man’s ribs without hesitation. So tall, Wylla Karstark seemed, so loud, filling up the spaces she was in without holding herself back, that he had so often forgotten how small she was.

Until she was there, in front of him, those gray eyes like the storm ridden ocean.

Aemond held her gaze, reaching back into the basket to pluck one of the deep purple, nearly blue anemones that she had gathered, twirling it idly between his long fingers before reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. Wylla was still beside him, her red painted mouth parted slightly, so he could see the flash of her white teeth behind it. Her cheeks deepend in their red to match the paint on her lips and Aemon hummed.

Abby had been understandably shaken. Knowing her as long as he did, even with the smiles affixed to her face, he knew the signs as intimately as he understood Helaena’s or Aegon’s, or his own mother’s. Wylla Karstark was a mystery. She had been quiet, from what he had seen, but the wedding preparations had taken up much time with the girls, as well as her brother finally leaving the capital earlier that week.

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking, before he met her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Her inhale was loud. It trembled and she pressed her red lips together, her throat bobbing with a swallow and looked back at the flowers but did not move to cut anymore. Aemond did not push her, but only waited.

“Yes? No? Strangely yes,” she finally whispered. “I think that’s what bothers me more.”

“That bastard came in with intent to harm,” Aemond said. “If you didn’t kill him, someone else would have. You were incredibly brave.” None knew where he’d come from. The assailant had been clad in the same red garb as the rest of the servants. A baseborn man. Waters or Storm, Aemond couldn’t remember, much like he had no memory of the man’s face before he stared down at it, red and wheezing before he killed him.

“At least it wasn’t Aegon,” Wylla whispered, her eyes wide, drawing his attention back to her. “What would have that turned into - him sneaking in for them to slobber all over each other. Me thinking he was an attacker and-”

The snort of laughter that escaped Aemond at the idea of it all could not be held back. He bent his head, gasping for air as his shoulders shook and it was only a moment before Wylla’s own peel of laughter joined his. It had been some weeks since he’d laughed, in the wake of what happened at the hunt drying up what little humor he’d indulged in. There was an infectious quality to Wylla Karstark’s amusement that he found comforting. Aemond looked at her, her face flushed from her laughter, and he leaned in, kissing her.

The laughter abruptly stopped, her mouth soft against his, still from her clear surprise. She tasted like oranges. Abby must have indulged in the sweet and sour orange cakes they had at the feast. Wylla did not respond, but she didn’t move away either and Aemond took that as acceptance, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, thumb swiping softly against the apple of it. Kisses with Helaena had been different - always expected, always ready, with her initiating many of them. The one time he’d kissed Abby, when they were little and Jace had dared him to, did not count. The both of them had made faces, vowing to never do it again.

Kissing Wylla, though? He never wanted to stop, especially not when she reached up, the clippers making a soft thump along the grass to wrap around the end of the braid slung over his shoulder. She tugged it gently and Aemond broke away, blinking and gasping. “What?” he asked. “Should I have not done that?”

“Oh, you should have,” she reassured him, breathless and red faced. She licked her lips and looked at her fingers still wound around his braid, toying with the leather tie. “I was just reminded of something someone told me once.”

He cocked his head, mouth pursed. “What was it?”

The smile that cut across Wylla’s face was amused, the scar along the top of her lip giving a mischievous bend to her small, red mouth. “It was about how dragons purr when you pull their hair.”

Whatever thought started to coalesce about her late night conversation with his sisters was pushed right out when her lips found his.

I would love to hear your thoughts! Even if it's just a keyboard smash! Reblog to spread a story around so others may find it! I would love to hear your theories! What did you love? What are you looking forward to? Happy to have you here as always <3

[Next Chapter]

#my fic #hotd tag #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd oc #fyeahgotoc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #oc: abrogail strong #aegon x abby #abrogon #otp: do not go far from me #man tagging is so annoying

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henrysglock · 3 months

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[Kazoo Kid voice] Wait A Minute...Who Are You?

ANOTHER installment of the Cracks and Mirrors series...this time tied (haha) to Brenner's ties. Yeah. Ties. Plural. This is going to be a long one. Where to begin.

#1: The Ties

If you can make sense of that, more power to you. Here's what you really need to know:

Meaning these 5 guys are different from each other:

Wonderful! I hate it here.

Interestingly enough, this guy is the only guy we see the doors to El's stairwell with:

Now, it finally makes sense why none of these blood patterns match:

BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT THE SAME GUY/SCENARIO.

All of this, of course, ties back to what I said in September about Ten's changing test room regarding shot choices, prop movements, and color grading fuckery: It's not the same room continuously.

These two, however, seem to be set in variations on the same universe:

And they both end in an infuriating camera cut to (in Brenner's case) a completely different guy. (smash cut to my post about how if El's experience is lifted from Brenner's memories, then Brenner should have seen One killing Two, like El did)

Anyway, what we can glean from this is that Running Brenner's universe is one of the top row, but not any of the bottom row:

(i.e. It's at least a variation on a) the taped version of El's first NINA experience and b) Henry's electrocution. It is not, however, any of the other versions of El's NINA entrance, as far as we've been shown...which is consistent with the multiple versions of NINA we seem to be seeing overall.)

Okay. Good? Good. Moving on.

#2: Tying the Ties (to the Rainbow Room)

As I just mentioned, the Brenner in the hallway isn't the Brenner who runs into the Rainbow Room. And as far as I can tell, Rainbow Room Brenner doesn't appear in the hallway shots:

Rainbow Room Brenner, as far as I can tell, seems to be this Brenner:

And so, of course, the part you all knew was coming...

#3: Tying the Ties (to the Cracks)

Yeah. We're fucked. We got a bunch of different guys.

If you're just tuning in, I suggest you take a peek at the original Cracks and Mirrors post (the other installments of which can be found in my pinned post)...but for time being I've lifted the most relevant portion:

Now. These cracks have associated Brenners:

No Gate and Gate, respectively.

Not only are these two Brenners not the same guy, they're also not any of the guys we saw running around or the guy who burst into the Rainbow Room:

Adding lines would make this more confusing, so just go ahead and squint at them all. You'll see what I'm on about pretty quickly, since I've circled the important bits.

But...Surprise! We now have seven Brenners! (My apologies for the fucking crunchy as hell "looks like the visual representation of an earrape video" cracks Brenners, it's just that the lighting is shit and I can see fuck all if I leave them as-is)

So. A Tale Of Seven Brenners...or so you THOUGHT. (Because fuck me, that's why.)

#4: More Fucking Ties!!

Of course, none of these Brenners are this weird fucker with blood all over his face:

Many such cases, because none of them account for this Brenner from earlier in 4.01 who's shown with a) an incorrect tie and b) incorrect hair (shown here with "correct" Brenner) either:

...Which I talked about here.

YUP. WE HAVE AT LEAST NINE BRENNERS.

Now...I still have questions about this last Brenner ^ being shown as a reflection in his mirror at home, as opposed to Brenner in the massacre who does not reflect in the Rainbow Room mirror (both in 4.01 AND 4.08, respectively):

But for now...that's beside the point.

Closing Tangential Note:

Isn't it funny how everything electronic is going super haywire...except the camera and the card reader...and the lights in the hallway that doesn't exist on any of the HNL specs we have..........funny how that works:

You could argue that the camera and card reader are on a generator/backup circuit...I just didn't think powers-usage picked and chose which circuits it affected like that.

And before anyone goes "Oh but James, there is a light flickering in the hallw—" YEAH. THE ONE SINGULAR LIGHT HENRY JUST SMASHED WITH THE BODY OF A GROWN MAN. LOOK BEHIND EL WHEN THE DOUBLE DOORS OPEN. FLASHING LIGHTS? I DON'T THINK SO.

AS OPPOSED TO WHEN POWERS ARE BEING USED NEARBY, WHEREIN ALL THE LIGHTS FLASH:

OKAY. OKAY. SO IT'S WEIRD THAT THE LIGHTS IN THE HALL BEHIND THE DOOR WOULDN'T BE FLASHING. THEY SHOULD BE FLASHING. BUT THEY'RE NOT.

It's almost like, by passing through those doors, El has entered the "plot", so to speak. Like when you hit a save checkpoint, or leave a "safe" space in a video game (staring at you, Resident Evil: Biohazard). She wanders through the safe but horrific "context" sequence, then she enters the unskippable "villain lore drop" cutscene, and then she's in the Boss Fight sequence. Babygirl, you are just a cog in the machine!!

#martin brenner #st makeup #st hair #st nina project #st set design

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the-ace-with-spades · 25 days

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For the celebrity chef Bradley AU, featuring kinda jealous Jake...

(I'm not writing it, just to be clear, but different scenarios keep popping up in my mind and I need them OUT)

So, to recap from my prev post about this AU, Bradley became a celebrity chef by taking part in Hell's Kitchen-like reality TV show and impressing the show lead chef, first working as his sous chef after the show and then opening his own Michelin-starred restaurant.

He and Jake met and Jake didn't know he was a celebrity chef because he doesn't watch TV, doesn't know shit about the cooking world and Bradley doesn't look like the type at all.

They've been together for some time at this point, Jake is still a bit of a shithead about Bradley's cooking (a tough critic, he likes to call himself) and Bradley gets an offer to come in for a new HK-like show season as a sous chef or supporting lead chefs for one of the teams and offers Jake to come with him to Los Angeles for the ten weeks he's going to be filming since Jake is on leave. He's going to be returning with another contestant from his season, Monica, and will run cooking workshops for the contestants behind the scenes.

Jake isn't a fan of reality shows — he hasn't even watched the HK season where Bradley was the contestant — and not a fan of Los Angeles so he's like No, thank you and Bradley goes alone.

Jake tells Javy about this when Bradley is gone for like two weeks already and Javy, who is a bit too emotionally involved into cooking shows, gets all cagey until Jake prods him and Javy is all like, "So, were the rumors true? About Bradley and Monica, I mean. Did they really...?"

"Did they really what?"

And Javy, the HK fan number one, gets Jake a brief overview of the lore. The lore being that Bradley and Monica were the finalists of their HK edition and Bradley, who had been named an individualist focused on winning from the beginning (and disliked by anyone who wasn't paired with him for both being skilled and brutally honest) had a soft spot for her. Any time they could choose a pair for a challenge, they'd choose each other, they had a wicked banter going on, and at some point at the end of the show, they were filmed sleeping in the same bed (or bedroom? It wasn't clear). The night before the finale they fell asleep cuddling on the couch together.

Obviously, viewers went shipper crazy and the rumors about Bradley and Monica were mad and never really died down (they've been seen together a few times after filming).

Bradley's never talked to Jake about Monica. In fact, he didn't even mention she was the one he lost to when he was telling Jake about the return to the show.

So, maybe Jake spirals a little and maybe some of his insecurities show up — he is aware in the eyes of the general public, there is a big disproportion of success between him, a naval officer, and Bradley, the world-renewed celebrity chef. Bradley earns a shit ton of money and is well-known and one of the best in his industry, Jake is just, well, a good naval aviator. He's also, despite being such a hard critic towards Bradley's skills, not much of a cook — there's a lot he doesn't understand about Bradley's job and he's not sure he could actually ever be as good as he is, not to mention so knowledgeable, sometimes he doesn't understand what Bradley is ranting to him about or what he's making, etc. Someone who works in the food industry would have much more common than he and Bradley have, and probably would be able to understand him more.

Their relationship isn't public, mostly because Jake has no desire to be a celebrity spouse, but also because he's aware Bradley dating a guy would bring a lot of uproar still.

He binge-watches the HK edition Bradley took part in and suddenly regrets not being more public about their relationship, not being Bradley's plus one to the big events or not letting Bradley talk about him in interviews.

He understands why there were rumors — Bradley and Monica had chemistry. They looked cute together, they obviously had a lot of respect for each other, and they almost seemed to be a level above all the other contestants. He knows some of the show is staged, but Bradley seemed so critical of everyone but Monica, only ever working seamlessly if he was a leader in the groups (during service or challenges) or if he was paired up with Monica.

Jake doesn't really use much social media but he googles and then stalks her a bit — sees the promotional material with Bradley and her on insta, for both the current and past show seasons, sees how they look at each other during interviews, all warm and soft and playful, and sees that people still ask about their relationship. And something just sets him off.

Bradley's never talked about Monica to him.

So maybe he's being impulsive but he drives to Los Angeles and goes straight to Bradley's hotel room to talk. He doesn't say anything because when he arrives, he finds out Bradley and Monica have rooms next to each other and they're literally talking to each other in the corridor, all nice and cozy with Bradley hovering over her, when Jake shows up.

He stays and follows Bradley around on the show's filming site. Maybe he is a bit of an ass to Monica, and more of an ass than usually to Bradley.

Maybe Bradley gets mad at him for behaving the way he does. Maybe they fight. Maybe Bradley even tells him to go home and let him work if he's going to be like that to his coworkers and the people on set.

Maybe Jake explodes in his face.

#i live for the drama in those shows not just the food porn sue me #this is actually why i prefer the polish hk edition #they seem to make the contestants actually have personalities and relations outside the kitchen #hangster

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immabitqueer · 5 months

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Watching House MD for the first time in 2024 full SEASON 1 Review-

- I had learned from his Wiki page before I even started the show that he had a couple of divorces, but Wilson is really bad at marriage, isn't he? His wife is having company and she makes dinner. House calls once and he totally abandons those plans to meet him at a bar. Wilson lies to his wife and says he's working on christmas and then he goes to Houses apartment instead. House continuously implies that wilson is having affairs around the hospital. He's very funny, he's clever, and he can be sweet, but I would NOT want that man as a partner. That being said, whenever House and Cameron were going on a date and he goes to Cameron to tell her not to hurt House was crazy. Everyone is just so worried about Cameron getting hurt and he does NOT care about her. He's like "huh?? why would I care about you i'm here about house??"

- Cameron's crush on House hit me like a ton of bricks. Even before it was revealed that she had a crush. I thought that they were so good as friends. It seems that now at the end of the season. It's kind of been packed up? And i'm glad for that I hope they can go back to being just besties. You kind of begin to see some of the more flawed parts of Cameron in the latter half of this season, which I appreciate. Such as her need to fix things or people. It makes her feel a bit more human and not just a very angelic being.

- Chase also has a lot of flaws shown in the latter half of the season, and a lot more than Cameron. Don't get me wrong, I still love him, but he was one sidedly enemies with a ten year old girl because she was overweight? Also I picked up on a consistent habit that Chase seems to have where in general he's a pretty nice guy, but when things start to go wrong for him, he will say the most out of pocket things to patients. It's a writing quirk that showed up early in the season with the nuns and has been a constant part of his character since. Also, I made a post about this when I watched the episode. But canonically has seen a dominatrix???? More and more ragged pieces of fabric are stitching themselves together to show me a quilt of Chase.

- I hope in the future we get more focus on Foreman as a character. I would like to know everything about this man. And I know that it was a joke at the beginning, but this man really does try to tie every case back to neurology. Him stepping in to tell House not to hurt Cameron by being nice and giving her hope was nice.

- Time for Mister Gregory House himself. Noticing a pattern of him very much being good with children and having no room for idiot parents who are hurting their kids or are weary of medicine. Love to see it. He has a very distinct relationship with everyone on screen. Every person he interacts with, he interacts with the differently. He's pretty hard on Chase, especially after the Vogler incident. He is continuously hard on Foreman as well with an unhealthy dose of micro-aggression mixed in. Generally, he's hard on Chase in a fatherly way and hard on Foreman in a motherly way, if that makes any sense. He is much softer with Cameron. He and Wilson are co-dependent and at the same time can be very cruel to each other, while also supporting each other. It's very interesting to see these dynamics play out.

- Stacy is complicated. Her trying to convince House to do a treatment her husband doesn't want him to do, mirroring how Housebecame disabled was painful. I can see why she would want the treatment for them in both scenarios and I can also see why it can be selfish or wrong. She found someone that doesn't make her feel alone and is willing to forgive her, so in the end I guess she found her way to a happier life. I still think House has the right to be angry, of course and she isn't owed House's forgiveness but she's at least understandable.

Random extra thoughts and things I've noticed:

- THE KID FROM SPY KIDS WAS IN AN EPISODE??

- So was the girl from mean girls, les mis, mama mia, and Jennifer's body, can you tell I don't know peoples names?

- House has the saddest little eyes but they also pierce my soul and make me feel horrible for him, almost like I did something

- House has an array of toys all over his desk, and he plays with his cane or rubber bands all the time

- I could not STAND Vogler. I'm glad they wrapped up his arch this season because I was getting tired of him

Some context:

I'm watching the show mostly because my Twitter and Tumblr were very adamant that I do, but also because I have a running thing where I very rarely finish a show that I start. I've started several shows and finished very few of them. I started watching House on New Year's Eve The day before the first day of 2024 and plan to finish it before the first day of 2025. This is actually a big deal for me because usually I can't finish a show over 3 seasons and the farthest I've gotten is five seasons. I will be posting as I go and also doing a halfway point and a full season review of all 8 seasons.

#house md #hate crimes md #please interact and tell me what you think but no MAJOR spoilers #gregory house #james wilson #allison cameron #robert chase #eric foreman #season review #character study #kind of #house md season 1

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shivblogger · 22 days

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It’s been one year since the end of my dear, dear world of a tv show, and I wanted to try and reflect a little bit on why I love it so much. I’m sure all of this has been said before but I love my little tv show and I love discussing it with all of you and I will be talking about it until I die!

I’ve turned succession over in my mind so much that I don’t even know where to begin. There is so much being discussed at once. Corporate greed, American politics, extreme wealth and its consequences, generational trauma, familial inheritance, the death of old media. How power and status become all that matter when money is something that never even passes through your mind. How tying your personal identity to capitalist structures so closely makes your humanity become a weakness, a roadblock to be trampled over as thoroughly as possible on your way up.

Of course, the siblings are the true heart of the show. The weight of Waystar being put on Kendall’s shoulders at age seven, only to be shrugged off by Logan in adulthood. Roman, forever the weaker dog, playing the fool to avoid fighting for something he didn’t want. Shiv’s stubborn insistence that she can be seen on the same level as her brothers despite endless evidence to the contrary. The icy, wealth insulated bubble they were raised in; never having to live as real people, but only knowing abuse, isolation, and mistreatment from their family. Their complete disregard for how their own power and wealth affects people, and their endless ability to fail with no repercussions. Clawing to their goals with everything at their disposal and nothing to lose, but still losing anyway. Learning from childhood that loving their siblings means tearing them apart and spending the rest of their lives fighting that endless uphill battle because it’s all they’ve ever known.

Does it even matter that the love is there, when all that love means to you is knowing what soft spots will hurt the most when you hit them as hard as you can?

And the worst part is, they’re fighting for nothing, they’re bearing their teeth while everyone else laughs on the sidelines because they’re a complete fucking joke. They’re unqualified children fighting for the throne of a dying empire that can only be won by gaining approval of a man who despises them for the upbringing that he brought upon them.

There are very few pieces of media that are able to depict tragedy in the true sense of greek or shakespearean classics. Where the events and actions are framed in such a calculated, gutting, beautiful way. It physically pains me seeing Succession framed as “the business show” when the humanity and tragedy of the roy siblings is written and developed so thoroughly well that I know I’ll never be able to find something comparable to it again. The characters are so fully formed that you can see their mistakes and losses coming from a mile away. Every decision made is informed by countless layers of development and backstory. Every line of dialogue matters and even seemingly throwaway lines make you reinterpret characters’ actions from episodes or seasons ago. “Dad’s view was, yours aren’t real.” One line in the last ten minutes of the series finale, completely reframing kendall as a character.

I could go on about the writing, directing, production and costume design, cinematography, blocking, the choice to shoot on film, the absolutely perfect casting… but this has already reached an insufferable length, so, another time.

There’s lots of speculation on what happened post finale, if they could ever come back from that board room. I don’t think there’s any way through life for the siblings other than hand in unlovable hand. What’s crawling back to each other one more time, after all of the hurt and betrayal that you’ve already let pass? “He never saw anything he loved that he didn't want to kick, just to see if it would still come back.” It’s the only love they have. It’s all they’ve ever known.

#hbo succession #succession #shiv roy #roman roy #kendall roy #cross posting because a bunch of notes app screenshots on twitter just doesnt hit the same way a giant block of text on tumblr does

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rhiannswork · 10 months

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l. kennedy || an extra shot of espresso

warnings: i might’ve written leon as a caramel macchiato kinda guy idk, umm idk what else, leon being a little awk, yn being a lil weird idk. if i missed anything, lmk!

"here's your light iced americano and a delicious blueberry scone. have a wonderful day," you beamed as you graciously presented the chilled coffee and pastry to the well dressed woman. with a swift nod of gratitude, she accepted the offerings, mouthing a swift "thank you," and proceeded to take them from your hands.

you glanced out through the glass windows, keeping an eye on everyone passing by. you were on the lookout for that guy who used to show up at the shop like clockwork, but it's been a good three weeks since you last saw him around.

every time he visited the café, he'd place an order for the exact same thing. it was all part of a little game you played, pretending to forget just to have the delight of hearing his charming voice, again and again.

the evening was growing late, and you were getting ready to close things up in about ten minutes. your coworker had already punched out an hour prior to closing, which left you all on your own.

with your manager being out sick, he knew he could rely on you. so, you stepped up. you grabbed the money tray from the register and headed to the back to begin counting the money.

the doorbell chimed with that familiar jingle. "hey, sorry, but we're just about to close. i've already shut down all the machines," you started to explain, but then your words trailed off as your gaze locked with his – leon. it felt like forever since you'd met eyes like that.

"bad timing?" he chuckled. "no, not at all! i kinda use that when i'm not in the mood to serve anyone. but for you, I'm more than happy to. don't worry."

"aw, thanks," you practically melted on the spot. "well, you already know my usual," he chuckled, stepping closer to the counter and fishing out his wallet.

"yeah, but i like hearing it from you," you hummed, tapping in his order. in your head, you couldn't help but think, 'did I really just say that?' your eyes shot up to meet his. "uh, i mean, sorry about that. yeah, um, a medium caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and extra caramel."

all you could make out was a faint smirk on his face. "that'll be ei—" you began, but he cut you off. "eight twenty-seven, i know," he said, handing you a ten-dollar bill. you returned one dollar and seventy-three cents in change.

"keep it, my treat," he chuckled softly, gently placing the money back in your hand. his other hand slipped under yours, forming a cup as he poured the change back into your palm, as if it were delicate as water.

"wow, a whole dollar and seventy-three cents... all for me?" you grinned, playfully looking at leon's warm smile. you stashed the change in your apron pocket before heading over to switch the machines back on, letting them warm up once more.

“so, why are you here so late? you usually come here in the afternoon.” you attempted to make small talk, looking over at leon as you brewed the two shots of espresso.

"you even remember when I usually drop by?" he chuckled, crossing his arms. "yeah..." why do you keep blabbering? "i've been away for work stuff. just got back, luggage's still in the car," he shared, strolling around the café a bit, stretching his legs.

"—i've been missing you and the way you make my caramel macchiatos," leon chimed in. you grinned to yourself, adding a generous amount of vanilla syrup to the drink. "i'll make sure this one's just as special as the rest," you assured him.

the café lingered in silence for a moment until leon broke the quiet atmosphere. "so, when's your next day off?" your eyes widened at the question, caught off guard. you didn't quite know how to respond, but the question did raise your curiosity about his intentions.

"um, next tuesday," you replied, deftly drizzling caramel into the macchiato. "yeah? i was thinking maybe you'd want to come over to my place. i could cook something up for you, you know, since you’re always making those delicious macchiatos for me," leon stumbled over his words, appearing more disoriented than you'd ever seen him. then again, you hadn't really exchanged more than a few words with him before.

“i’ll consider it..." you smirked, finally capping the cup. grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser, you pulled out a sharpie from your pocket and jotted down your number.

“caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and extra caramel for, leon.” you smirked, making sure the napkin with your number was visible. “thank you. sorry, i came so late, i wish i gotten here sooner.”

“don’t worry, you made my night.” you nodded, picking up the cash register tray once again. “same here… i guess i’ll call you then~”

“i guess so.”

#leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 leon #re4 x reader #resident evil 4 leon #leon x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy blurb #leon kennedy oneshot

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 8 days

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Ternion Part III

Kishibe x Reader x Aki Hayakawa SMUT, 18+ ONLY, MDNI

Ao3, Part 1, Part 2

Your messy office romance comes to its tipping point. CW: sex, oral, threesome, SPIT, degrading language, people getting sweaty and nasty in general, cum swapping, a lot of cum period, A LOT.

11k words (whoops:p) I hope you guys like the way things wrap up! Thank you so much for reading and enjoying, and for being patient with me getting this part out, I moved and I only just had time to write! But I made it extra long and extra nasty!

The commute to work was unusually quiet, Hayakawa wasn’t much of a talker, the two of you would often pass the time in comfortable silence, or he would listen as you spoke whatever was on your mind. It was routine for the morning after he would spend the night with you to pass in a blissful silence until you stepped onto the train that would take you further into the city and to your office, more often than not you would begin to see coworkers on the train, thus marking the end of your private ceremony, and the reintroduction of professionalism. But this morning the silence was welcome as your mind was cacophonous. The lack of conversation between yourself and Aki on the way to the convenience store, and to the train, was unnoticeable over your racing mind.

You knew what Aki sounded like when he moaned, you knew what he sounded like when he was pleasuring himself, you knew what you had heard. What you couldn’t make sense of was the subject of his morning fantasy. Captain was a title that belonged to plenty of people, division captains, ship captains, captains of sport teams…but any futile attempt at excuse was blotted out by the ink stain of logic telling you that you knew exactly which captain he was picturing. Kishibe.

You had your coffee, changed his bandage, walked side by side, entered the train station all with sparse conversation. Aki paid for your breakfast, you objected but he insisted. You watched him closely as he scanned the selection of grab and go breakfast items, already having poured himself a to go cup of coffee to drink on the rest of the journey. His manner seemed even and measured, as it always did. Your silence not phasing him, it was annoying. You wanted to see him get hot, get nervous under your gaze, to wonder if you had heard or if you knew. You wanted to know what he was imagining. Before you could break him down further, you arrived outside the train station.

You still had ten minutes before your train was supposed to arrive, Aki peeled off to the side, pulling two cigarettes from his pack, making a mental note to buy more soon. He should have, at the convenience store but it slipped his mind, he had been too focused on staying as neutral faced as possible as nervous sweat trickled under his collar. He could feel your eyes hot on him all morning. You had been assessing him since he got out of the shower. Cleaning his cut, you had been nearly silent. Replacing the bandage, you had been pretty focused but had spared enough mental space to watch him out of the corner of your eye. Even when he tied your tie for you, although you claim to be able to do it yourself, and yet always ask him for his help to get it straight, you had stayed quiet until the moment he slide the knot up to your throat, at which point you thanked him and finished tightening it the rest of the way yourself. The mug of coffee had appeared in the bathroom this morning, it could have been placed in there by you at any point. It didn’t necessarily mean that you had overheard him. And if you had, why wouldn’t you just say something? Although, that made him quite the hypocrite because why wouldn’t he just tell you he wanted to see, he wanted to watch, he wanted to be involved. This whole chaos with himself and you and Kishibe had brought the voyeur out of him in a way he hadn’t known existed. After succumbing to his own temptation in the shower, he realized that the only way to free himself from the constant, deeply distracting, stream of lewd acts performed by you and Kishibe in his own imagination would be to sate the curiosity. If he could see he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer, he would know. But he wasn’t yet ready to voice that to you. What if you thought he was weird or a pervert? Maybe he was weird and a pervert. Maybe he should be more concerned with what wanting to watch his (kind of?) girlfriend be ravished by your shared mentor says about him. After all he had come into the arrangement the latest, from the sound of it, wouldn’t it be natural for him to be curious about what the stasis prior to his addition looked like, if there even was one?

Standing next to you, his cigarette nearing the filter, he decided to finally speak up, “Thank you for having me over last night. I had a good time.”

So benign, your eye twitched at how casual he was acting.

“Me too. Thank you for dinner, and breakfast.”

He nodded, ashing his cigarette and tossing it into a nearby trash bin, you did the same. Aki looked around briefly, seeing that no mutual friends of yours were around before cupping one cheek and kissing you softly. It was a brazen move from him, entirely unexpected, you didn’t think he was the PDA type, granted you had never given him the opportunity. Your eyes remained open as he pulled away from the kiss and met your gaze with a small smile. Despite the questions churning in your mind, you smiled. He was so much more thoughtful than he let on. You had had a wonderful night with him, you loved seeing him be so sensitive and talking with him so easily. Aki was so easy to be with, you would get this secret out of him eventually.

You ran into coworkers on the train, smiling and greeting them casually and happily, expressing gratitude for the coming weekend, listening to complaints about recent jobs and sharing your own. To the outsider’s eye there was no special connection between yourself and Aki, but between the two of you there was a spider silk invisible string pulling you together. Hands on the same stability bar, although many inches apart, side glances never quite lining up. Your chest warmed as you remembered the feeling of his lips on your neck, his hands on your back. You shared one last moment of knowing eye contact, hopefully imperceptible, before you split off from the group toward your office.

Kobeni hadn’t arrived yet, you had the office to yourself. You settled in for the day, sinking into your chair, dropping your bag at your side, running your hands over your face, careful not to disrupt your makeup. It isn’t until the sound of paper smacking down onto your desk jostles you awake that you sit up and uncover your eyes. Looking down to the origin point of the sound you saw an envelope, just barely open, with two rectangular cards sticking out. Kishibe stood next to your desk, already tipping his flask into his coffee, not watching you. You picked up the envelope and pulled out its contents.

Two tickets, to a play, tomorrow night.

“What the fuck is this?” Your face scrunched up.

“I was recently made aware that I don’t do things for you. While I find that to be bullshit, here you go.” He still hadn’t looked at you, instead focusing on screwing his flask closed.

Breaking from your stare at the tickets in front of you, you looked up at him.

Kishibe blew on his coffee and met your eyes, “What do you say? Curtain’s at 7:30.”

“You want to take me on a date?” You hoped you didn’t sound as shocked as you felt, although you certainly did.

“If you want to call it that, that’s fine. After the play we can resume our usual routine.” Kishibe’s face was stone. Unreadable and incomprehensible.

Still working through the puzzle in your mind you pushed further, “And this certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with you being jealous of Hayakawa, right?”

Kishibe hissed, annoyed, “you said I don’t do things for you. I’ve organized something, you like plays right? Movies and stuff? I listen sometimes. Do you want to go or not?”

You softened, he was trying…really trying. He even chose a play by a playwright you liked. So what if it was brought on by jealousy, and he was being kind of a tool about it as a gesture? He was trying.

“I’d love to go.” You smiled warmly, standing to lean close to his chest, “Thank you for inviting me, should I meet you at the theatre? Or will you pick me up?”

He looked down at you, a smug smile just barely curling his lips, “I’ll come pick you up. We’ll go to dinner and then after we’ll have drinks at your place, how does that sound?”

You leaned into him further, “Then it's a date. I’ll see you tonight.”

Kishibe nodded, pleased with himself, although a bit forlorn without a kiss as a reward. He guessed getting caught yesterday had made you more cautious. That is…if Hayakawa mentioned it. He left your office and made his way into the breakroom, it was there that he found the exact mark he was looking for. Tall, lean, face unmoving and unreadable, dumb little ponytail and all, Aki Hayakawa stood at the coffee machine. He hadn't yet seen Kishibe come into space. The room itself was small, space along one wall from a refrigerator and about three feet of countertop. Two metal tables sat closer to the door, a vending machine full of snacks and drinks along the back wall. As of now the only people inside were himself and Hayakawa, so he shut the door behind him and locked it.

It was the click of the lock that turned Aki’s face toward the door, toward the Captain. Who crossed his arms and leaned back against the now sealed door. Aki tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, swallowing the lump in his throat and turning back to the coffee he prepared in front of him. Neither man spoke, Kishibe watched as Aki stirred his coffee seemingly endlessly, Aki didn't dare look back at him. The clock on the wall clicked loudly as the seconds…minutes…passed. Kishibe took this time to scan over the youngerman. He remembered training him just a few years ago, all attitude and tragedy. He reminded him of himself at that age, obsessed with his own misery, pretending that no one could ever possibly understand the complexities of his life because he was the only person in the world that mattered….blah blah blah. He wasn’t ugly, not even close, Kishibe could see a world in which a guy like Aki was called pretty, even. For the first time without anger, with only curiosity, he allowed himself to imagine what the two of you looked like in bed together. Aki’s long fingers around your neck, pressing on your shoulders, your own plump lips marking his neck, just under his uniform collar. He wondered, and then pictured for himself, how well Aki would fill your mouth, if he pulled at your hair, or thanked you as you pleasured him. The image was nice, Kishibe loved watching you when you sucked his cock, it was nice to imagine it from a better vantage point. Kishibe watched as the sternocleidomastoid muscle in the side of Hayakawa’s neck flexed and settled once again, stirring around and around.

“Did you enjoy the show yesterday?” Kishibe finally broke the silence.

Aki’s hands stopped circling the wooden stir stick, his eyes left the cup and moved up to the lit display of lattes and coffees showcased on the front of the machine. He chose to stay silent until he could collect his racing thoughts, parsing out exactly how honest he should be, or if he should keep his cards close to his chest.

Kishibe crossed the room in three long legged steps, squeezing next to Aki in front of the machine. Aki watched as one of Kishibe’s large hands pulled a paper coffee cup from the stack and replaced Aki’s under the nozzle, punching a few buttons to spur the dark liquid forward. They were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Kishibe had a few inches on Aki, despite him being a tall man himself. Aki kept his eyes still, using the periphery of his vision to assess Kishibe’s body language. His chest was rising and lowering easily, his coat swished behind him as he moved. Aki couldn’t hear his breath, but he could smell the scent of whiskey and mint mixed together in a boozy sweet combination. Kishibe pulled the full cup and sipped it, leaning against the counter to face Aki now.

“Well? I hope I didn’t mess up your date night.” Kishsibe mumbled into his cup, not bothering to make eye contact.

Finally Aki spoke up, “You didn’t. We had a nice night. Sounds like you had a rough one.”

Kishisbe’s eyebrows shot up, the shadow a pleased smile coloring his expression, “Oh? She tell you that?”

“She might have mentioned it.” Aki shrugged, feeling emboldened.

Kishibe looked over the man in front of him, seeing the shimmer of pride and excitement inside of his dark blue eyes, it stirred something deep in his gut. Competition, maybe? Pride? Something else?

Kishibe shrugged, pulling his flask from his pocket, unscrewing it and tipping it into his coffee, “Good. I trust she enjoyed herself?”

Aki felt the same fire filling his own gut, still holding back the smile of pride, “Twice.”

Silence fell between the two men, Kishibe met Hayakawa’s eyes once again. The stare lingered. The clock ticked loudly. The coffee machine ran an automatic cleaning cycle. Aki studied his face closely. The dark shark's eyes looking back at him, his high carved cheekbones, the stubble-shadowed jaw clenching and unclenching. He found himself stuck on the older man’s lips, he had never noticed before how full and shapely they were, a perfectly defined cupid’s bow, a soft pink shade, a healing split on the lower lip, his famous scar extending the opposite side slightly. Images of his own design flooded his mind, repeating his torment from the previous night. He hadn’t expected to confront this head on so quickly, especially after this morning, what was Kishibe’s goal, to intimidate him into giving up?

“You interrogate all her partners like this? Or am I just special?” Aki allowed himself to bite back, testing the waters.

Again Kishibe felt a turn in his gut, a hard beat in his chest. This kid was getting a bit too comfortable, he needed to regain control. He needed to strike now.

He stepped forward, now towering over the younger hunter, “Listen, I’m going to be frank with you. I think you liked what you saw yesterday, what do you think she thought?”

Aki felt his breath catch in his throat, leaning back as Kishibe leaned closer to him. Before he could stammer out and answer, Aki felt Kishibe’s hand slip something against his own hand.

“I’m taking her out tonight. If I’m right, then maybe we can find something that works for all three of us. What do you think…Aki?” His dark eyes bore into Aki’s own.

Aki couldn't help it, his jaw fell agape, he could smell Kishibe’s cologne, he could see the pores on his cheeks and nose, he could see the slight bloodshot vignette around his irises. His heart was pounding, he thought his pulse might spill out of his neck. Kishibe’s eyes flicked down to Aki’s mouth, studying the way his lips had fallen open, the reflection of light on his wet tongue, he could see that he had a filling on one of his back molars, he was noticing a lot of things about Aki that he never had before. Like how his breath had stopped completely, how his eyes had blown wide, how his hair was slightly damp and smelled just the slightest bit like the rosemary of your shampoo. He watched as Aki’s lower lip trembled slightly. Kishibe allowed a full smile to split his face. Aki didn’t know if he had ever seen his mentor smile like this.

“Yeah, I thought as much.” Kishibe teased leaning just a hair closer before pulling away and turning toward the door.

Aki held his breath as Kishibe left the room, leaving the door open behind him. Finally a series of shaky breaths refilled his lungs as he shuddered. Gripping the countertop under his hand, he heard the crinkle of paper, reminding him of what Kishibe had given him. Aki looked down to see a single ticket to a play, tonight.

What the hell?

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, lamenting your past self for not investing in a full body mirror earlier. You struggled to see the hem of your dress and the style of your hair at the same Still, You felt beautiful, it wasn't often that you were able to dress up and go out to enjoy yourself. It was how you ended up dating two of your coworkers, they were nearly all the men you saw.

Your head felt light, the glass of wine you had while getting ready was starting to work its magic over your nerves. You weren’t sure what to expect from the date tonight, you had never been on a date with Kishibe before, you had spent countless hours alone with him over the last few months, but the atmosphere of a date had you rethinking everything from your conversation to how to hold your hands. And then there was Aki, whose moans still rung in your ears, still clung to the walls of your shower. You hadn’t spoken to him much today at work, which wasn’t unusual but suddenly felt pointed and intentional. He was busy and in the field most of the day, Kishibe was…well you weren’t sure exactly where he had been all day, you had seen him briefly in the morning but not since. It had been a very productive day at work, for once.

Just after 5:30 a knock brought you to the door. Kishibe stood at the other side, stamping out a cigarette as you answered the door. He had maybe dressed up, although seeing him in a suit and tie every day did take some of the luster out of it although…no tie. In his hands, where he usually held a bottle of wine, he held two, a red and a white.

“Hey, kid.” he looked pleased to see you, his eyes moving over your body in a fraction of a second before smiling, “You look beautiful.”

You were impressed, “wow, No comment about how my tits are half out?”

Kishibe shrugged, ducking under your doorframe to enter your apartment, catching your lips in a soft kiss of greeting as he moved past you to place the bottles on your kitchen counter, “Why would I complain about that? If I had it my way, they’d be out all night. But I suppose your perfect tits would distract from the play, and we can’t have that.”

He put the white wine in the fridge before straightening up and turning back to you, “You really do look divine.”

You blushed, you felt the blush color your chest and neck, “Thank you. You look nice too.”

The idea of a date had sucked some of the monotony and the comfort out of your interactions with him. Where you usually felt a routine sexual freedom, you now felt insecure and unsure of yourself. Noticing your shifting legs and busy hands Kishibe approached you, taking your face in his big hands.

“You nervous?” He hummed at you.

You sighed into his touch, “A little. I never really expected we would do something like this.”

Kishibe nodded, leaning in to kiss you sweetly. One of his hands moved to hold the back of your neck while the other moved down to your waist, he pulled you closer and your own hands grasped for purchase around his biceps and shoulder. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipped into your mouth. A heavenly moan fluttered from you and into his ear. He gripped you tighter, pressing his body against yours. Finally you broke away to catch your breath.

“Don’t try to distract me, you promised me quite the night. I will be holding you to that.” you flirted, pulling his strong arms off of you and leading him out the door.

“Oh don’t worry. I think you’ll like what I have planned.” Kishibe smiled his small sly smile and followed you out.

You two shared a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant just a few blocks form the theatre. A few drinks each, a few more for him, a cigarette after dinner over a cup of coffee. One of life’s greatest luxuries was an after dinner coffee and cigarette, it made you feel secure and celebrated. Kishibe had been a consummate gentleman all evening, opening your doors, not being a dick to the waiter, even pulling your chair out for you. He really did seem to be on his best behavior tonight. The food had been alright, nothing life altering but his company made it into a magical night. You never expected to know what it felt like to sit across from him at a candle lit dinner, you never expected to catch him gazing at you with his head resting lazily in his hand as you ordered another round of drinks. He opened up a bit, giving you answers to questions he usually would have shrugged off, questions about his past, his family. You felt touched that he was putting so much effort into tonight. The doubts from the previous night about your relationship, whatever form it took were quickly extinguished.

Standing outside the restaurant, finishing the last drag of your cigarette, Kishibe checked his watch.

“We should get to the theatre.” He led you down the path with one hand on your mid back.

The theatre itself was gorgeous, high decorated ceilings befitting of an opera house, well dressed patrons of the arts bustling around getting drinks and finding their seats. Kishibe walked straight up to the bar, getting drinks for the pair of you. You noticed how often people turned to look at him, he was certainly an imposing figure at nearly six and a half feet tall, obviously the large scour along his face brought wandering eyes, but there was something truly…magnetic about him. You had experienced it when you first met Kishibe, you were drawn to him almost instantly. Something about the dark eyes filled to the brim with knowledge and experience that remained untapped by the average person. He was a challenge to those around him, a puzzle to be put together and explained. But he never offered enough of himself to give anyone the chance. Even at this stage, you were just barely close.

He handed you your drink and paid the bartender before taking you further inside to find your seats. You were seated fairly close to the front, maybe six or seven rows back, the house was raked slightly, meaning the stage was on a lower plane than the audience. You had a nearly perfect view.

“Wow, you really sprung for the good seats, huh?” you were awestruck as you side-stepped into your seat behind him.

Kishibe shrugged and sat down, “You think we can smoke in here?”

You laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly as you sat down to the right of him. You studied the playbill in your hand familiarizing yourself with the names of the actors you were about to see, reading the small biographies they had each written. Kishibe seemed content to lean back in his seat and sip on his drink, you weren’t keeping track of how often he seemed to check the entrances. You leaned into his side, he wrapped an arm around your back, you felt the pre-show excitement building in you. You tilted your face up to his, smiling warmly.

“Thanks for taking me, Kishi. This has been really lovely.” You leaned in and kissed him, one hand holding his jaw.

Kishibe’s fingers circle the exposed skin in the center of your back. When you pulled away you saw Kishibe looking above your head and smiling. A new smile, a confident, pleased but surprised smile. You turned around and your heart stopped seeing Aki Hayakawa standing in front of the open seat next to you.

“Aki!” You shot up in your chair, vertebrae stacking on each other perfectly straight.

“Hayakawa.” Kishibe waved with the hand that was around the back of your chair.

Aki cleared his throat, he had worn brown dress pants, a dark blue sweater over a white button up shirt, his hair was up, and despite the blush rising in his cheeks he tried his best to look relaxed. You felt caught, like in one of those dreams where you have to give a presentation on a topic you have no knowledge of and to make matters worse you're naked. You and Hayakawa had only just talked about the relationship between yourself and Kishibe, and here you were flaunting it right in front of him. Your dress felt too revealing, his hand on your back felt too intimate, your makeup was likely smudged from kissing, oh god you were just kissing him.

“Hello.” He waved but forgot to smile, and then smiled just a second too late to be convincing.

“I didn’t know you liked the theatre, Hayakawa.” Kishibe’s voice was smooth and even, he may as well have been laughing.

You felt suspicion starting to rise in you. How could this have happened? What were the odds of Aki coming to this play on this night, the very same day Kishibe takes you?

Aki swallowed and sat in the empty seat to your right, “Oh well, I like to try new things…when I can.”

You took a deep breath, too consumed with leveling out your own reaction to see Kishibe’s nod of approval.

“Aki, I really didn’t expect to see you here…I-” You stammered, but before you could complete your thought the house lights began to dim.

“Baby, the play is starting.” Kishibe playfully put a finger up to his lips.

You tore your wide eyes away from Aki as the stage lights began to warm, you tried and failed to pay attention to the opening scene of the play, the feeling of being sat right in between your two lovers becoming too much. Kishibe kept his hand on your back, fingers petting you occasionally. Your breath was staggering, you tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling at a regular pace, at this point the action of the play was so far out of your focus it may as well have been happening in another room. Aki’s leg was pressing up your own, no matter how much you tried to pull your legs together more and more, crossing and uncrossing them to the point that Kishibe removed his hand from your back and covered your left thigh with his big, rough palm. Turning his head to catch your eye and squeeze your leg lightly, assuring you that it would be fine, encouraging you to relax. You sighed out a breath, refocusing on the play. You really had wanted to see this play, and you were happy to be here with Kishibe. Aki would just have to wait.

With your eyes glued to the stage, you didn’t see Kishibe lean his head back to catch Aki’s eye. A non verbal directive took place, and Aki was eager to follow instructions, to show that he could follow Kishibe’s lead. Seeing Kishibe’s hand on your leg, mindlessly thumbing circles into your skin, Aki decided to loop his arm around the back of your chair, not right up against your skin, close but far enough that you would maybe think he just needed to spread out in a crowded theater. Kishibe nodded, facing the stage, but intentioned toward Aki. You had not yet noticed the presence of Aki’s arm, it wasn't until he slid it closer, and then closer again, until his hand was draped over your opposite shoulder, that you even thought anything of it.

You tore your eyes away from the play looking at Aki, who did not smile but gave you one of those loaded, flirtatious looks that he knew could make you melt. You gave him a pleading look, only to have your attention summoned by the man on the other side of you moving his hand up your leg, just under the hem of your skirt. Your skin started to feel hot, it was just beginning to dawn on you that you had been had. But it still felt too bizarre to believe, how…when would they have coordinated this? Thank god the house lights were dark and neither man nor the full audience could see how red you must be. Aki trailed the tips of his fingers down the top of your arm, goosebumps appearing in their wake. Kishibe’s thumb kept circling on the soft skin of your thigh. You stole a glance in his direction only to see the benevolent, almost bored expression he always carried. He wasn’t even looking at you, did he see what Aki was doing?

Oh he saw, and he saw you peek at him. He kept his face even as you looked, not missing the look of confusion that crossed your features. Part of him could have felt bad, if he were under the impression you wanted this any less than he did. He saw you melt under Aki’s gaze, felt you shiver as the younger man touched you, and he was almost impressed. Proud, maybe? At the effect his protege could have over you. When you looked back to the play and settled, Kishibe felt Aki’s eyes on him. He dared to meet his gaze. Aki’s eyes were filled with danger, Kishibe couldn’t wait to see what the kid was going to do next.

But he couldn’t have predicted, nor could you, honestly nor could Aki, that his next move would be to move his hand from brushing up and down your arm to wrap around the front Kishibe’s bicep. A shared lightning bolt jolted the three of you to stillness. Aki was the only one fighting to remain cool, he gripped Kishibe’s upper arm, giving it a small squeeze.

He wasn’t sure the last time he had actually touched his trainer, had it really been since then? When he had trained him. Years? Kishibe’s skin was warm under his shirt, the arm Aki held was connected to the hand that rested on your thigh, the muscle inside was hard and ropey. Aki wasn’t unfamiliar with the feel of Kishibe’s strength, after the sixth or seventh knock out, you remember what those hands can do. This new, softer touch was what felt unfamiliar. Aki having his hands on the other man’s body, not being pulled away from and having to duck a counter, in fact, he thought he felt the tense muscle soften under his hand.

You had officially been had, they had unionized against you. Or in favor of you? You still weren’t sure the motive behind their sneak attack. But you would also be mistaken to ignore the way Kishibe’s hand clenched around your thigh when Aki touched him, and how it relaxed skin afterwards. How much of this actually was premeditated? Testing the waters, no longer feeling like the odd man out, you took matters into your own hands. Literally. In your right hand you mirrored Kishibe’s hold on your leg just above Aki’s knee. In your left you tangled your fingers with Kishibe’s. The collective of you settled deeper into your seats. Kishibe squeezed your hand, leaning closer to you. Each point of contact was electrified: Aki around your back, your hand on his leg, Kishibe’s hold on your other hand, Aki’s hand on his arm. A complete circuit sending energy between each of you, the shared electricity of what could come next.

The play continued on. Thankfully there was no intermission, you weren’t ready to face your partners yet, unsure if house lights would awaken inhibitions that had been released in the dark. When it finally ended, the actors taking their bows, you removed your hold on your partners, using them instead to applaud. Soon the stage was cleared, the audiences began to empty from the rows of seats, you sat in your trio, unsure of what to do next.

Naturally, Kishibe was the first to stand, stretching slightly before offering his hand to you.

“Well, Darling. You ready?”

You looked up at him, still feeling the static that sparkled in your body. You stood up with the help of his hand, legs unsteady. Kishibe smiled down at you, looping one arm around your waist, leaning down to kiss the side of your head. Your usual instincts kicked in, shying from the PDA in front of someone you knew, forgetting momentarily the strange behavior exhibited during the show.

“Did you like the play?” Kishibe asked, a smug smile coloring his question.

The play on stage? The play between the three of you? Either way…

“I did. Thank you, Kishibe. This has been a…surprising evening.” you looked back at Aki, who was standing from his seat, resolve starting to give way to doubt.

You could see a touch of pink underneath the collar of his shirt, you were unsure when he had undone the first few buttons. He shifted his weight between long legs in the tight aisle. Again, Kishibe took charge of the next phase.

“We’ve got some wine back at her place,” Aki began to nod, understanding that the trial was over, suspecting he may have overshot.

“Why don’t you come back with us? Have a drink.” Aki’s ears perked up at the invitation, yours did as well.

You looked up at Kishibe, to find him smiling down at you, a devious look in his eye.

Your newfound trio made its way to your apartment calmly, discussing the plot of the play although all three of you seemed to have memory gaps of the middle. Aki lit a cigarette on the walk, offering drags to you, which you happily accepted. The flood of nicotine filling the anxious places in your mind with a head rush. It wasn’t until you went to unlock the door that you realized your hands were shaking. Aki noticed too, taking the keys from your fumbling fingers after your second attempt and sliding the key in the lock smoothly. You whispered a small thank you as he opened the door and the three of you moved inside.

It was surreal to see them both here at once. Individually they had been here plenty of times, interacting with items in your kitchen and living area routinely. Aki in the kitchen, Kishibe in the liquor cabinet or on your couch, Aki on the patio moving your ashtray from inside to outside and back again, Kishibe pillaging your bookshelf for something to keep himself occupied as you showered. But together, this was completely new terrain, and it showed, in their attempts to make themselves (and you) comfortable, their paths criss crossed and collided. When you went to open the wine, they both offered to do it for you, but you took it upon yourself to do it.

“Red or White?” You asked, brandishing the two bottles Kishibe brought when he picked you up.

Kishibe turned his eyes to Aki, “Aki, what do you prefer? I assumed you preferred red wine, but it looks like that may not be the case?”

Aki looked puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared, “I like both. Red wine, white wine, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

He cocked his head at Kishibe, eyes focused and studying.

“What about you? I was under the impression that you also preferred red wine, you didn’t really seem like a…white wine…kind of guy.”

Kishibe shrugged, “I usually drink red. But I acquired a taste for white when I was younger, once you take a liking to it… you can kind of always go back to it. Especially if it's a…quality white. And it pairs nicely with an excellent red.” he smiled at you with his dark predatory gaze.

You decided to open the white, craving something to cool your quickly heating skin. As you poured three generous glasses, the two men took seats around your small dining table across from one another. You joined them, serving them their drinks, pulling a chair around to the head of the table and taking a seat. The three of you sat, sipping intermittently, glancing back and forth between one another. The air began to feel like molasses, hot and sticky and painfully still. The revving energy from the theater had vacated and now a standoff took its place.

You were the one to break the silence this time, “So when did you two come up with this little plan? It came together awfully quick. It hasn't even been twenty four hours since Aki was fantasizing in my shower about this exact scenario.” You leaned back in your chair.

Aki made a small choked sound, his jaw hanging open, his eyes wide. Kishibe sipped his wine, pleased with the news.

“I spoke to Hayakawa today about joining us,” Kishibe answered voice as even as ever, “at the play, I mean. I figured whatever happened after that was kismet.”

“Ah, so this was a coordinated attack.” You nodded, tipping your glass once more into your mouth.

“Attack feels pointed. But Coordinated, sure.” Kishibe shrugged.

You hummed, processing into your glass, “So what’s next? Kismet, I understand, but what was your plan?”

Kishibe and Aki exchanged a look.

Aki shook his head, “No plan. He just gave me the ticket and told me to come. I didn’t even really know if you would be there, I half expected I would show up and he would try to kick my ass.”

“So neither of you planned how this would go?” They nodded, you smiled, “You’ve given me a lot of power here, gentlemen, I appreciate that.”

You stood from your chair, the cry of the legs against the wood floor ringing in your tipsy ears. You crossed around to Kishibe, taking a seat in his lap, instantly his hands found your waist and pulled you closer. You made sure to keep the sightline open as you leaned in and kissed Kishibe hard and wet on the mouth. Aki shifted his hips in the chair, feeling his pants tighten and his skin go cold. He could see Kishibe’s tongue slide between your lips, massaging against your own. He felt his own mouth fill with saliva, his chest tighten and breath catch.

“Aki…”your voice dripped from you salaciously, still nose to nose with Kishibe, “I know you’re curious. Tell me what you’ve been picturing.”

It took Aki several seconds to find his voice, “straddle his leg. I want to see you grind on his thigh.”

His voice was deeper than you had heard before, and hoarse, as though he had been shouting but he spoke softly, almost inaudibly. You considered teasing him with in, but instead chose to play nice. You rose from Kishibe's lap and turned to face Aki, settling Kishibe’s beefy thigh between your legs. The asshole under you popped his thigh up to surprise you, making you bounce and let out a small squeal.

“...asshole.” you giggled, leaning back against the wall of muscle that comprised Kishibe's torso, one hand falling back to hold his neck, feeling the cropped hair under your wrist.

Kishibe’s own hands moved over your body, kneading your chest, hiking your skirt up but not revealing where your panties met his slacks. Grinding yourself down on him, you turned your face, locking him in a kiss once again. You heard Aki suck in a breath. You moaned into the kiss, pleasure coming as much from the feeling of his femoris muscle on your clothed clit, as the knowledge that Aki was watching. Kishibe brought one hand to the front of your dress, pulling the neckline to one side, exposing the soft unlined fabric of your bra to Aki. Of course you had been planning on having sex tonight so you had worn one of your sexier sets, a white lace unlined underwire bra with a matching satin and lace panty that rose high about your hips but remained sheer enough to see what was underneath. This was also Kishibe’s favorite bra of yours, you heard him hiss as he pulled the fabric back. You felt him start to get hard against your back. You ground down further, pulling a wanton moan from you.

“Take your dress off. I want to see everything.” Aki’s voice was firmer now, clearer.

Kishibe chuckled against the skin of your neck, “You’re boyfriend’s bossy.”

You smiled and stood, reluctantly pulling your pulsing core off of Kishibe, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

You slid one shoulder of your dress down, then the other, slipping it down your body and let it pool around your feet. Both men’s eyes licked over your body, Aki leaned back further in his chair, Kishibe undid the buttons of his shirt, eager to follow you. He invited you onto his lap again, and you rejoined him, sliding a hand across his chest, feeling his muscles tense underneath your fingers. Kishibe kissed your neck, tangling his hand in your hair. You resumed your position, staying open to Aki while gyrating on Kishibe’s leg. Kishibe grabbed one of your breasts hard, pinching your nipple into a hard peak. The texture of the lace dug into your sensitive skin under Kishibe's strong hands. You let a haughty moan out into Kishibe’s mouth, the back of your head resting against his shoulder. You could feel yourself getting wetter, a damp spot spreading out on his pants. His other hand moved from your hair down to your neck, squeezing the sides. Your eyes rolled back in your head as the pleasure compounded on itself. Kishibe had started bouncing his own leg, adding to the sensations. Kishsibe watched as you writhed on top of him, releasing your throat momentarily before squeezing again.

Aki’s pants were cutting off the circulation at this point. He palmed himself over his pants, biting back his own moans at the feeling. The sound of your panting moans, the sight of Kishibe's strong hands keeping you in place by the neck and by the chest.

“You like what you see, kid?” Kishibe taunted, “You like watching her fuck herself dumb on my leg?”

A moan slipped from Aki’s mouth as he squeezed himself through his pants. You were close, he could tell, hell-- he could see. Your panties had grown almost completely see through, your slick soaking through, making the fabric cling to the folds and curves of your pussy.

You whimpered against Kishibe’s choking grasp, “k-kiiishi….”

KIshibe nodded, taking his hand previously at your chest and sliding it under the hemline of your panties, spreading your lips further and circling your clit. You whined, eyes squeezing closed. Aki couldn't take his eyes away from Kishibe’s thick fingers inside of your panties, touching your dripping pussy, saturating themselves in your wetness, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Think she deserves it, Aki?” Kishibe teased again, you nodded desperately.

Aki felt his mouth water, the thought of denying you right the edge taking his breath away. But when he caught your misty eyes, he couldn’t go through with it. He stood, crossing around the table and taking your face in his hands.

“Let her cum. She’s a good girl.” He moved a stray hair off of your forehead and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was as though Kishibe flipped a switch, one movement of his fingers was all it took and you were crying out against Aki’s mouth, soaking yourself and Kishibe’s thigh as you came. Aki held you in place, Kishibe’s fingers slowed and stilled, he released your throat. You panted against Aki’s lips, feeling his tongue soft against yours despite the hungry, passionate kiss. You pulled off and turned to lock Kishibe in a grateful, appreciative kiss. Aki’s hands move across your body, cupping your breasts, trailing down your stomach, not yet daring further. Kishibe pulled his hand free, fingers glistening with your cum. He extends them past you to Aki. Your breath hitches as you see Aki lunge forward to catch his fingers in his mouth, tasting your release, feeling Kishibe’s rough fingers against his tongue. He should be embarrassed at the way the sensation brings him to his knees before the two of you, but his mind has been consumed. Its too much, its too obscene, too erotic. He sucks clean Kishibe’s fingers until the older man pulls them away, not missing the way the hunter’s eyes flutter open euphorically. He felt good, having two pretty young things so deliciously at his fingertips, awaiting his every directive.

“Aki’s waited long enough, don’t you think Sugar?” Kishibe turned your face back toward him, clicking his lips softly, “ Why don’t you take him to your bed?”

You nodded blissfully, standing up as if by rote, to take Aki’s hand. He followed you drunkenly, the taste of you clinging to his mouth. You two entered your bedroom, feeling like any of your other nights together, the pair of you drinking and stumbling into your bedroom to fool around.

“You’re wearing too much, Aki. “ You turned and started to pull up his sweater, he raised his arms over his head, allowing you to strip him.

You continued on, undoing his buttons and pulling the sides of his shirt apart as he started to slip out of his pants. You almost didn't hear him when he spoke up.

“Are you nervous?” He whispered, midnight eyes searching your face for any hesitation

“I was, but not anymore.” You smiled back at him, watching him remove his trousers and stand before you in only his briefs.

Aki has such a wonderful body, creamy soft skin, lean muscle, scars here and there reminding you to treasure the time you’d have with him. You reached up and filled his hair free, letting the layers frame his face and neck perfectly.

“Are you nervous?” You parroted back to him, reveling in this moment of privacy.

“A little.” He confessed, “but not with you here.”

Aki kissed you, soft, then harder. His big arms wrapping around your body, yours encircling his waist. He laid you down on the bed, starting to climb over you.

“Oh no, pretty boy, you lay back.” Kishibe’s voice rang out from the door frame. He had poured himself a drink and a freshly lit cigarette hung from his lips.

Aki did as he was told and you took his place, already starting to run your hands over his legs. He twitched under your featherlight touch, you could see his cock straining through his boxers, a dark patch forming on one side where he was leaking. Kishibe’s fingers trailed up your spine, hooking under the clasp of your bra.

“Look at what you do to him, baby. He like this everytime?”

You nodded, smiling at Aki’s flustered, reddening face.

“Aki here is my good boy.” You complimented, punctuating your statement with a kiss to his thigh.

“And what does that make me?” Kishibe leaned down to your ear, his body engulfing you.

Before you could answer your bra went slack, he had undone it with one hand, the same hand that now covered the expanse of your back in both predatory and soothing totality.

“You’ve never been a good boy in your life Kishibe.” You giggled, discarding the bra off the side of the bed, breast hanging freely.

Kishibe bit the side of your ear, moving over your body to lay next to where you kept Aki. He sipped his drink and observed the panting man under you, how he fought not to cover his face, how he twitched and moaned under the slightest touch. Your skilled hands traveled to his waistband.

“You ready?” You purred, already imagining looking up from Aki’s cock and seeing him writhing next to Kishibe, your cunt dampening.

Aki shot a glance at Kishibe before nodding feverishly, holding his breath as you pulled the last bit of clothing from him. His cock slapped against his stomach, pink tip weeping before you, veins bulging painfully, balls hanging heavy and full underneath. Feeling merciful you licked a long stripe up from base to tip, clearing his slit of precum, tasting your first of Aki since last night. A shaking moan spilled from his mouth beyond his control. Kishibe watched diligently, a face as neutral as if he were watching the news. He sipped his drink twice more before setting it on the windowsill behind him.

Aki’s hips shot up as you sucked hard at his tip, but a firm hand pushed his stomach down, pressing him further into the mattress. Aki opened his eyes and saw Kishibe leaning over him. He flicked over each of his fingers in a loop. Kishsibe’s dark, blown out eyes watching him, the scruff along his upper lip and jaw, his wet, swollen lips reddened by kissing you, the few freckles that had never shown themselves to Aki before but now we’re as obvious as the strong straight nose in his face’s center. He pictured Kishibe at his own age, starting his own devil hunting career: softer edges, fuller features, devoid of wrinkle and tear. He saw Kishibe’s tongue move behind his bottom teeth, wet and warm and waiting.

You pulled the whole of Aki’s length into your mouth, gagging as it met the back of your throat. Aki groaned, straining to arch against Kishibe’s hold.

“…kiss me…” Aki held himself up with his elbows, trying to meet Kishibe’s eyes.

For the first time Kishibe looked surprised.

“Kiss me, please.” Aki begged again.

You looked up from your place between Aki’s legs just in time to see Kishibe lean down to meet Aki’s desperate reach. He met Aki’s open mouth with his own, the younger man pushing his tongue up to meet his. You felt Aki pulse in yours, you felt a jolt of pleasure resound throughout your own body. Aki whimpered against Kishibe’s kiss, wanting more and more, the second Kishibe hold on his stomach wavered, Aki sat up to kiss back even harder. You saw Aki’s rippling arms flex around Kishibe’s back and neck, watched as Kishibe held Aki’s waist, keeping him down enough to not disrupt your rhythm. You heard Kishibe moan and your eyes caught where Aki was now squeezing his erection.

“Agh!” Aki cried out, pulling out of the kiss, head flying backwards.

You circled his head with your tongue, paying special attention to the back of the head, where he was extra sensitive. Aki’s hand moved to your hair, holding it back for you and watched you suck him. Kishibe’s hand joined him, but harsher.

Kishibe chuckled, “we’re you feeling left out, baby?”

You gave your best mouth full puppy eyes and nodded.

“We couldn’t forget about you, could we?” He mocked, sliding his hand down your face and giving you a gentle slap.

Aki hissed, feeling the impact through your cheek. This brought Kishibe’s attention back to him. Aki looked pathetic, absolutely, deliciously fucked out. His face was flushed, his hair was tangling, he was panting like a dog in heat. Kishibe felt his own cock stirring watching the drool (or maybe his own spit) dribble out of Aki’s mouth.

“You going to cum, Hayakawa?” Kishibe’s lips ghosted over his neck.

Aki bit down hard on his lower lip, giving one stiff nod. Kishibe reached one hand down, looking into your focused, watering eyes, and pushed you down further, forcing you to take all of Aki down to the base. You gagged but took in a large breath through your nose, you could feel Aki’s balls clench up just before he cried out.

“Fuck!!” And fill your mouth.

Kishibe’s switch appeared to work on everyone.

You swallowed as much of Aki’s cum as you could, but had to pull off before the last few spurts made their way onto your face. Kishibe was quick to catch some on his thumb and taste it for himself. Aki was beside himself.

“Come here, sugar.” Kishibe ordered and you crawled up and over Aki quickly.

Kishibe’s long, fat tongue cleaned the rest of Aki’s spent off of your face, collecting it in his own mouth. Aki thought he might faint as he watched Kishibe tilt your head back and a long, cum saturated line of spit fall from his lips onto your waiting tongue. Once you had savored and swallowed, Kishibe kissed you again. Aki thought he kissed you like he loved you, holding you close, taking his time. But it was over soon, and eyes were trained back on him.

“You’re kind of a pervert,” Kishibe chuckled at Aki, undoing his belt and sliding off his pants and underwear.

“You’re one to talk.” You smiled, pulling your panties off next to him.

Kishibe sat up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap again, “come here.” He muttered as he got you in place.

Aki saw the smile that took over his mouth as Kishibe settled you on his lap, your back against his chest, his hand pawing all over your body, looking for purchase.

“You’re not going to warm me up first?” You said in feigning insult.

Kishibe dipped a finger between your lower lips, and audible smack signaling the presence of one orgasm and one live sex show’s worth of juice.

“I think it’ll fit just fine.” He flirted against your neck, “Hayakawa, once you caught your breath get up here and help, yeah?”

Aki shot up, ignoring the head rush that accompanied. He was between the stack of your and Kishibe’s legs in an instant. You giggled happily at the way he pushed his hair back dutifully. Kishibe lifted your ass up, giving Aki enough space to reach between your two bodies.

“Put me inside.” Kishibe ordered.

Aki held Kishibe’s cock in his hand, feeling the weight, the heat, the girth. Staring at it, he wondered how it was going to fit inside of you, or maybe even inside of himself. It was long, thick, tan, with a reddening tip. The poor thing was so hard he could see the impression of stitching where it had strained against the confines of Kishibe’s pants.

“Hot, right?” You cooed, looking down at Aki.

Aki nodded, and remembered the task at hand. He lined up Kishibe’s cock with your hole, spreading your folds apart so he could watch. Slowly, achingly slowly, Kishibe lowered you down onto him. It was the first thing to fill you all evening, he was going slow partially to torture you, but also to ease you into his size. You mewled as he stretched you out, you heard Aki whimper.

“Take it all, baby. Be a good girl, don’t you want to impress Aki?” Kishibe soothed at your side, kissing your shoulder and neck and ear and anywhere he could reach.

Taking inch after inch, you gripped Kishibe’s shoulder tightly, squeezing as you struggled to take him unprepped. You really thought your previous orgasm would have been enough, but he had you sweating and arching off his chest before your hips finally met his again.

Aki’s cock stood at attention, revitalized by the obscene sight before him. Kishibe groaned out as he bottomed out, Aki could see the faintest bulge of your pelvis when you leaned back, his dick weeping out more precum in response. Seeing you writhing above him, desperate for the pain to give way to pleasure, Aki lunged forward to help where he could. He closed his mouth around your swollen clitoris, lapping in gentle circles. Your scrunched up expression softened into a euphoric one. Kishibe brought his hands to your chest, pawing at your tits, circling your nipples, muttering into your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight. Relax, let me in, baby.” He was babbling, panting against your back.

You moaned out as Aki swirled his tongue in a larger circle, sucking harder. Kishibe’s legs jerked as he felt the sensation of Aki’s tongue swipe across the bottom of his shaft, right where the two of you were joined. You started to rock your hips into Aki’s mouth, grinding down further on Kishibe’s cock, making you both whine. The man under you pulled his hips back and thrust upward again, a testing, experimental thrust. Aki’s tongue followed closely, licking along the bottom of Kishibe’s shift as he exited and reentered you. The taste of both of you combined in his mouth, making his head fuzzy and his cock hard again. Aki adjusted his body so he could grind against the mattress, hips moving automatically toward the promise of stimuli. Kishibe started fucking into you at a steady pace, no longer fighting for entry, your wetness and Aki’s saliva giving him the lubrication to fuck into you evenly.

“You love this, don’t you?” Kishibe growled in your ear, squeezing your left breast so hard you cried out, “Such a slut, one’s not enough for you, is it?”

Aki felt himself about to rush to defend you, looking up from between your legs. But he saw you, pressing your forehead against Kishibe’s and nodding. Your eyes were frenzied and desperate, locked in a stare with him. Your hips moving up and down his length, your mouth open and panting. He thought, briefly, that he saw the shade of love shadow your eyes as well. Perhaps there was more to this situation that he realized. But he was broken from his wondering by Kishibe pulling his hair, directing him to resume eating you out.

You let out a long, high pitched whine as he did, slumping further against Kishibe, whimpering out nonsense.

“Baby pleeeeease…oh aki yes…kishi…i--fuck.” You fucked yourself onto Kishibe’s cock, grinding against Aki’s mouth, mind numbing at the intensity of the pleasure.

You clenched again, causing Kishibe’s cock to slip out, but Aki caught it. He pumped it a few times in his hand before taking it into his mouth. Kishibe half groaned and half chuckled, one hand coming up to circle your clit, making sure you weren't forgotten about. He wanted to see what Aki could do. Aki slurped around the thick cock, tasting you in every inch. It was more exploratory than it was focused on making Kishibe cum. He toyed with how far he could swallow it, trying to ascertain whether Kishibe preferred a feel throat or a swirl around the tip. Your wetness has saturated his lap, wetting Aki’s nose every time he sucked down to the base. He was impressed with himself. Still got it. You watched as Kishibe expertly played with your clit just about where Aki’s head bobbed. You watched his pretty cheeks go gaunt as he sucked hard, feeling Kishibe shudder underneath you. Finally, breathless, Aki released Kishibe’s dick and poised it for your to sit on once more, Kishibe wasting no time fucking into you. With renewed vigor, Kishibe thrust up, loud plap- plap-plaping coming from beneath you.

“Shes going to cum.” Aki smiled, noting your quivering, fluttering hole, slurping noisily around Kishibe’s base then up to your clit again.

Kishibe nodded, “I can feel her getting clamping down on me, fuck, Aki.”

Your body shook violently as you came, your mouth opened in a silent scream as Aki circled your clit over and over, Kishibe held you down against his hips, biceps curling around your chest and waist, forcing you in place. Aki watched as you came around Kishibe’s cock, a creamy white ring appearing at the base, more cum spilling out for him to drink up eagerly. Each lick made you shake more, you had become so sensitive, so malleable under their touch. As he saw your spent pussy hole soften, Aki wasn't sure what came over him. He coated one finger in your cum and pushed it inside against Kishibe’s cock. Both you and Kishibe moan deliciously.

“Aki wait…” You started, breath slowly returning to you.

“Fuck Hayakawa…” Kishibe smiled maliciously, “I didn’t know if you’d have it in ya.”

Aki could only nod, eyes fixed on the sight of his finger sliding between your gushy walls and Kishibe’s hard, pulsating dick.

“Have you ever…had two at once?” Aki’s voice sounded distant even from himself.

You shook your head, it began to dawn on you exactly what was about to come. Kishibe tapped the outside of your thigh.

“Think you can get on your knees for me, sugar?” He kissed you softly as you nodded.

He and Aki both helped you off, and both luxuriated in the moan you let out at no longer being full. Aki positioned himself underneath you, guiding your legs onto either side of his hips, hands gentle. He was starting to feel nervous for you, and a bit responsible. Kishibe positioned himself behind you, four hands now running up and down the length of your body. You felt dizzy, you had already cum twice, you felt fuzzy and blissed out, like you were in a dream. But feeling Aki’s cock slide between your lips reminded you of something.

“Aki, don’t you want…” You trailed off when you met Aki’s eyes.

Aki looked up at you so surely, so sweetly, without that usual veneer of calmness and guardian. He lay beneath you completely bare, ready to feel every corner of you uninhibited, and vice versa.

“Not this time.” He answered, leaning up to kiss you, hips thrusting upwards into your puffy pussy.

Aki immediately broke the kiss to let out a shattered moan, he gripped your shoulders tight, digging his short clean nails into your flesh. It felt more different than he was expecting, he could feel the heat, the texture, the pulse of your walls all around him. How had he ever deprived himself of this? You sat up, sinking down completely on his length, bouncing a few times to get it really soaked, Aki was already whimpering underneath you. Kishibe’s hand moved over your shoulder, pushing you gently forward. He spit on his hand and coated his cock with it, then he spit once more on your pussy, sliding two thick fingers inside with Aki. He thrust his fingers in and out slowly listening to your moans, feeling Aki twitch against him. Eventually he added a third finger, stretching you further. Loud squelching began to fill the room. When he could finally add a fourth finger with little resistance, he knew you were ready. Kishibe removed his fingers, and after pumping his cock a few more times with his slick covered hand, he began to push inside. The burn was intense, the pressure building in your abdomen making your cry out into Aki’s neck.

He ran his hands soothingly over your back, “I know, baby, I know. Fuck. But it feels good, right?”

“So….full…” Was all you could manage.

Kishibe bottomed out inside of you, snug against Aki. The triad of you all stilled, no one moving for fear of disrupting the mind melting pleasure. They could feel each other, crammed together inside of you. You could feel both of them, their respective heartbeats pulsing through erections. You wondered if they could feel each other’s heart beats. You wondered if they could feel yours. You were struggling to hold yourself up, finally deciding to collapse into Aki’s chest. He peppered soft kisses around your face, along your neck. Kishibe leaned over to press wet, intentioned kisses to your shoulders and back.

“You’re doing so good, love.” He nosed the back of your neck, “Taking us so well. I’m going to try to move now, okay?”

You could barely hear him, pleasure and pain filling your ears. But you nodded, you had trusted them both this far. Kishibe pulled his hips back, you whined, Aki hissed and squeezed you down closer on his chest. Kishibe thrust in once more, you rocked forward, pressing your clit against the tuft of groomed public hair at Aki’s base. Kishibe shuddered above you, leaning over, effectively caging you in between him and Aki. Aki was lost beneath you, tears filling his eyes, arms keeping you flush against his chest. Kishibe found a workable pace, it was slow and careful, but it allowed for regular friction. You buried your head in Aki’s neck, the smell of his sweat mingling with his soap comforting you through the lasting pain. Kishibe separated your ass cheeks, treating himself to the sight of your stuffed full, watching as you released small bouts of squirt and cream around the pair of cocks inside of you.

“F-fuck.” You whimpered out.

“Slutty hole taking us so well.” Kishibe praised, his thumb circling your tight asshole, “That's all you want, right baby? To be full. To be used?”

You nodded, the added sensation turning your brain to mush. Aki found a way to clamp his mouth down over one of your breasts, sucking purely for his own benefit, you could see tears slipping from his painfully shut eyes. There was so much stimuli, so much sensation, so much pleasure, it was hard to parse out just where your body ended and another began, boundaries and borders that once felt so precinct, were now missing. But they were not missed. You wanted to stay like this forever, filled by your two lovers, no thoughts outside of pleasing and being pleased. Aki gave no warning, the only indication that he was cumming was the muffled sob he let out against the flesh of your tit, and the trickle of white cum, thinner than before, sliding out from between his and Kishibe’s cocks. Kishibe felt the flood of warm cum, he felt the way that your body clenched to keep it inside. He thrust faster, Aki’s cum acting as the last bit of lubricant he needed to fuck into you more, this of course turned Aki into a sputtering, teary eyed mess underneath you.

“Just hold on, I know.” Kishibe soothed, but not to you, he spoke softly to Aki, knowing his thrusting was bringing the younger hunter into overstimulation.

Kishibe slid two fingers into Aki’s mouth, fucking harder into you. His hips jutted, he felt you tighten up around him once more.

“Baby please, fuck. Such a good fucking girl for me-- agh!” With a final snap of his hips, one near scream from Aki and a sniveling whimper by you Kishibe came.

He bit down on your neck to stifle his own cry of climax. He rode out his orgasm, sending Aki into a fit, and sending you into your third orgasm of the evening. The culmination of pleasure caused Aki’s cock to slip out of you, giving the younger man a moment of solace, allowing him to start to catch his breath. He felt the run off of cum start to spill out onto his cock, onto the bed below him. You panted above him, hole free from one cock, carrying two loads and Kishibe still snugly inside. Kishibe’s teeth dug into your neck, Aki’s spit was drying against your nipple, only some of the sweat on your body came from you, your mouth tasted like both of them. You were lost between the two of them. The three of you stayed in this panting, searingly hot knot, until eventually Kishibe’s knees began to give out and rather than crush the poor lad underneath his and your body weight, he pulled out and off. Kishibe stood, stretching a moment before sauntering into the bathroom, wetting a rag and returning to clean the both of you.

You lie next to Aki, face pressed against a pillow, one arm slung over his chest. Kishibe cleaned between your legs, privately mourning and reveling in the sight of so much cum flooding out of you.

What a waste.

He cleaned Aki as well, his cum coated cock, his sweaty chest, his soaked mouth.

You clicked your tongue, “he’s spoiling you, Aki. Kishi never cleans me up.”

“That’s not true. I just don’t usually use a rag.” Kishibe rolled his eyes before tossing the rag into your hamper and climbing in bed on the other side of you.

You whispered to Aki, but loud enough for your other partner to hear, “he’s lying. You bring something out of him. Makes him want to be nicer. “

Aki laughed lowly. Kishibe swatted you once on the ass, the sting giving you a small aftershock. Then the larger man curled around beside you, easily pulling half of your body to rest on his chest. He kissed the side of your head as he felt your breath begin to even out.

“You’re staying over?” You said, half awake.

Kishibe nodded silently, kissing your head again, and then looking at Aki. You used your arm around his chest to pull him closer.

“You too.” It wasn’t a question.

Aki knew it wasn’t. He rolled onto his side, facing you and Kishibe, eyes meeting the exact image that had started this all for him, Kishibe at your side, kissing absently at your face and neck, calloused fingers running up and down your side. But this time, your hands held Aki’s hip, Kishibe’s eyes were kinder, not taunting but conspiratorial. Aki leaned forward and gave Kishibe a soft kiss, he wasn’t even sure if he closed his eyes, if he wanted this kind of gentle intimacy. But he didn’t push Aki away, and he did kiss him back.

Aki wasn’t sure what tonight meant, or what he had stumbled into. He didn’t know if it would ever happen again, if it should, if it could, but he was happy he could share tonight with the two of you.

You fell asleep first, one hand on Aki, Kishibe’s head snuggled into your neck. He fell asleep soon after, snoring against your skin. Aki took longer, mind reeling from what had happened. He felt held your hand up to his mouth and kissed it, before falling asleep himself.

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Text

{11} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 10,076

Warnings: A lot more angst than normal, one line that could be interpreted as suicidal thoughts, talks of past toxic relationships. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I have finished editing it!! I tried not to miss anything, but please excuse any mistakes that still come through. I hope you enjoy, I definitely, didn’t see this chapter taking the turn it did when I was planning for it. Hehehe, a lot happens. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Mini Masterlist

“What do you mean, ‘she got away’?” Seonghwa is this close to losing it on the younger demon right now as he leans against the wall for support, attempting to maintain his breathing for the time being.

Currently, the eight of them all find themselves spread out around the dining room conversing about the turn of events earlier in the day. Frowns reside on all of their faces, snarls beginning to tug at their lips.

“Exactly what I said,” Yeosang sighs, exasperatedly. “I scoured that entire mall from top to bottom thrice looking for her, but she had long since vacated the premises. I even scouted with the animals in the area, but nothing.”

“I should have torn her apart right where she stood, witnesses be damned,” Hongjoong growls, eyes shifting black along with his brothers for a brief moment.

“Believe me, we all wanted to tear her apart,” the glass held in San’s hand shatters as he tightens his grip, shards raining onto the floor at his feet.

“As much as I agree, and despite the conversation we had with our beloved earlier, I think ripping apart another person whom she believes to be an innocent bystander right in front of her very eyes would not have been favourable for us.” Jongho voices. “She’s already upset at us from the argument. Doing something like that might have made her never trust us again, even if we explained it to her right afterwards.”

“Jongho’s right,” Yunho sighs, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “We’re going to need to tell her the truth.”

“Yeah, let’s just go up to our beloved while she’s still mad at us, and upset from what her friend said before we left, and just dump this information on her.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Like, “hey, Gorgeous. So, an ex of mine, San’s, Hongjoong’s, and Mingi’s is still in love with us and hates your guts. She has control over your best friend’s mind right now, and knows who you are. Oh, and silly me, did I mention she wants to completely eviscerate you?” He scoffs, “yeah, I’m sure that will go over well.”

“Well, maybe don’t phrase it like that,” Mingi huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“How else would you suggest we deal with this, then?” San shoots a pointed look at the taller male before crouching down to clean up the broken glass at his feet.

“I think apologizing to her would be a good start.” Mingi narrows his eyes back at the other male, the two holding each other’s gazes for a moment.

“Mingi’s right,” Hongjoong sighs, running a hand through his hair. “As far as she’s concerned, our behaviour was sudden and uncalled for. If we hadn’t scented Miyeon earlier we would have had no issue letting her go off by herself for an hour with her friend.”

“Speak for yourself,” Seonghwa mumbles, a puff of air escaping him.

“We all have difficulties being away from her for any period of time,” Jongho reminds the eldest. “It’s not just you, Hwa.”

“You’re telling me none of you would have taken issue with that fact?” Seonghwa quirks a brow at all of his brothers standing around him. At the way his brothers remain silent, he huffs. “That’s what I thought.”

“Do you not trust her?” Yeosang rounds on the eldest, fingers biting into the skin of his arms as he holds them crossed over his chest. He’s already wound from not being able to obliterate Miyeon earlier like he so desired, and hearing his brother be a smartass right now isn’t helping.

“Of course, I trust her.” Seonghwa replies, appalled he would even need to be asked that question. “It’s others that I don’t trust around her.”

“Watch how you speak, brother,” Yunho’s tone is dark, a threatening growl on his tongue. “We might think you’re referring to us.”

The two males glare at each other, snarls tugging at their lips as the eldest takes a step towards Yunho in challenge, both of their gazes bleeding black.

“Enough,” Hongjoong shoots a pointed look at either male, “the both of you.”

“This is exactly what Miyeon wants,” Jongho states, looking around the room at each of his brothers. “This is all just some sick, twisted game to her. To have us infighting with one another lowers our defences, so she can sneak right in and claim her prize.”

“To think that this is the ending to the day that we had,” Wooyoung cradles his head in his hands as he leans forward in his seat. “Is it always going to be three steps forward, and one step back?”

“No,” Hongjoong shakes his head. “It won’t always be like this.”

“How can you be so sure?” Mingi voices almost all of their thoughts, all of them turning to look at their Captain with despair in their eyes.

“You were all there,” Hongjoong breathes out. “You felt her emotions just as I did when she opened her mind to us at that table. We all felt that fondness she has for us building beneath the surface.”

“Today proved just how much progress we’ve been making,” Yunho confirms.

“She opened up to us.” San leans against the wall for support as he thinks back to the way you held his hand. Not once, but twice. His skin begins to tingle, the ghost of your touch lingering against his own. “She wanted to know more about us, too.”

“Exactly,” Hongjoong nods. “You all felt her emotions. She can’t fake that.”

A small silence settles over all of them as they let their memories of that discussion at that table with you flood their minds. Their hearts swell, warmth blooming in their chests as nothing but pure fondness and love swims through their veins. Today meant so much to them. More than you’ll ever know.

Just then, a soft mewl draws their attention to a little black kitten who attempts to jump on top of one of the dining room chairs, only to fall right back down to the ground. A whine of complaint leaves his lips, turning his head as his wide, golden eyes scan the room, locking onto the closest male.

“Who…?” Yeosang’s inquiry dies in his throat as he sees the kitten on the ground before him.

In an instant, Kuroo has trotted over to Mingi, rubbing himself against the male’s leg before said man is leaning down to pick him up. As soon as the kitten is in his arms, Mingi begins scratching his chin.

Mingi meets Yeosang’s gaze. “I did. I just thought it best not to overwhelm her since we got back. I didn’t want her to think that any of us were trying to win her affection back with apology gifts. Not that I need to apologize.”

Yeosang nods softly, silently agreeing with the taller male as four others shift slightly in their spots.

“Where is she now?” Seonghwa voices the question on all of their minds.

“In her room,” Yunho supplies, a gentle smile pulling at his features. “Sleeping.”

“She’s had a long day,” Jongho sighs, wanting nothing more than to join you; to pull you in close as he wraps his arms around you, your head resting on his chest as you listen to his heartbeat. A heart which beats only for you.

“Let her rest,” Wooyoung voices softly. “She needs it.”

“There’s a few things we need to do before tomorrow, anyways.” Seonghwa shares a look with all of them, of which they understand immediately.

First things first, they’re going to fortify their wards and barriers to their domain to make sure Miyeon cannot get in. Then, they’re going to start attempting to track her down. Not only do they want to eradicate her, eliminating that threat from you, but they also figure that they should free Reina’s mind from her control. It’s what you would want them to do, anyways.

“Tomorrow, we,” Hongjoong shoots a pointed look at Seonghwa, San, and Jongho, ”will also apologize to her for the way that we acted, and what we said today.”

“It’s been on my mind since it happened,” San admits remorsefully, looking down at his feet.

“Good.” Yeosang comments with a firm nod of his head.

“As it should be.” Yunho adds, shooting a pointed look towards the eldest as he says this.

“Who’s going to tell her about Miyeon?” Wooyoung sighs, looking up at his brothers standing around the room before him.

“I will.” Hongjoong states, somewhat nervously. “Though if things go badly, I’ll need all of you to help me.”

“Of course, Captain,” Jongho smiles reassuringly at their leader, followed immediately by the others.

“Let’s just make sure we don’t fuck up this badly again,” Seonghwa sighs, pushing himself off of the wall he had been leaning against for support.

“Agreed.” A unanimous chorus echoes around the room from all of them.

In the blink of an eye, all eight males are dispersing, going to check on each of their own personal wards that they’ve placed around their domain. Then, once that has been completed, they add more. Just in case.

Like hell are they letting Miyeon anywhere near you again.

The next morning, you wake up to a slight headache. You weren’t able to sleep very well overnight: restless as you tossed and turned through what little bouts of sleep you managed to get. What little light that filters through your curtains has you rubbing at your eyes, irritated by the intrusion.

Letting out a sigh, you toss the covers off of your body, deciding to at least freshen up for the day. Like hell are you changing out of your sweats, though. Once you’ve completed your morning routine, you’re making your way, quite sluggishly, to the closest kitchen for some breakfast.

As soon as you step through the threshold to see a particular demon standing behind the counter, you’re nearly turning around immediately. You don’t want to deal with him right now. Only, that familiar twisting of your stomach in hunger pulls you into the room, and you know that he’d just teleport to the other kitchen by the time you walked there, anyways. Besides, you run the risk of seeing the other three you don’t really want to at the moment, especially if you step into their territory.

The way San’s eyes light up as soon as he sees you, despite the somewhat wary smile that tugs at his lips, is instantaneous.

“Good morning, baby,” he greets, somewhat tentatively.

You walk past him and to the fridge, sparing nothing but a disinterested side glance in his direction as you do.

San’s heart squeezes in his chest, hating the way he knows that he deserves how cold you’re being to him this morning. His hand begins to shake as he balances himself on the counter for support.

“There’s some fresh fruit for you in the fridge,” he tries again, noting how you open said object in the next second.

Sure enough, when you pull open the one side of the fridge, you see the glass bowl of fresh fruit practically glaring at you from the shelf directly at eye level. You let out a sigh through your nose, reaching inside the fridge in the next moment.

San’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you do so. From the angle he’s standing at, he cannot tell what you’re grabbing. All he does know, is that he hopes beyond anything that it’s the bowl of fruit he spent this morning cutting up for you. He knows how much you enjoy fresh fruit, especially in the morning, and he wanted to use it as a way to apologize. Thus, if you pull back with that peace offering held in your hands, he knows then that things aren’t as bad as they seem.

Only, when you pull your hand back for him to see only a yogurt held in your grip, his expression falls. That blazing hope he had so desperately been holding onto dwindles down to small embers, the all too familiar feeling of fresh tears springing to his eyes.

The sound of the fridge door practically slamming shut echoes like a final condemnation throughout the room. The feeling is only emphasized by the way you sit at the counter on the furthest stool away from him, not even sparing him another glance after grabbing yourself a spoon.

“You don’t know how remorseful I am, baby,” his gentle voice cuts through the tense silence surrounding the two of you. “If I could take it all back in an instant, I would.”

He hears the way you let out another long breath through your nose, your throat bobbing as you swallow in the next second.

San moves closer hesitantly, as if approaching a wounded animal that could lash out at him at any moment. His eyes are sorrowful, expression downcast as he comes to stand right across from you, only the counter separating the both of you. Still, you refuse to even meet his gaze.

“Baby, please,” his voice cracks, choking on his emotions as the first tear spills onto his cheek. “Please, look at me.”

“Stop calling me that.” Your voice is firm as your brow furrows in discontent, and he recoils in shock.

“Baby-“

“Do you think you deserve to get to call me that right now?” Finally, you meet his gaze, and the intensity he sees swimming behind your eyes has his breath hitching in his throat.

Even during those first two weeks of you staying with them you never reacted like this whenever he called you ‘baby’. Sure, you might have looked at him in irritation when he let the pet name slip a few times, but it was never this.

“Then, tell me,” he’s begging at this point, but he doesn’t care. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

You say nothing for the moment, letting the silence settle around the both of you once more. You can feel his stare locked onto you, noticing how his fingers cling onto the edge of the countertop for dear life. A tear falls onto the top of his hand in the next second, but he makes no move to wipe it away.

In the next moment, Jongho appears in the kitchen beside you. “Darling, are you okay?”

He reaches out for you like he always does when he greets you in the kitchen during the morning. Only, before he can so much as place his hand onto your back, you stiffen.

“Don’t touch me.”

Your voice is the coldest it’s ever been towards the youngest since arriving here. A fact which makes him recoil from you, as if burned. His expression falls.

Instantly, the two others whom you didn’t want to see yet today are in the room, worry on their features.

“What’s going on?” It’s Hongjoong who poses the question, a slight crease to his brow. Except, he gets completely ignored for the moment as you shut your eyes in clear annoyance.

You really don’t want to deal with them all today.

“Darling, please-“

“You don’t get to call me that right now.” Your eyes flash open, looking at the stunned demon standing beside you.

“My Love-“

“No.” Your burning gaze is on Hongjoong in an instant. “None of you deserve that privilege of calling me as you please. Not after the stunt you pulled yesterday.”

“We regret our misstep more than you know,” Seonghwa voices, taking a step towards you, but at the harsh way you glare at him, he retreats for the moment.

“What can we do?” Hongjoong’s voice is merely a whisper, his expression reflecting nothing but the pain he feels suffocating his heart at this very moment at the way you’ve closed yourself off from all of them again. “What can we do to prove to you how remorseful we are?”

You inhale a deep sigh, feeling all of their saddened gazes on you for the moment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Jongho shed a tear.

Clutching at the spoon firmly in your one hand, you bring your other one up to rub at the bridge of your nose. Closing your eyes for the moment, you lean against the counter using your one elbow. In the second it takes for you to motion to all of them with your spoon, pointing at the space opposite the counter where San still stands, they’ve moved. As soon as you remove your hand from your nose, your lids fall open to see them all facing you, heads downcast as shame washes over them.

“Do you understand why I’m no longer comfortable around any of you four right now?” You question.

Their expressions fall even further, the tears falling freely down both San’s and Jongho’s cheeks as they all remain silent in front of you for the time being.

“You decided to attempt to control me.” You begin. “Was everything you said to me at that table a lie? Do I truly not get to retain my autonomy with you? Is it all just an illusion? Something you’ll use to paint a pretty picture of delusion with in order for me to stay with you all willingly?”

“No, please, that’s not-“

“I’m not finished.” You immediately cut Seonghwa off, your eyes narrowing at the eldest who stands the furthest away from you at the opposite corner of the counter. “I do not need your permission to spend time with my friends, or my family for that matter. You do not get to dictate who I can and cannot see. You do not get to speak to me however you please.”

A pointed look is sent to the eldest who stiffens beneath your gaze.

“Trust goes both ways, and it’s clear none of you trust me, let alone respect me. I am fully capable of making my own decisions. Was it not you who told me that you purposely wanted to keep my mind intact?” At this, they’re all inhaling sharply. “How can I trust you if you cannot trust me?”

“We do trust you-“

“I am not finished.” Your piercing gaze shifts to the youngest across from you. “You surprised me the most yesterday, if I’m being honest. I expected something like this from them-“ you motion between Hongjoong and Seonghwa with your spoon before turning your full attention back to Jongho, “but you? You disappointed me yesterday. You all did. Especially considering the day we were all having.” A sigh. “That had been the best day I had had, let alone the best I’ve felt, in months. Then, you all went and did this.”

A brief moment of silence settles around you as you pause to catch your breath. The only sound you can hear right now is the ticking of the clock in the corner, muffled by the sound of both San’s and Jongho’s muted sobs. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice a single tear trail down the side of Hongjoong’s face.

“Do you want to go back to how things were at the start?” You look at them expectantly, and you see fear flash in all of their eyes.

“No, please-“ San reaches across the counter for you, only to watch as you lean away from his touch. Immediately, he retracts his hands, inhaling a shaky breath as he wipes at his eyes.

“We never want to go back there again.” Seonghwa’s voice is rough with his emotions, tears gathering in the corners of his own eyes and threatening to fall at any moment.

“Good. Neither do I.” You reply. “But that’s exactly how it felt to me when you four pulled that stunt yesterday. The fact that I even had to suggest a vote is unbelievable. You wanted to take that choice away from me. You made me feel helpless, and I hate that more than anything. I do not want to go back there again.”

Your words from all those weeks ago ring through their ears, causing them to inhale sharply as the vivid memory of the second worst night of your life echoes through their minds.

The first of Seonghwa’s tears begin to fall from his eyes.

“If you wanted a mindless doll to toy with, you would have shattered my mind a long time ago.” There is no waver in your voice when you say this, but they can still hear your emotions ringing through loud and clear. The distrust and uncertainty alone have their hearts feeling as if you are personally suffocating them with your every word. “You do not control me. You do not own me. I am not yours. Do you understand?”

A chorus of ‘yes’ echoes around the room, rough and strained from each of them as they swallow their emotions for the time being, wiping at their tears with the backs of their hands.

“Good,” you nod once, “because if any of you ever pull another stunt like this, you will lose all of my respect.” You take the time to meet each one of their gazes, the regret shining through clear as anything in their eyes. More than all of that though, you can see genuine fear. The fear of losing you. You narrow your eyes at them, “and I will never trust you again.”

Your words are like knives, stabbing into their hearts from every angle.

“If you continue to prove that I cannot trust you, or if any of you speak to me in that kind of tone going forward,” you add, shifting your gaze between all of them as you stand from your spot, your yogurt still sitting untouched on the counter. “I don’t care how it happens, but you will never see me again.”

The sound of your spoon clattering on top of the counter manages to pull them back to the harsh reality before them. Your back is turned to them as they see you already halfway to the door to the kitchen.

The eldest reacts before any of them have a chance to, throwing his pride aside for the moment as he instantly has his arms around you from behind, a sob tearing from his throat.

“Please,” he begs, a tear landing on your shoulder as he clings to you for dear life. “Please, don’t go.” He chokes on another sob. “Don’t leave me.”

In all of their long years of life, none of them have ever seen him act like this. Once or twice, sure, he’s swallowed his pride long enough to beg for something, but not like this. No, never like this. Never have any of them seen the eldest so desperate, so broken as he clings onto you like you’ll disappear the very moment he releases you.

“Seonghwa.” A long sigh escapes you. “Let me go.”

For a moment, he hesitates, reluctantly removing his arms from around your waist as another sob tears from his throat. The way he can quite literally feel you slipping right through his fingers is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and he hates it.

Seonghwa wants to scream. They all do. How could they have been so stupid? Miyeon be damned. After all of the progress they made with you, it’s like they’re back at square one. The thought alone of losing you, maybe not physically, but like this, has them all on their knees before you in an instant.

You blink down at the four demons, each kneeling on the ground in front of you. Their arms are extended out towards you, palms of their hands facing upwards in a sign of complete surrender. None of them dare look up at you for the moment, too ashamed to meet your gaze as they stare at the floor beneath your feet.

“We are so unbelievably remorseful for the pain that our words and actions have caused you,” Hongjoong’s voice is strained as he squeezes his eyes shut, more tears escaping him and falling to the floor beneath him. “I am ashamed of how I acted, and of what I said. We do trust you. We do respect you. I never want you to believe that we do not.”

“We never want you to feel trapped with us, but our actions have proven otherwise,” San’s words are hoarse from all of the crying he’s done, but he doesn’t care. He’d run his voice raw, tearing his throat apart for you, if that’s what you want. Whatever it takes for you to forgive him, to see how remorseful he is, - how much they all are - he will do. No questions asked. Anything to get you to stop looking at them with such distrust in your eyes. “There is nothing I regret more than making you feel as such."

“You are not an object for us to own, or control as we see fit, and we apologize for making you believe we thought as such.” Seonghwa swallows the dryness in his throat, voice rough with all of his emotions. “I sincerely apologize for acting as such, and speaking to you in such an unforgivable manner. I will never do so again.”

“We will never act like this again. I will never disappoint you again.” Jongho’s voice trembles, biting his lower lip to prevent it from wobbling as he takes a deep breath in. “Please, accept our deepest and sincerest apologies. We- I never want to hurt you again.”

As soon as Jongho’s words are out of his mouth, they’re all extending their hands towards you, clasping them together palms downwards as they press their foreheads onto the ground at your feet.

Without shame, and without an ounce of hesitation, all four demons bow to you in apology, holding their positions before you without so much as another breath shared between them.

For a moment, all is silent. The only sound that remains still comes from the clock ticking away in the corner of the kitchen. Each second that passes by feels like an eternity the longer you go without saying anything, too. At least, to them.

You take a moment to observe the men on the ground before you. Four Kings of the Realm who have proven to you time and time again that they would do anything and everything for you, including bend the knee without a second thought. Here you have them, some of the most powerful beings to have ever graced this earth, kneeling before you in the deepest, and most formal of bows, asking for your forgiveness.

You sigh. “Get up.”

Hesitantly, they all lift their heads to look up at you, eyes shining with the tears that still fall freely down their cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake.

Your arms are crossed in front of your chest as you take the time to meet each one of their gazes, looking over all of them in the next moment with a stern expression on your face.

“I accept your apology.” Your voice is firm, unwavering as you see relief instantly spread across all of their faces. “However,” all of their bodies tense, “that does not mean I have forgiven you.”

“What can we do?” Immediately, Seonghwa is pleading with you once more. “What can we do to make this right?”

“How can we make this better?” San repeats his words from earlier, eyes sorrowful as he meets your gaze.

“You’re going to have to prove it to me.” You respond. “Pretty words mean nothing if there is no substance behind them.”

“Anything.” Jongho breathes out. “We’ll do anything.”

“Fine.” You acknowledge his words. “You can all start by explaining to me why you acted in such a way after everything that you said to me yesterday.”

The four demons all share a brief look with one another as they all stand back to their feet after a quick jerk of the chin upwards from you.

Softly, Hongjoong nods to himself, wiping at his lingering tears with the back of his hand. “It was because of Miyeon.”

“Miyeon?” Your brow furrows instantly, the confusion clear in your voice. “Reina’s girlfriend?”

“She’s not actually Reina’s girlfriend,” Seonghwa tells you, clearing the roughness still lingering in his throat in the next second. “She never was.”

“Explain.” Your eyes narrow immediately at the four demons who attempt to begin composing themselves in front of you.

“Miyeon is a demon like us,” Jongho informs you. “Though, not as powerful, obviously.”

“She-“ San’s voice catches in his throat as he meets your gaze, unsure of how to tell you this. “We-“ he pauses, his lips parting with the unspoken words he wants to say. That is, until he’s sighing and looking at his feet, shame washing over him for the nth time that day. “She’s mine, Wooyoung’s, Hongjoong’s, and Mingi’s ex.”

You blink, eyes widening as your brows raise in disbelief. To say that you’re completely caught off guard would be an understatement. “Excuse me?”

“It was over twenty years ago now,” Hongjoong adds with a sigh, running his hand through his hair.

“Hold up,” you raise your hands in front of you in a stopping motion, “I was expecting some type of bullshit excuse, but this? Stop lying to me.”

“We’re not-“

“You all really expect me to believe Reina’s girlfriend is really your ex from twenty years ago?” You cut Seonghwa off in disbelief. “Unlikely.”

“It’s true.” Another voice from the open doorway of the kitchen draws your attention, and you see both Mingi and Yeosang standing there.

“They’re not lying to you, Dearest,” Yeosang meets your gaze, his expression tender as he looks at you. “Though, I wish it weren’t true.”

Your headache pulses, and you find yourself rubbing at your temples with the fingers of your one hand. Heaving a sigh, you turn back around and sit in the same seat you had just been occupying at the counter. It’s probably just a hunger headache, anyways.

“Okay, so Miyeon is your demonic ex-girlfriend from twenty years ago?” You rest your elbows on the counter before you, interlocking your fingers in front of yourself as you lean forward slightly.

“Unfortunately,” Mingi sighs, coming to stand at the side of the counter closest to you. At the way he notices your untouched yogurt still sitting on top of the counter, he’s quick to open the fridge and pour you a glass of your favourite juice. Of course, he notices the bowl of fresh fruit right away, only causing him to quirk a brow at San as they meet each other’s gazes from across the way.

You nod in thanks, taking a sip as the others move to stand around the island once more. Yeosang, of course, takes the opportunity to pull out the chair beside you, sitting down at the counter in the next moment.

“We promise that we’ll explain everything.” He says, shooting you a comforting smile in the process.

Your lips quirk slightly upwards in return, a semi-relieved smile painting your face. “I’d appreciate that.”

A small silence settles over all of you as they think about where to begin.

“It was Wooyoung and I that approached her first.” San admits, eyes downcast as he refuses to meet your gaze as shame courses through him one more. “She was interested in us, and we were interested in her.”

“Yes, that’s usually how all relationships start,” you acknowledge. An amused huff escapes you in the next second. “Well, most relationships.”

“It wasn’t long before I joined them,” Mingi comments next. “She just had a way to lure you in, and keep you trapped in her little games without realizing.”

“She was cunning, and knew how to run her mouth to get exactly what she wanted,” Jongho adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “She used them to try and get to who she really always wanted.”

“Whom was?” You quirk a brow, looking around at all of them.

“Me.” Yeosang admits, exhaling a breath. “She always tried to get to me through them.”

“Did it work?” You ask, and each male notices how you shift the slightest bit away from him as you do so. A fact which has Yeosang’s heart twinging in his chest unpleasantly as he sees the uncertainty in your eyes.

“Of course not.” He’s quick to reply, watching your shoulders sag slightly in relief. “I never wanted her. I never have, and I never will.”

“Still, she tried to ensnare more of us.” Seonghwa sighs, leaning his one hand against the counter for support.

“The four of them weren’t enough for her anymore,” Jongho tells you. “If she couldn’t have who she truly wanted, she would then take all she could get.”

“Did you ever-“ your inquiry dies in your throat as you watch Jongho shake his head.

“I always saw right through her lies,” he states, rather pointedly. “I tried to warn them, but those four were in too deep at that point.”

You spare a glance between Mingi, San, and Hongjoong. “Did you love her?”

“Not in the way we love you.” San immediately replies, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” You blink, a soft shake to your own head as you place your hands gently on top of one another on the counter before you. “Did you love her?”

A brief moment of hesitation before Mingi is clearing his throat.

“Yes.” Mingi swallows thickly, his one hand resting lightly on the counter.

Instinctively, you reach for him, offering your support in any way you can as you clasp his hand in yours. He looks at you, mild surprise clear in his eyes, but the action not unwelcome to him at all. He shoots you a soft, grateful smile, feeling you squeeze his hand in support.

Each of the four males from earlier watch on with pain filled eyes. Perhaps if they didn’t screw up so monumentally, that could be them right now.

San clears his throat next, drawing your gaze back to him for the moment.

“I did.” His voice is rough, but there’s an undertone of shame hidden behind his words as he averts his gaze.

You nod gently in understanding. “What about Wooyoung?”

“He did.” Seonghwa confirms with tense nod of his own head.

“Speaking of,” you look briefly around the kitchen, “where is he? Shouldn’t he and Yunho be apart of this conversation, too?”

“They’re attempting to track Miyeon right now. Amongst other things.” Yeosang casually leans his arm over the back of your chair, loving how you shift slightly closer to him this time. A fact which has the youngest reeling in jealousy across from him. “But they know what’s going on.”

At the way you furrow your brows at him in confusion, he points to his mind. Your eyes immediately widen in understanding, just knowing that they’re keeping their connection open to their two other brothers for this conversation right now.

Sure enough, you feel two familiar brushes against your void, both a bright yellow and a pure white string humming with vibration. Your headache lessens, and you choose to brush back.

Then, you’re turning to look at Hongjoong.

Out of all of them, Hongjoong seems to look the most nervous. Currently, he leans against the opposite cupboards, arms crossed over his chest as he gazes intently at the counter before him. Then, he’s letting out a sigh, eyes falling shut in the next moment.

“I never loved her.” He admits. “I only used her for sex.”

Subconsciously, your grip tightens around Mingi’s hand as you inhale a sharp breath. Your spine straightens.

“Did you lead her on?” Your gaze is piercing, and even though Hongjoong cannot see you, he can feel it burning through his very soul.

“Of course not,” he shakes his head, eyes opening to meet your own and hoping beyond everything that you can see the sincerity shining there. “She knew it was strictly sex, and that’s all it was ever going to be between us. Until she wanted more. I just wasn’t going to give that to her, but no matter how many times I explained it to her, she kept pushing for more. Which is when I cut her out.”

“I see,” you nod. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“Hongjoong wasn’t the fourth one of us that Jongho meant when he said that, Dearest,” Yeosang explains softly, fingertips brushing against your back lightly in comfort.

“Then, who?” Your brow furrows, looking towards Seonghwa who just shakes his head.

In an instant, that bright yellow string begins humming once more, a familiar tender warmth brushing against your void.

You let him in.

It was me, Petal. Yunho’s voice echoes through your mind.

Yunho-

I am not proud of that portion of my life, but it is unfair to you to keep it hidden any longer. He begins. As you know, I have a particular skillset which is much heightened over my brothers. Demons can and will seek us out if they wish to be trained by us in our field of expertise.

Your breath hitches and you find yourself gripping onto Mingi’s hand for dear life. You trained her mentally, didn’t you?

A moment of silence. I did. And there is no greater regret that I have than doing such.

What happened between the two of you? You ask, blinking a few times as you stare straight ahead at the fridge across from you. Then, softer, you add, you don’t need to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. I do not wish to pry.

Your consideration means more to me than you know, Petal. Another familiar brush against your mind, as if he’s caressing you with the palm of his hand. Only, you do not realize how you lean slightly into that phantom touch, but the others do. I want you to know. I need you to know, and understand that I am not proud of what came of it.

You loved her. It’s not a question, but a statement of fact.

More than the others did at the time. Yunho sighs, nothing but honesty reflected in his words. There was a time where I also thought that she loved me, too.

A sense of dread washes over your entire body, as if someone has just doused you in cold water. She led you on.

I wish I could say I saw it coming. Yunho replies, and if he were standing before you, you know he’d be averting his gaze right now. I thought things were going well. Every lesson we had, we would get closer to one another. She had this way of getting you to lower your defences without realizing, worming her way in until her venom took its hold.

There is no cure for love. You reply softly.

No, he chuckles. There is not.

What happened between you? There’s a hint of concern he can hear coming through in your voice, feeling it in the way your emotions begin to seep into his own mind, even from this far away. He smiles faintly.

We shared many moments during her training, he begins, gently guiding you through his past memories.

One moment, you appear to be looking through Yunho’s own eyes at Miyeon as she stands across from him, a large smile painted on her face. It seems as if she’s just overcome something difficult in her training, her eyes sparkling with that all too familiar triumphant gleam one has when completing a hard task. You can feel the echoes of his past emotions: the way his heart was racing at seeing her smiling at him like that, revelling in her happiness with her, the pride that filled him when she praised him for his incredible teachings.

Then, the scene shifts, and you are privy to a montage of Yunho sitting in front of his easel in what must be his art room. Hours upon hours are spent with him recreating scenes with Miyeon that he has lived: with paint, charcoal, pastels - anything he can use to capture her beauty and put it on canvas for him to admire, even when she is not with him to share in the moment.

The next memory he shows you, is not as bright as the rest, and immediately, your expression falls. You don’t even realize that tears begin to line your eyes as you see a brilliant inferno blazing brightly before you, stacks upon stacks of canvasses melting beneath the heat. Familiar canvasses with the image of a woman you’ve just seen him spending weeks creating and perfecting.

The first tear that escapes you is synonymous with his in this memory, your heart squeezing right along with his at the significance of the burning artwork. You can hear Miyeon’s voice echoing in his mind, laughing at him after confessing to her about his feelings. Feelings of which that now suffocate his heart as he watches the fire reflect in his pain filled orbs.

You really thought I cared about you? You can hear Miyeon’s voice scoff inside your mind. That after showing me some pathetic pieces of artwork you would actually mean something to me?

You can hear how he pleaded with her, voice straining with his emotions as he begged for her to stay.

I have never wanted you, and I will never want you. She spits, her words full of venom and eyes full of malice. All you’re good for are your powers.

Your breath hitches as your free hand comes up to cover your mouth, more tears falling freely down your face.

The scene shifts once more and you see Yunho completely destroying his art room. Papers are strewn across the floor, glass and ceramic shattered around the area with smudges of charcoal lining the walls. Paint splatters almost everything as you watch the male break down sobbing in the middle of his room, pulling harshly at his hair as he falls to his knees, refusing to open the door to any of his brothers that beg to be let in.

I gave her a part of myself that I had kept hidden for so long, waiting for the right person to come along to share it with, and she destroyed it. Yunho’s voice pulls you back to the present moment, hearing the emotions he so desperately tries to hold back. I gave her everything I could have of myself, and she took it and ran before burning it all to the ground.

You don’t even realize Yeosang has stood and pulled you into his embrace until you feel a separate comforting hand place itself onto your back, beginning to rub gently along your spine. You cling onto Yeosang for dear life as Mingi soothingly caresses you from behind, both males cooing at you in attempts to calm you down while the others can do nothing more than watch you falling apart like this right in front of their very eyes.

I couldn’t even look at a canvass for almost four years after that, and even when I did pick up the hobby again after so long, it was never the same. Yunho admits. Until you, Petal. You saved me in more ways than you’ll ever know.

You swallow, blinking away your tears as you attempt to control your breathing for the moment.

I have never felt this strongly about anyone before in my life, not even Miyeon. He admits, and you feel him caress your mind again, as if he is attempting to wipe away your tears. You are My Muse. My Petal. My Queen.

You can hear the fond growl in his voice as he says this, and you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat.

I will do anything for you, and I will start by protecting that which I love most. He breathes out, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice as it echoes throughout your mind.

That which you love most? Your own voice is soft as you peer at him through your mind’s eye.

He smiles fondly. You, Petal.

You cannot help it, the way your heart races in your chest from his sudden admission. Sure, you figured it out before he said it, but that still does not stop the effect his words have on you. Hearing someone say something that you’ve always longed to hear from a lover is always a shocking situation.

You dry your eyes, pulling away from Yeosang for the moment as Mingi steps back to give you some space as well.

Thank you for sharing this with me. You say gently, reaching out to him for the first time with your own mind and practically feeling the way he shivers from your touch. I appreciate it more than you know.

Of course, Petal. He responds just as softly. Thank you for listening.

Slowly, you close your mind to him once more, but not before reaching out to him for a final time.

The simple gesture of reassurance means more to him than you’ll ever know. A smile begins to tug at the corners of his lips as he continues to scout around the area for Miyeon, feeling his love for you grow at the genuine sorrow you felt for him as he shared those memories with you. He always knew you were perfect, and this just proves it even more.

Sitting back properly in your seat, you wipe at your eyes once more. “Please tell me you stopped seeing her after that.”

“After what she did to Yunho, we all wanted nothing to do with her.” Mingi confirms, a growl on his lips as if he’s recalling the same memories you have just been shown.

“If you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us.” Seonghwa adds, a snarl pulling at his features.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Wooyoung or San as furious as they were when that happened,” Jongho admits with a low puff of air escaping him.

“It made us question everything she did in our relationship,” San says. “We couldn’t trust-“ he practically cringes at the hypocrisy of his own words, “we couldn’t trust her.”

“So, you ended it.” You fill in the rest for them.

“Without a second thought.” Hongjoong speaks after so long remaining silent. “None of us wanted anything to do with her after that.”

“Yet, she still persisted.” Jongho sighs, exasperatedly.

“Which is why she hasn’t let go of us, even until today.” Mingi mirrors his brother’s sigh, rubbing at the side of his neck.

“She couldn’t handle the fact that none of us wanted her anymore, and that we wouldn’t fall prey to her little games she loved to play,” Seonghwa says, moving slightly backwards to lean against the wall behind him.

You nod along to his words until you realize one sticks out to you in particular.

“Wait, you said ‘us’,” you look at the eldest at the far end of the counter. “Do you include yourself in this?”

Seonghwa hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip as his eyes glance briefly around at all of his brothers who now stare at him expectantly. Even they seem to not know this particular detail about the eldest.

“I never liked Miyeon,” he begins. “She always drove me up the walls, but there were times-“ he hesitates, averting his gaze to the side as if ashamed, “times where I couldn’t deny the tension between us.”

“Oh my god,” the phrase is escaping you without another thought as your hand comes up to cover your mouth. “She cheated on you with your brother.”

Hongjoong, San, and Mingi all share a chuckle between them.

“What? What’s so funny?” Your brow furrows, looking around at all of them.

“Starlight, she didn’t cheat on us with our brother,” Mingi grins softly, heart warmed by your concern. “It’s the same reason we weren’t mad when Yunho wanted to court her while we were already in a relationship with her.”

“I don’t understand,” you shake your head slightly, lips tugging downward in confusion.

“She approached us about adding the others to the relationship,” San explains. “Which is why when she pulled that stunt with Yunho, it shocked all of us.”

“She knew I was never going to accept,” Jongho says, “but that didn’t stop her from always trying to get to Yeosang.”

“I was never going to accept either, but she thought making it seem like she wanted all of us would open me up to the idea of wanting her.” Yeosang’s voice is low as he lets out a long exhale through his nose.

You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers beneath the counter as you give him a soft squeeze. Almost instantly, he squeezes back.

“Though, we never knew she bedded Hwa until just now,” Mingi shoots his brother a pointed look.

“To be quite honest, it happened shortly before Yunho confessed to her, so I didn’t feel comfortable talking about it until now.” Seonghwa admits, shoulders sagging in regret. “If I could take it back, I would. I was only a pawn in her game. A triumph of victory. Another notch on her bedpost.”

“She used you.” You state the obvious, blinking once as Seonghwa’s gaze lifts to meet yours. “She only slept with you to say that she could, and that was it.”

“Exactly,” Seonghwa nods, his eyes slipping closed as he leans his head back against the wall. “Which just makes me wonder about Yunho.”

A moment of silence passes over the kitchen, the ticking of the clock all that can be heard throughout the space.

“It’s all my fault.” Yeosang breathes, staring down at the counter intently in front of him.

“Don’t say that,” you’re quick to comfort him, dragging your intwined hands onto your lap to place your other one overtop of his.

“It is, though.” Yeosang looks around at all of his brothers. “The day Yunho was going to confess, she came to me. She boasted about sleeping with Seonghwa that previous night to me, trying to make me jealous. Only, I wasn’t having it. She made - makes - me sick. Which is why when she came onto me, I pushed her away. I told her that I had never wanted her, nor would I ever.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, thinking back to the words she so harshly spit at Yunho the night of his confession.

“She took it out on him.” Yeosang continues, eyes once more downcast. “If I had just given her what she wanted then, none of us would be in this mess now.” He turns to look at you, nothing but pain and fear hidden behind his eyes, shining with a certain type of sorrow you’ve never seen from him before. “You wouldn’t be in danger now.”

“Yeosang,” the hand you had placed on top of your intertwined ones raises to cup the side of his face, noticing how he leans almost immediately into your touch as his eyes flutter shut. “This is not your fault.”

You take a moment to look around at all of them.

“None of this is any of your faults.” You say, and you notice the immediate effect your words have on all of them, a sort of weight lifting from their shoulders. You turn back to Yeosang in front of you. “It was completely within your right to deny her. She does not own you, nor is she entitled to anything you have to offer her. You are your own person who made his own choices, just as she made hers. I am repulsed by how she used you. All of you. I am disgusted by her vile attitude and personality. She does not own you, nor do you owe her anything.”

“It’s been twenty years since we’ve let her go,” San confesses. “Yet she can’t seem to let go of us.”

“I don’t think it’s you she can’t let go of, but the feeling of power you all gave to her.” You state, and you watch as his eyes widen, sharp inhales echoing around the room. “She believes I’ve taken her place now. Probably believes I’ve stolen you right out from under her nose.”

“You could not be more correct.” Hongjoong breathes out, chest swelling at how keen your observation and deduction skills are.

“She wants to hurt you in the ways she believes you hurt her,” you continue. “Which is why I’m assuming she hates my guts.”

“Again, you would be correct,” Mingi nods, swallowing the dryness in his throat.

“To be honest, I knew there was something off with her when we met yesterday,” you mutter, frown tugging at your features as you pull your hand away from Yeosang’s face, much to his discontent. “I should have known she was another demon, especially given the way her eyes flashed.”

“She flashed her eyes to you?” Seonghwa asks, pushing himself almost immediately off of the wall as anger swirls within his chest.

“I’ve been around you guys enough to notice when your eyes start to swirl with that familiar blackness,” you shoot him a look as you see his eyes doing the same now. “Plus, there was the way Reina was acting.”

You inhale sharply, a cold chill running down your spine as panic seizes your entire being. You hand subconsciously squeeze Yeosang’s tighter in worry.

“Reina,” you look around at them frantically. “She’s going to kill my friend.” Then, your eyes widen. “My family.”

You glance between all of them, the fear clear on your features

“If she is as good at mental manipulation as Yunho implied, she’s been controlling my best friend this whole time.” You lean forward, dropping Yeosang’s hand as you rest your elbows on top of the counter in front of you, cradling your head in your grip. “She has access to all of Reina’s memories. Reina knows almost everything about me. She can find my other friends, my family.” Your whole body begins trembling. “I practically admitted to her yesterday that hurting them hurts me, oh my god.”

“Starlight, shhh, it’s okay,” Mingi shushes you, drawing your gaze to him as he steps up beside your seat and pulls you into his chest. “We’ve already got it covered, you don’t need to worry.”

“But-“

“Shhh, no ‘but’s!” Mingi chuckles, finally being the one able to cut you off like this for once.

“What else do you think Yunho and I have been doing while we’ve been gone, Gorgeous?”

You peek out from Mingi’s chest to see both Wooyoung and Yunho standing just inside the threshold to the kitchen.

“Reina?” You tentatively ask, sitting up further in your seat as you turn your full attention to the males standing by the doorway.

“Safe, and free from Miyeon’s control.” Yunho replies with a soft smile and a nod of his head.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “I knew she would never make those types of comments to me herself.”

“She wouldn’t?” San inquires, no skepticism in his voice.

“Of course not,” you shake your head. “She has enough issues with people questioning her pansexuality, so it just wouldn’t make sense. It’s why it caught me so off guard yesterday.”

“Ah,” Hongjoong replies knowingly, “I see.”

You turn back to the two males standing by the door. “My family? And friends?”

“All safe,” Wooyoung smiles back at you, quite widely. “You don’t have to worry. She won’t be able to get to them, or use them against you any more.”

Softly, you stand from your seat, using your one hand to gently push Mingi away from you for the moment as you approach the two males standing across the way. You say nothing, eyes shining with the sincerity of your emotions as you come to stand before them. You can feel every pair of eyes on you as you do so, though none are as focused as the two in front of you are right now.

Then, slowly, you meet each of their gazes before reaching out to cup Wooyoung’s face in your hands. You stare deeply into his eyes, and you can feel the way he tenses beneath your touch.

“Thank you.” You tilt his head to the side slightly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss onto his cheek.

“Of course, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung’s heart thunders in his chest, a pleased growl threatening to escape from happiness at any second. He can feel the tips of his ears burning, the blush spreading down his neck all the while as he allows the fingers of his one hand to ghost along the skin of his cheek, right where your lips had been only moments before.

Turning to Yunho, you meet his gaze, and you can feel a deeper understanding for one another pass through the air between you. Again, you reach over to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing tenderly over his cheeks as you meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” you breathe, staring deeply into his eyes as you bring your lips to his own cheek, letting them linger there for a moment longer before you’re wrapping your arms around his torso and pulling him into your chest. “For everything today.”

Yunho smiles, his arms wrapping securely around your waist as he pulls you in impossibly closer to his chest. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your scent deeply as everything you surrounds his entire being. “Anything for you, Petal.”

All too soon, you’re pulling away, and Yunho reluctantly lets you go. Only, he allows himself the pleasure of letting his hands linger on your arms, and he nearly hums in content at the way that you don’t seem to mind.

In the next second, you grab each of their hands in your own and lead them back over to the counter. You then return to your seat, noting how all four males surround you on all sides. Yeosang still sits on the stool to your right, followed by Wooyoung and Yunho who stand directly behind you, while Mingi steps back into you on your left.

Lifting your head, you notice the other four males having converged once more across the counter.

“So, that’s why you didn’t want me going off with Reina on my own for an hour yesterday.”

“We scented Miyeon in the mall earlier,” Hongjoong nods, eyes downcast as that all too familiar shame washes over him. “We didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I understand now,” you comment, pointedly looking between all of them, “but that does not excuse the way you acted.”

“We understand,” both Jongho and San reply simultaneously.

“We are sorry for treating you in such a way,” Seonghwa repeats their apology from earlier, his head downcast as he rests his hands on top of the counter.

You nod, allowing a small silence to settle over the kitchen between all of you as you let their words sink in. That is, until the sound of your stomach growling echos throughout the room.

“Betrayal,” you mutter, glancing upwards in slight annoyance before looking down at your stomach with an irritated look on your face.

“Are you hungry?” It’s Yeosang who asks you the question.

Sheepishly, you nod your head, a small heat rising to your cheeks as you spot the still unopened yogurt on the counter in front of you. Though, you notice Yeosang going to move off of the stool in the next moment, only for your hand to reach out and stop him, resting gently on his knee.

“San?” Said man’s head immediately shoots upwards at hearing his name fall from your lips, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Could you please hand me that bowl of fruit in the fridge?”

The man is moving before the words even finish coming out of your mouth, the door to the fridge practically being torn off its hinges as he pulls it open. In the blink of an eye, he has the bowl of fresh fruit in his hands, gently placing it on the counter before you after grabbing you a fork from the drawer.

You smile, and the sense of relief that washes over him is instantaneous. However, it’s your next words that truly have him weak in the knees.

“Thank you, Baby.”

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