#i wanted to use the poem for something. winded up not using it after all.

[feleshero]

Little Miss Hardy Came out to party And thieve 'til break of day!

Along came a spider, Who crawled down inside her And frightened Miss Hardy away.

[reiding-writing]

erotomania [ s.r ]

01 - exhortations

Summary:

You’d found yourself with a stalker, one who seemingly had a romantic obsession with you, and you had no idea what to do, except maybe confide in one of your team members.

WARNINGS: Signs of stalking, mentions of break-ins, fears of violence, mentions of panic attacks

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mild fluff

wc: 6.8k

main masterlist!!

a/n: so… i decided to start a series- considering chapter length it’ll probably only be three parts and i hope to have them out once a week but knowing my college schedule i’m not sure about that 😭

<poem used - ‘my fire, my flame’ by ariana alonso>

thank you guys for all the love on my other uploads <33

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

It started with a rose.

A single white rose left haphazardly on your doorstep.

You didn’t really think much of it, your neighbours had a white rose bush they regularly pruned, and you figured the wind must have blown one of the loose roses cut from it over to your porch.

You’d often find scattered petals and wilting rose heads on your lawn, blown over by the wind to no fault of the old couple living next door. Although you did have to admit that a full rose was something that had never blown over before.

But hey, sometimes these things happen right?

That was the same rhetorical question you asked yourself two weeks later when a blank envelope was posted through your letter box alongside your regular mail. It looked like a birthday card, the envelope a pale yellow and closed shut with a small white sticker in the shape of a rose. Curious.

You debated on whether to open it at first, not wanting to accidentally intrude on somebody else’s private business, but after a few days of deliberating you came to the conclusion that reading what’s inside might help you find the intended recipient.

You didn’t find anything of note in the envelope, just a folded piece of white paper with a typed out romantic poem imprinted on its inner side. It was odd for sure, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You ended up throwing the envelope away. As much as you would’ve liked to have delivered it to its rightful recipient there just wasn’t enough information for you to do so. You just guessed that it was a teenager trying to romance one of their classmates and had posted their efforts through the wrong door.

It was harder to brush off the new succulent lining your kitchen windowsill.

You’d come home to your house after four days spend in Iowa on a case, absolutely exhausted. So much so it took you three separate trips in and out of your kitchen to realise that the three succulents usually lining your window had now been increased to four.

At first you just thought it was your exhaustion getting to you, but you knew for a fact that you’d only bought three. Garcia had made you pick them out specifically. And this new fourth one didn’t fit in.

You examined the new succulent closely, trying to figure out where it came from. It was a vibrant green colour, with small, round leaves that formed a rosette shape. Unlike your other succulents, this one had delicate white flowers blooming from its centre. It was a beautiful addition to your collection, but you couldn't help but wonder who had put it there and why.

You carefully examined the plant for any clues. There were no tags or labels indicating its origin, and it seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of your succulents, as if it had always been there. The thought of someone entering your home while you were away sent a shiver down your spine, but there were no signs of forced entry or any other evidence to suggest foul play.

You unfortunately didn’t have much time to mull over this new addition to your plant collection as the team were whisked away on another case, less than 24 hours after your last case finished.

Still, you couldn’t seem to get the small white flowers of the plant sat upon your windowsill out of your mind, and you were starting to question your sanity a little. Were you sure that you hadn’t bought four? Maybe you had. Maybe it’d been there the whole time.

“If it isn’t my favourite profiler, don’t tell Derek that,” Garcia almost immediately backtracked as she picked up the phone. “What can I do you for my sweet?”

“Hey Penny, just a random question, you remember when we went plant shopping a while back?” You held the phone up to your ear with your left hand, using your right to continue jotting down notes on the portable whiteboard the Montanna Police Department had provided your team with for the case you were working on.

“Oh of course I do my love. Why, Looking for a professional suggestion for your next addition?” You could practically hear Garcia’s smile through the phone as she spoke.

“No Pen, I just wanted to check something,” You let out a small chuckle at her exaggerated confidence in her knowledge of plants. ”Did I end up buying three succulents or four?”

“Three my love, two Chinese Jades and one Opalina I believe. Why’s that?”

“Oh no nothing, I was just checking which ones I’d bought with you and which ones I’d bought myself, thanks Pen,” You didn’t know why you felt the impulse to lie. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you that it was in fact you who had put the plant there. That you’d just been so busy that you’d forgotten about it. Either way you didn’t want to stir up the pot if you couldn’t prove anything was actually wrong.

But you also couldn’t rid of that feeling in the pit of your stomach that rose when Garcia confirmed you hadn’t bought the plant when out with her.

“Alrighty, anything else you need from her majesty of all knowledge?”

You give another small laugh at Garcia’s manner of speech. “No Pen, thank you.”

”Well then my dear, this lady’s got other fish you fry, I’ll catch you later,”

You hear the end dial through your phone before you can respond, a usual end to a phone call with Garcia, and whilst her little quips and jokes left you with a small smile on your face, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A pale yellow envelope.

You feel a sense of deja vu when you pick it up from the floor on the inside of your front door, seemingly slotted through your letterbox just like the former had been, white rose sticker holding it closed and all.

The difference this time however, was that when you turned the envelope in your hand it had your name inked on the front, scrawled out in a messy cursive that stained parts of coloured paper black, the ink having bled as the name was written from the sheer amount of pressure used.

That’s the moment that you started to panic.

You could put the signs together by now. A perfectly de-thorned rose on your doorstep. Messages posted through your door. A new succulent left in your kitchen after you’d expressed interest in them. It wasn’t just a series of coincidences, they were signs. Signs of something you didn’t particularly want to think about.

The last one was the worst. It meant that whoever had taken it upon themselves to form a fascination with you had somehow managed to get inside of your house whilst you weren’t there.

You triple checked the locks on your doors that night, leaving the new envelope unopened on your kitchen counter.

You ended up taking it to work the next day, tucked away in your messenger bag and left under your desk as you tried to distract yourself through with your files.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just overthinking. Maybe the indented recipient of the letter just happened to have the same name as you. Maybe this was just the last two weeks of continuous stress was just taking it’s toll on you and making you paranoid. You tried to convince yourself. But you knew.

“Excuse me,”

Your internal monologue was cut off by a soft voice, and your mind was momentarily wiped of your dilemma as you looked up towards the source of the noise, the small receptionist from the front of your floor.

“This was dropped off last night, I believe it was for you.”

In her hand was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and she held it out to you with a small smile.

“Oh, thank you,” You return her smile with one of your own, taking the package from her hand and watching her retreat back to her desk. You weren’t expecting anything delivered, were you?

Unwrapping the package only left you more confused. It was a leather bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, the cover a deep red and embossed with with gold roses and an intricate border, the book’s name embossed in a similar fashion in the cover’s centre, although flaking in some areas from the wear of the book.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned the book over in your hands, but as you opened the front cover that expression fell straight back into concern. A small rose, etched into the inside over in a black ink pen, fit with a single letter, ‘R.’

“Hey Spencer, uh- can I- borrow you for a sec?” You stand from your desk, walking around the cluster in the bullpen to stand behind Spencer’s, head buried in the files he was working on.

“Of course, what’s up?” Spencer took a second to look up, folding the folder closed and leaving his pen inside to mark the page. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah uh- I uh- Were you expecting a book delivery?”

You held the book out towards him, eyes silently pleading for him to say yes. A part of your brain still denied the inevitable, that it wasn’t some outside person who had been leaving things around for you to find. That there wasn’t someone who knew where you lived, and now where you worked, sending you eerily creepy ‘gifts’.

Spencer inspected the book in his hands, examining it closely with narrowed eyes.

“Not that I know of...” He looked up at you, eyebrow slightly raised as he handed the book back to you. “I already have this copy at home,”

Your stomach dropped a little when he confirmed it wasn’t his.

“Right, sorry,” You take the book back from him with a pursed smile, holding it in both of your hands and tapping your nails against the back cover.

You logically knew it wasn’t for him, Spencer was all for buying things second hand, but he would never pick up a book with this much wear and tear unless was a first edition owned by some prolific scholar, the spine damaged and the pages folded and scrawled with annotations that you weren’t sure you wanted to read, but hearing the confirmation just made it sink in a little further.

“Are you alright? You seem a little tense.” Spencer’s voice cut you out of another internal spiral, and you gave him a quick nod.

“Hm? Oh yeah i’m alright, thanks anyway Spence,” You give him a small smile and a half wave as you retreat back to your own desk with the book in hand.

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you sat back down at your desk, discarding the book behind your stack of files as if you couldn’t bare to look at it any longer.

Something seemed very off with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My fire, my flame,

My one and the same.

Swiftly swinging from life to end,

Through the times, we meet again.

My lover, my friend,

My mirror, my mend.

My fire, my flame,

No darkness can tame.

Ochre to blue, two as one.

Never unbroken, never undone.

Healing the hurt, flame dims down.

Fire prevails, doubt it drowns.

Forever and true, I am your blue,

The one you felt, the one you knew.

Drunken to sober, you are my ochre,

The one who inspires all my desires.

Over and over, we dance again,

Swiftly swinging from life to end.

It was nearly midnight, and yet you felt wide awake.

A part of you wanted to sleep, lay in bed and pretend that nothing was happening, but you knew that your mind wasn’t going to let you.

You’d sucked up the resolve to open the envelope you’d stored away in your bag, another poem left inside. Except this time instead of being typed out and printed, it was written in the same ink that had adorned its sleeve.

Some of it was barely legible, but you found the words ingrained in your mind almost as soon as you read them. They were sweet from a surface level, a message of true and eternal love, but under your circumstances the only emotions that it evoked from you was a mix of dread and fear.

Your mind soon flickered over to the book you’d left on your nightstand, and you soon found yourself curled up under your duvet with the book in hand, lamp left on both to aid your reading and provide you with a small sense of security in the warm light it cast over the walls of your bedroom.

The narrative of the story was what you’d expect, the traditional tale of Romeo and Juliet, but that wasn’t what you were interested in, it was the annotations, written in the same handwriting as the poem left discarded on your coffee table.

It seemed like a lot of references to love, mainly to the female protagonist in Romeo and Juliet, and you noticed that your initials and “R.” were written a lot.

It seemed that whoever had taken a liking to you really liked you... a little too much.

There were references to your personality, how much you loved things like animals, reading books and eating dark chocolate. They had even written that your favourite colour was burgundy.

You were starting to find this rather unnerving.

The part that really sent you over the edge into a panic was one line in particular, underlined so many times that there was a small rip in the page.

These violent delights have violent ends.

The book in your hand was soon replaced with your phone, held up to your ear as took in slow breaths through your nose.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You heard Spencer’s voice ring through your phone.

“Hey uh, I’m so sorry to call you so late but uh- Can I ask you for a favour?” The tone of your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, not at all aided by the small tremble of your hand.

“Yeah of course, anything for you, what is it?”

“Can I uh,” You hesitate for a second. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer responded quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just, don’t want to be on my own right now,” It wasn’t exactly a revelation. There had been a few instances where tough cases left the team feeling more comfortable spending the time after in the company of someone else.

Most of them had family or lovers as their comfort, but in the case of Spencer, not having any contact with his father and his mother institutionalised, and your parents living across the country, you often found comfort in each other instead.

“Thank you,”

It seemed like you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll see you soon?” Spencer’s voice was soft and understanding, and you found yourself increasingly grateful for his insomniatic nature.

“Yeah, see you soon…”

You let out a small breath of relief as you hang up the phone, piling some things into a backpack, tattered book included, before locking up the house and driving to Spencer’s apartment

The drive there seemed to be one of the longest drives of your life, constantly deliberating with yourself on whether to confide in Spencer about your theory. Part of you wanted to tell him, you knew with an outside objective view alongside his intelligence that he’d be able to find you a solution, but you also didn’t want to burden him.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door twice. “Spence?”

The door unlocked almost before you’re finished knocking, and Spencer stands on the other side, dressed in tardis pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, his brown hair a little flattened, presumably from tossing around in bed trying to get comfortable.

“Hey,” He stepped aside to let you in, adjusting the crooked glasses sat over his nose.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you so late, thank you for letting me come over-“ You blurt out a hasty apology for your intrusion as you take your shoes off at the door and slump down on Spencer’s couch, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

Spencer followed you with his eyes as he closed and locked the door behind you. “It’s totally fine, it doesn’t matter if it’s 2pm or 2am, you’re always welcome, you know that,”

Spencer smiles at you before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m being stalked-"

The words almost melded together with how fast you spoke them, and it’s only after the whole sentence leaves your mouth you realise that you’d blurted out the thing you’d been mentally fighting over telling him or not.

Well, so much for dealing with it on your own.

Spencer’s smile immediately disappears, being replaced with a look of concern. “Stalked? What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

You sigh softly at Spencer’s expression. There was no backtracking from this now. So you start right from the beginning.

“Well, a few weeks ago I found this perfectly pruned rose on my doorstep,"

Spencer listens to your explanation with a small nod. “Right…”

“But I wasn’t like concerned or anything because my neighbours have a rose bush, and I figured it was just the wind or something. You know, sometimes that kind of stuff happens right? But then over the last few weeks things keep turning up and I know that it’s not normal you know?”

Spencer’s look of concern only grows as you begin explaining, and he took a seat next to you on the couch. “What kind of things have been showing up? Apart from the rose?”

“Like two-ish weeks after the rose thing, there was an envelope posted through my door alongside the rest of my mail, and I ended up opening it because it didn’t have a name on the front and I wanted to to figure out who it was for right?”

Spencer gives you a small nod as a gesture for you to continue.

“I thought it was a birthday card at first, but I’m pretty sure it was a poem, it was just typed out and stuck in the envelope, no names or addresses or anything. So I just threw it out and moved on. I figured it was some teenager who’d posted a love note through the wrong door.”

You use your hands to gesture your explanation, your right leg bouncing absentmindedly as the nervous tension builds up in your body.

“And then after the case we had in Iowa I came home and instead of three plants on my kitchen windowsill there was four. And that was when I was like ‘okay something’s not right here’, and I even rang Penny to check and she confirmed that I’d only bought three,”

Spencer raises a brow, his expression furrowing further if that was possible. “Wait, it turned up in your house?”

You give him a small nod. “I checked all the doors and windows and everything but there was no evidence that anyone had broken in, and by this point I’m like genuinely questioning my sanity over whether I’d actually just bought this stupid plant myself and was freaking myself out over it, but then yesterday evening after I got home from the Airport I found another envelope by my front door, same colour, shape and everything, they even both had the same sticker keeping them closed, but this one had my name written on the front of it,”

By this point, your explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and by the time you had reached a comfortable place to stop, you were feeling short on breath.

“And you opened it?”

You respond to Spencer’s question with a nod, brushing a piece of hair from your eye. “I opened it an hour ago maybe?”

“And it was another poem?”

You give Spencer another small nod in affirmation at his prediction.

“Okay, what else? Did anything else happen?” Spencer’s hand reaches out towards the curve of your knee, effectively halting the nervous tic you’re using to release your tension.

“Well, I showed you this earlier-”

You bend forward to pull your backpack up onto your lap, rifling through it to pull out the worn copy of Romeo and Juliet to present him with it once more.

“it was left at the office’s front desk which half makes me want to believe that it’s not related, but I was reading the annotations earlier and they’re really specific and I freaked myself out which is why I called you in the first place-“

Spencer’s brows crease under the rims of his glasses as his eyes pour over the book’s cover again. “Who left it for you?“

“I don’t know Spencer that’s my issue," You sigh softly as you turn the book over in my hands. “Can you just read through this for me please? I didn’t finish it because I freaked myself out and then immediately came over here so-“

You over-explain your reasoning for wanting him to read through the book for you, figuring that if you could give him a valid reason then you would feel less guilty about asking him to do it in the first place.

Spencer takes the book from you hands whilst you’re still explaining yourself, beginning to flick through the pages one by one, pulling his middle and ring fingers down the page as he scans over the writing.

It’s times like these you’re thankful that Spencer’s reading speed is 85 times faster than the average person’s, and you find your eyes following his fingers as he traces them over the pages, taking note of how he bends his middle finger ever so slightly so that his fingertips are level with each other and how he keeps his index finger raised away from the paper’s surface. It was oddly distracting to watch.

It takes him little more than five minutes to have read through the whole thing, with him stopping a few times along the way to make a couple of comments as he does.

“Well he makes reference to your favourite colour, and your birthday...”

“....your job...”

“...and of course your name.”

“Jesus, the guy’s really obsessed with you isn’t he.”

You furrow your face as Spencer confirms your concerns, rubbing your hands over your legs as a self-soothing technique.

Spencer thinks again for a moment as he shuts the book in his lap. “I think you should spend the night here.”

You can see his gears are turning, the same cogs turning when he’s deep in a profile. He’s gone from being concerned to calculated. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“I don’t wanna burden you this is a me problem-“ You immediately shut down his suggestion despite you having stayed at his apartment on multiple occasions in the past.

You’d gotten an objective opinion on the situation. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need to drag him any further into your personal issues.

“Hey no,” Spencer shakes his head as he places the book down on the small oak coffee table in front of you. “You’re not burdening me, okay? You don’t have to be alone tonight, you can sleep here.”

“I’m not letting you leave now,” Spencer adds with finality. “You’re clearly anxious, and you look like you need to get some proper sleep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at Spencer’s insistence, flickering your eyes over to the book on the table, its embossing glinting slightly under the warm overhead light.

He might not exercise it often, but Spencer definitely knew how to put his foot down when he needed to.

“Thank you…”

“Hey, look at me?” Spencer waits until you look at him, then he offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “...Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

You give him a short nod with a pursed smile, not entirely convinced of his assurance but wanting to go along with it anyway for the sake of being able to calm down enough to at least get some sleep. “Okay,“

“Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ll talk this through in the morning.”

Spencer stands up, pushing himself up from the sofa with his hands and leaving into the bedroom. “Get as comfy as you’d like okay? I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave then stops at the door and looks at you one more time. “Oh, and... do you want to borrow one of my T-shirts?”

The invitation was obvious. “Uh yeah if you don’t mind…”

He gives you a small nod as he retreats into his bedroom, re-emerging a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, one of the pillows from his bed, and a black T-Shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “Here, my couch probably isn’t the comfiest place to sleep but-”

He hands the T-shirt over to you with a small smile, stacking the blanket and the pillow on the end of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Spencer, I’m grateful for you even letting me in let alone letting me stay over on such short notice,” You return his smile with one of your own as you take the shirt from him, retreating into the bathroom to change into it.

You feel the soft cotton against your bare skin as you pull the fabric over your head, noticing that it’s been washed recently, and it still has a slight smell of Spencer’s cologne. It falls quite low, Spencer having to have bought a bigger size than he realistically needed due to the length of his torso.

Your mind continues to run rampant as you exit the bathroom, a mix of the overwhelming stress of your situation and the conflicting feeling of serenity from the solicitude radiating from Spencer.

It was a lot to process for it to be just 1am.

You basically collapse onto Spencer’s couch, burying your head into his pillow with a groan and unfolding the blanket to throw it over yourself.

“If you need anything, anything at all just wake me up okay?” Spencer continued to express that kind compassion that made your chest tingle a little, definitely not helped by the faint scent of his cologne radiating from his pillow, joined by a trace of lavender, most likely an essential oil he’d been using in the hope it would help him sleep better.

“Yeah, thank you again Spencer, it really means a lot.” Your voice is half muffled by the angle of your head against the pillow as you crane your neck to look at him.

“It’s really no problem. You’re always welcome,” He switched off the small lamp keeping the living room, dimly lit, allowing it to fall into a comfortable darkness. “Get some sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you Spence…” Spencer gives you one last smile, joined by a half wave that you found more endearing than awkward, before leaving for his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

For the next half hour or so you lie awake on his couch, trying in vain to sleep despite the rampaging thoughts running through your head. It was only when you heard Spencer open the door and quietly enter the room that you finally turned your head to look at him.

The surprise on his face told you that he hadn’t expected you to be still awake. “Why are you still up?”

“My mind’s running a million miles a minute, why are you up?” Your voice is partially hoarse from tiredness, and you shift around on the couch until you are lying facing in his direction.

“Just wanted to get a glass of water…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as his eyes trail over the position you’re lying in, clearly feeling a sad-sympathy at your mind’s insistence at you staying awake. “Hey, can I try something?”

Spencer slowly makes his way over to where you’re lying, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you.

“Sure?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, rubbing one of your knuckles over your eyelid. Spencer smiles at your reaction, extending his hand palm-up.. “Alright... can I have your hand please?”

“Should I sit up?” You extend your right hand towards him, using your left to prop yourself up onto your elbow.

Spencer shakes his head. “No, no, keep being comfortable... I think I know how to fix your problem.”

Spencer then reaches out and takes your hand firmly in his, holding it between both of his hands with your palm facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

You give him a short nod in expectancy, eyes flickering between the way his hands hold yours and his eyes as you lie on your back.

His hands were frigidly cold compared to the warmth of his apartment, but you couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable, it was actually quite soothing, a nice contrast from the small cocoon of warmth under the blanket.

Spencer slowly rubs his fingers on the inside of your palm, adding a gentle pressure first to the bases of your fingers and working his way down slowly, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your skin in small circles. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

You follow his guidance with no hesitation, relaxing back into the pillow beneath your head and closing your eyes as you focus on the feeling of Spencer’s fingers dancing over the palm of your hand.

“Just breathe in and out....” You can hear the confidence in his voice as he continues to move the pressure downwards, pressing his thumb against your wrist and gently massaging it.

“A lack of sleep is usually the cause of delayed melatonin production, and studies have shown that certain pressure points on our bodies can help speed up the process.” Spencer begins to explain the reasoning and process behind the gentle hand massage he’s giving you, his voice soft and quiet.

“It was traditionally used in China as a part of acupressure, with six identified pressure points on our bodies that encouraged the production of serotonin and melatonin to help with relaxation and reduce chronic pain, but in the present day it’s been adapted into a massaging technique to help people fall asleep.”

The softness of his voice paired with the gentle massaging of his fingers on your wrist quickly left you feeling more relaxed.

“There are two pressure points on different points of your ankles, one point on each foot, one between your eyebrows, one behind each of your ears, and one on each of your wrists.” You find yourself nodding along to his explanation absentmindedly as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his fingers.

“Although, the only pressure points that have been reliably linked to melatonin production are those on your wrists and behind your ears, here, lie on your side for me.” Spencer gives your wrist a gentle pull to encourage you to turn over, which you very gladly oblige to, humming a soft agreement as you turn to lie of your side facing him with your eyes still closed.

He gently slides his hand up the side of your neck, the coldness of his fingers sending a small shudder up your back, and he presses his thumb into the small gap between your jaw and the rest of your skull, rubbing it in slow circles.

You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh at the gentle pressure he’s applying, and Spencer can tell that you’re quickly falling into full relaxation. “The best results from acupressure occur after 3 - 5 minutes of continuous pressure and…”

His voice trails off slowly as he feels the tension in your jaw release, and he glances down towards your face, a small smile adorning his features at your relaxed expression. “…is best done in a comfortable environment…”

He continues to rub gentle circles into your skin for the next few minutes before gently removing his hand from you, standing up from where he was sat on the coffee table with a soft smile still gracing his features.

“Sleep well..” He whispers the words under his breath as he slowly retreats back to his bedroom, the glass of water he originally sought after completely forgotten about.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been a few days since you’d confided in Spencer about the stalking situation and stayed the night with him, and fit with a new set of locks on your doors, you’d gone back home to stay on your own.

You walk into the BAU office expecting to see Spencer at his desk like always, ready to talk through your next steps forward with him, except he wasn’t there. You check the watch on your wrist. 7:45. He should’ve arrived by now. Why wasn’t he here?

"Hey uh, do you know where Spencer is?" You approach Morgan over at the kitchenette, leaning against the counter top with your elbow.

“Good morning to you too lover.” Morgan gives a half-laugh at your lack of your usual greetings, making sure to throw in a tease about how the first thing you talk about is Spencer’s whereabouts, not something entirely unfounded considering how close you and Spencer had been getting over the last week or so.

“Ha ha very funny, do you know where he is?” You respond to his quip with a slight roll of your eyes.

Morgan shrugs his shoulder slightly, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Maybe he slept in,”

“Spencer Reid? The man with four wake up alarms?” You furrow your expression slightly. Something about Spencer not already being in the office didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay okay, maybe that was a bad guess, but I don’t know, who knows what he might be doing,” Morgan remains nonchalant if not a little heedless. “Maybe he stumbled on an antique Russian novel collection on the way to work or something,”

“He’s never late for work-“ You mutter to yourself under your breath, half-ignoring Morgan’s attempts at explaining Spencer’s lateness, and you pull your phone out of your pocket, dialling Spencer’s number and holding up the phone to your ear, the consecutive rings echoing out of your phone’s speaker.

Pick up Spencer.

If anyone on the BAU team would know Spencer’s whereabouts, it should be the two of you. And yet neither of you had any clue where he was.

The phone continues to ring until it reaches his voicemail. there’s no answer.

Something was wrong.

You try to call him again. Nothing. This was not like Spencer at all.

Your anxiety spikes as your subconscious links his lack of answering back to your stalking situation, What if Spencer was in danger? What if this stalker had followed you to Spencer’s apartment that night you stayed with him and now knew where he lived?

The minute your brain made the connection you were turning on your heels to exit the office, grabbing your car keys from your desk as you did so.

“Hey-” Morgan follows you over to your desk, putting an arm out as you try to walk past him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Spencer’s apartment.” You try to push Morgan’s arm out of the way, only for him to block you with his entire body instead.

“Slow your roll there turbo, everyone is late every now and again, that doesn’t mean we have to turn up to their house out of nowhere.” Morgan’s explanation would be logical under normal circumstances, but he didn’t know that you were being stalked. Nor did he know that this stalker had possibly found Spencer’s address due to your own stupidity leaving him in potential danger.

“Listen Morgan I appreciate your apprehension but I do not have time for this right now.” You manage to swerve your way around Morgan and push your way out of the glass doors of the BAU office, bee-lining it down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“Hey! Wait up!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the stairwell as he runs out of the office after you, only managing to catch up to you as you stop to unlock your car, and he blocks the door from opening with his hand. “What is going on?”

“Morgan, if you want to ask me questions, get in the car.” The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument, and Morgan can tell be this point taht you’re not alright, so he gives you a short nod and goes around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side.

Please be okay, please be okay...

That’s what’s going through your mind as you leave the BAU building, running the speed limit as you drive towards Spencer’s apartment with an awful feeling in your stomach.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?” Morgan begins his questioning as soon as you hit the main road.

“I think Spencer is in danger.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, both hands braced against the steering wheel as you turn a roundabout.

“Okay, listen.... I’m with you in the fact that this is very out of character for Spencer... but there’s no use in jumping to conclusions, okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, clearly concerned at how fast your mind linked Spencer being late with him being in danger. “Let’s just approach this calmly and rationally.”

“I am being rational.”

“No you’re not, you’re panicking,” Morgan gives your shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Just take a deep breath and a second to think.” Morgan’s voice was full of a calm, soothing reassurance even as you were clearly anxious. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if you don’t.”

“I know I know I’m fine-“

You open your palms against the steering wheel as if to emphasise your point, exhaling heavily through your nose as you pull into the parking lot of Spencer’s Apartment building, leaving your car parked at an angle across two parking spaces.

You’re thankful in this moment that Spencer lives so close to the office building, and you shut off the car quickly, exiting it with the same haste.

Morgan follows closely behind you as you jog across the concrete towards the entrance of the building, locking your car remotely as you pushed the outside door open and started your ascent of the stairs.

“Come on, calm down you don’t need to run-” Morgan called after you as he followed you up the stairs, continuing to try in vein to get you to take a step back and just calm down a little.

You didn’t listen of course, and you only come to a halt once you’ve reached Spencer’s apartment door.

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!James Potter but its just him shamelessly flirting with reader whilst she stands there stunned.

lifeguard!james potter x reader 4

prev

wc: 1874

cw: horny again

anon i love you ur a genius. this kinda ran away from me lol but i will def be using this again so look out for future parts of flustered r if this isn't quite what u meant!!

the next time you saw james wasn't for a few days. there'd been a few days of colder wind coming from the north -- not enough to be cold necessarily, but unpleasant enough you didn't particularly fancy sitting by the pool.

after two days of mediocre, sunless weather, a real storm came in. rain beating down from the time you woke up, you spent breakfast pondering how to spend the day. you didn't particularly want to spend the whole day rotting away in bed doing nothing and so called up marlene, begging her to pick you up in her parent's car to drive everyone to the shopping village. she was easy to convince, and soon enough you were all packed into the much too small car, singing loudly to the songs on the radio.

the village wasn't anything special, most of the stores were uninteresting, but it was all undercover which was ideal for a rainy day.

the group of you had already wasted an hour in the oxfam, trying on the most ridiculous outfits you could put together. sirius had even managed to turn a truly hideous cheetah print belt into something that looked honestly cool on him, much to the annoyance of everyone else. he tended to do that, though, it meant you had to work even harder to give him awful clothing items. the only one he truly couldn't pull off was a horrendous orange hand-knitted cardigan.

that easily became boring though, and you could tell the cashier was getting annoyed that clearly none of you intended to buy anything. so you left, wandering aimlessly until lily pulled you all into the bookstore. it was warm inside so no one put up much of a fight, splitting up to find their preferred genre. peter went to the historical fiction, lily to literary fiction, remus dragged sirius with him to the classics, marlene to science fiction and mary to fantasy. that left you to wander over to the romances. you weren't much of a reader, preferring the lighter subjects to lily's more serious.

finding the brightly coloured covers you began browsing before catching a glimpse of a mop of dark curls over the next shelf and narrowed your eyes suspiciously. there was no way...

"are you following me?" you asked, no edge in your tone. james looked up with a start, breaking into one of his golden retriever smiles.

"you're the one approaching me," he said, closing the book he'd been checking out.

"touché." you grinned, looking around for the first time to observe what section you were in -- plays. "i didn't know you were a shakespeare nerd under all that muscle. doesn't seem fair you get brains and brawn."

"graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." james looked much too pleased with himself and his shakespeare quotes, and you couldn't deny it was having some effect on your own 'pleasant fountain'. you stammered for a moment, lost for a response. no boy had ever quoted shakespeare to you before, and certainly not of such explicit content. truthfully, you didn't realise the world's most revered playwright wrote like that.

"what's that from?" you asked, desperate to get away from his innuendos before you did something you'd regret. plus, you really were curious, the only shakespeare you knew was from when you studied romeo and juliet in year nine and clearly that was becoming insufficient.

"venus and adonis, one of his poems. doesn't continue as happily, but i thought the line was nice enough."

"yeah," you managed through gritted teeth, "really nice." james only laughed at you, evidently enjoying having the upper hand in your banter. it was a testament to his goodness, though, that he didn't continue to hold it against you. instead, he settled down, going back to browsing and letting you hover next to him, answering whatever questions you had about the plays patiently. it was nice, you realised, looking over at him fondly before you caught yourself. you barely knew james, and just because he was a pretty face and a decent brain didn't mean you had to go boy crazy.

you stayed there for what felt like ages, quietly looking at the books until sirius came strutting around the corner.

"since when have you ever read a play in your life -- oh," he said, catching sight of james next to you. "who's this?" you could have sworn sirius gave him a flirty once over, but maybe you were just projecting.

"this is--"

"james," he finished, sticking out an enthusiastic hand. sirius raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in his eye that made your stomach drop.

"james the lifeguard? the one you thought was, and i quote, 'hotter than robert plant i swear to god' and who you would 'pay to suck his dick'? nice to meet you mate!" you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole as the boys shook hands, james looking significantly more confused than sirius (though not displeased).

"i hope you sleep with one eye open, black," you muttered, trying desperately not to make eye contact with either or let your blush show. you had an inkling you were failing.

"so james, you doing anything today?" sirius asked, and you could only feel the dread spreading throughout your body. james shook his head, quickly slotting the book he was holding back onto the shelf. when sirius invited him to spend the rest of the day with your friends your body had a physical reaction, an embarrassing half-flinch-half-jump that had both boys laughing at you.

you all reconvened outside the bookshop, only a few new books bought between you all. james had been introduced to remus and peter and the girls were all pleased to see him. it seemed like it was only you who was flustered, which seemed to be more common each time you saw him. you missed the first time you spoke when you had all the power.

sirius was the one who dragged you all to the record store, begging to check out their new stock.

"you know," james said as the two of you fell behind, "if you wanted to suck my dick you could've just asked, no payment required." this had to be the worst day of your life. you couldn't bear to look at james, already knowing the shit-eating grin you'd be met with.

"shut up," you mumbled weakly, "sirius is a dreadful dramatic."

he thankfully gave you a bit of a rest in the record store, taking the opportunity to talk to the boys as they perused the albums on offer. you definitely heard james and remus bonding over a love of bowie (not that it was a particularly niche interest) which made you smile.

while you were sure peter was being kind to james to his face, every time he turned away to look at something peter was quick to tease you, fanning his face like james was a supermodel or imitating a crude makeout. you responded with a firm middle finger, but it held no effect.

"i love that album," you said, pointing at the one james had picked up. it was bruce springsteen's born to run, a record you played in your room on repeat.

"i'm stupidly uneducated, i think i've only heard the singles. maybe we can listen to it together sometime, you can teach me his ways." you grinned, honest james was much easier to handle than flirty james.

"only if you're ready to listen to me fantasise about bruce," you said, "his eyes really do something for me."

"i have eyes," james said, pulling a giggle from both you and mary.

"guess so." it wasn't one of his better attempts at flirting, but it still drew a smile from you, so james didn't look too upset.

you didn't really talk to him again until you'd retired to the food court, all desperate for lunch. sirius had made sure you two were seated together, and you were suspicious of how much of a matchmaker he was being. you only wanted to jump his bones, you weren't looking to get married.

you'd just told an impeccable pun -- you knew it was good as the whole table began berating you -- and had caught james' eye by accident. he'd smiled at you in his lopsided way and rolled his eyes light-heartedly.

"i didn't picture you to have such terrible taste in jokes," he said, and you exaggerated a frown.

"and yet you're still talking to me," you countered, "so what does that say about you?"

"that i'm lucky." your mouth dropped open without your brain consenting. james had well and truly caught you off guard, an irritatingly perfect combination of earnestness and shameless flirting all rolled into one. you could feel yourself floundering, mouth opening and closing as you searched for anything to say. james was clearly enjoying his victory, cocky grin on display for anyone to witness. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, flushed with embarrassment (and lust) and not a single inkling of thought in your head.

you'd ended up on james' lap. it started with marlene offering james a lift home, not wanting to leave him walking in the rain. that led to the realisation you had far too many friends for seats; five available in the car and eight people. sirius had dibs-d remus' lap before the rest of you had even caught up to his train of thought, and lily and mary teamed up together shortly after. you were consequently assigned to james by the others, marlene obviously driving and peter refusing to even take part. you had sympathy for james, only an hour or two into meeting half the group and already pushed into doing their bidding because of remus' easy "you don't mind, do you, mate?"

and so you were sitting on his lap, not uncomfortable but definitely nervous. you'd imagined your first time being in his lap being slightly more sexy and autonomous.

"i'm not too heavy, am i?" you asked, hating how insecure you sounded. james just laughed softly.

"weren't you the one pining after my muscles? have a little faith in me!" james was unbelievably confident today, even more so than you remember him being in your previous meetings. you were the opposite, never having felt so meek around him.

you figured you couldn't be the only one experiencing the torture and so rolled the window down, pushing your upper half out and into the wind, laughing as you felt the rain on your skin. whilst enjoyable for yourself, it also required you to shift your position on james' lap and stretch out your torso, giving james a good view of your bra from under your sloppily done, homemade crop top. the combination was clearly effective if the development in his crotch was anything to go off. plus the way he held your hips to keep you concealing his little problem was telling you all you needed to know. another little wiggle from you and his grip tightened to almost bruising, but far from unpleasant. maybe james could flirt, but you had tricks you weren't above using.

[jake-g-lockley]

Hi could I please request with any of the moon boys afternoon in the public library selecting a lot of books because they keep finding different ones by author's you love and they're carry them all and the elderly lady behind the counter thats been watching says that they are a lovely young man and a keeper. Thank you 💜 😊

Escape (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: EEEE THIS WAS A CUTE IDEA. I had done something similar with the other two babies, so I hope you don’t mind me choosing Jake <3 yes the most unlikely place you’ll find this man is the library but let's go with it hehe.

Word Count: 1.6 k

Love can be blinding, and Jake feels like it is blaring in his ears through sonnets and poems. He learned from you that to love is to not hurt, but to let things be. To love is to be free. Your tender beauty and kindness had been his pride’s undoing. He didn’t realise that his heart got snatched away until it started beating by the song of your own heart.

The first time he met you, nothing in this universe could have prepared him for the blinding reality that he was going to face. He was so caught off guard by your appearance that he seemed to forget his own name. You had flagged down his cab, hair bellowing in the wind as the first droplets of rain hit the windscreen of his cab.

You immediately had struck up a conversation with him, jabbering away about how a crow stole your bagel in the morning. Jake couldn’t help but laugh at your story, letting your soothing voice rub at his hardened edges.

“Here, call this if you ever have another bad day. You don’t have to flag another cab, just give me a call.” Jake found himself saying, slipping you a note along with your change.

“Oh, you’re too sweet, you don’t have to do this!” You sighed but in reality, you wouldn’t know whether you had the willpower to not call him immediately after he dropped you off at the place you needed to be at.

And that’s exactly what you did. Jake Lockley, the handsome cabbie, became one of your closest friends. He had a sense of humour that made you feel at home, you’d always end up laughing a little too hard when Jake would cook up a joke. Soon, you were sitting in the front seat of his cab and he switched out his newspaper boy cap with sunglasses that complemented the vibe of his curly hair. You often found yourself looking longingly at him wherever he would blast the radio and start singing along to your favourite songs.

Today, you asked him whether he wanted to hang out at the library and he immediately texted you a yes, picking you up in less than 20 minutes. Jake watched as you rolled the window down, letting the wind blow in your hair as you smiled blissfully. The weather was tolerable and Jake was extremely happy. Your leg bounced as it usually did and Jake fought the urge to place his hand on your thigh and steady it, instead choosing to grip the steering tighter.

You skipped up the stairs of the library once you got there, and Jake followed you, absolutely mesmerised by the spring in your step. Once you realised that you were getting too far away from Jake, you hung back and took a hold of his hand, surprising him. He lurched forward, his chest colliding with your back. He immediately murmured his apology, still in awe with you.

You breathed in deeply, the scent of the library filling your lungs with a deep memory. Your grandma used to bring you here and read you books and she encouraged your love for them.

“If you wanted to escape, this is the safest way to do it, child.” she used to say and that's what you did every weekend.

Why did you bring Jake with you then?

The question plagued your mind as you pulled him through rows of books, the sound of Jake’s boots thudding against the carpet the only thing keeping you held down to Earth. Slowly, you let go of Jake’s hand and trailed off, absolutely enamoured by the books before you. Jake slowly drifted off too, his headmate begging for him to pull one of the books that he really needed from the shelf.

Jake rolls his eyes and pulls the book before turning to look for you. All his eyes saw were the rows of books, you nowhere in sight. Jake shakes his head and smiles to himself, gently tapping the spine of the book with the palm of his hand. It wasn’t long before he found you. A stack of books were balanced on your hip and supported by one of your arms, the other hand holding a book too close to your face as you scanned the page. You readjusted yourself as one of the books began to slip from the stack and Jake hurried forward.

He eased out the books from your grip and held onto them. You turned and smiled at him, blinking up at him with big eyes that made him feel mushy inside. You stood on your toes and placed the book you were holding on top of the pile Jake was holding, before placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone. Jake’s face flamed red hot. He’d never been kissed on the cheek before and he didn’t know how to react.

“Thanks.” he mumbled and his headmates roared with laughter like an old Hollywood laugh track.

“You’re welcome.” you smiled and turned, walking towards the next shelf, feeling proud of yourself for that move.

“She’s walking you like a dog, mate!” Steven chuckled as Jake began to float behind you again.

“As if you won’t literally pass out if you were fronting.” Jake huffed under his breath.

You frowned at the shelf, realising the book you wanted wasn’t there. You decided to ask Beatrice, the little old lady at the counter to check the records for you. Beatrice was already smiling at you, her favourite regular but there was something odd about her smile.

“Heya, Ms. Bea! I just need a title searched in the system.” you politely asked with a smile.

“Hi, darling, sure.” with a few taps of her keyboard, she announced where the book was and you grinned excitedly, almost uttering your thanks when Beatrice smiled at you again.

“You aren’t going to introduce me to the beautiful boy hiding behind the books?” she asked, and gave you a pointed look and your eyes widened instantly.

“Uh, yea! This is Jake, Jake this is Ms. Beatrice!” you quickly introduced them.

Jake carefully set the books onto the counter and took the lady’s hand, kissing the back of it. Beatrice giggled like a school girl and you gave Jake an exasperated look.

“Oh, dear, I most definitely approve. This one here is a keeper, alright.” Beatrice says and now it was your turn to cosplay a red tomato.

Jake let out a beautiful laugh that ringed deep in your heart.

“Really, trust me, my husband was like you, still is, comes here everyday bringing me lunch. I thought romance was dead but I’m so glad to see it blooming amongst the paths of unsaid words.” Beatrice says, clutching her and to her heart as she looks between the two of you.

Jake and you were frozen to the spot, your eyes as big as owls. You snapped out of it first, thanking Beatrice and pulling Jake with you, who quickly scooped the pile of books in his arms and followed you.

You quickly found your reading corner and sat down, Jake following suit.

“Sorry about Beatrice.” you say after the loud thudding of your heart settled.

“Why are you sorry about Beatrice?” Jake was taken back, out of all the things you could have said, you choose to say that.

“You’re probably weirded out by what she said, about romance and all.” you mumbled, hanging your head.

Jake was still confused at your words, trying to absorb them as silence enveloped the two of you.

“You know what, I really do not know what to say, so I’m just gonna show you.” Jake says, lifting your chin up and leaning towards you before you could make out what was going on.

His lips met yours so gently that you thought he had touched your lips with flower petals. Your eyes were wide open and you struggled to comprehend what was happening. Jake snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you against him, making your mouth drop open with a gentle lick of his tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed and you found yourself losing yourself to the momentum that had been caused by Jake hurling your relationship past the cliff of a very unknown cavern.

You were kissing Jake, you were kissing Jake fucking Lockley.

He pulled away first, keeping his face incredibly close to you.

“Okay, now I know what to say. I’m not the kind that particularly chooses to love romance but I think I’ll be okay if it is with you.” he shrugged. “Besides, I also think I don’t mind you seeing me old and wrinkly like Ms. Bea’s husband.”

You were stunned, this was not the way you intended your day to go. Your eyes welled up in tears and you busied yourself by taking Jake’s hand in yours and kissing his knuckles before holding it close to your chest.

“I was in love with you the second you threw the door of my cab open. Didn’t expect you to call at all, but when you did I felt like I took my heart and threw it at you, to hear your voice through my phone, that was everything to me.” Jake continued, gazing lovingly into your watery eyes.

“I might be in love with you too, Lockley.” you sigh, a teardrop escaping as your eyes closed. “Everynight, you’re in my dreams and you’re my escape.”

Jake let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and gathered you close. It was going to take a lot to get him away from you. You soon found yourself with your head in his lap, your longing drifting into pure bliss as his soft poetic voice filled the air with beautiful words.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes (where’d she go 🥺) @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @pimosworld

[anothertransauthor]

Ok I’m antsy to write something starting out just to see what I can do. I’m going to start with the ABC sfw list first for the band + Charles. If you want to see any additional characters you can comment or ask!

ABC Headcannons (SFW) Nathan Explosion

Summary: like I said this is Nathan’s full ABC list. I’m going to be as detailed as I possibly can for your viewing pleasure ;). I’m feeling Pickles or Murderface next.

Warning: slight angst // dipping into they’re toxic traits they’re learning to overcome

Word count: 4,410 words (oops!)

.. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Nathan is a bit apprehensive at the start of your relationship due to his rocky previous ones. He likes you, don’t get him wrong, but he’s never really gotten the chance to get so close to someone like he has with you. He’s still trying to wrap his head around how he hadn’t scared you away when he thought you were just some fan. Still you wiggled your way into his Iron Maiden heart, open for you to remove the defensive impalers he’d put up.

After he’s learned to accept the affection you bestowed upon him graciously, and patiently might I add, he uses the tactics he’s learned from you to be a better boyfriend. He asks about your day, genuinely enthralled by your voice. Nathan swears he could listen to you for hours even if you really weren’t talking about anything.

Massaging his shoulders and back was always the key to calming him down whenever he was insatiably irritated. He figured it would surely get his message across to you, who doesn’t love the intimate act of vanquishing the poisons of a stressful day with your own hands? It didn’t matter where you were, if you weren’t having a good time he’d find some way to expel the tension. Say you were backstage with the band after a show and you were overwhelmed with the lights and the noise, he’d take your hand and gently massage it thoroughly. He’d roll his thumb pads over each finger, each knuckle- no joint left aching. Even if he only held one hand, every inch of that hand would be tended to. If they were cold, clammy, and anxiously shaking, they were surely warm and quelled now. Despite Nathan’s stature, despite his large hands, and despite what his attitude had lead you to believe, he was gentle with his hands.

When all else failed, Nathan resorted to what he was best at to convey just how much he adored you. Writing was always Nathan’s go to outlet to organize the scrambled thoughts in his mind, it’s apparent in his music- brutal poems that paired with equally intense music. Racing thoughts and far away words always made more sense when he put the pen to the paper, the unmoving paragraphs further cemented everything he felt. You had started a notebook to house all of the eloquent letters he’s written for you to remind you that at the end of the day you were the one he’d return to. Your heart was home to his.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Nathan is all about going out and doing things with people he’s particularly friendly with. Expected to go on your fair share of road trips and lots of camping. It’s all the activities he enjoyed with his dad, he considered him a friend so why wouldn’t he bring his friends along for the experience?

You never took Nathan to be a survival buff, but given his himbo nature you weren’t that surprised. He’s taught you a lot about being in the wilderness whenever he had time between records.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Oh my gods, if his arms aren’t constricted around you he will not sleep well that night. Your warmth has become so incredibly soothing to him, he falls asleep almost as soon as your head rests on his chest. Nathan is essentially a 250 pound teddy bear at the end of a rough day where all he wanted to do was wind down with you. He really enjoyed how your smaller frame slotted with his, how natural it felt to wrap his arms around you and stay like that forever.

Nathan had a 3 point plan when it came to his night time routine with you; Step one: acquire the snuggle bug (a nickname he’d drunkenly bestowed upon you when you both retired to his room after a drinking contest with pickle), Step two: profit, Step three: uhhhhh. Ok so maybe it was more of a two point plan, but his point still stands.

If the secret softie couldn’t fall asleep as fast as he’d intended, he’d watch the rhythmic rise and fall off of your chest as you slumbered peacefully against his big burly chest. His hands would slip under your shirt to rub your back, or stomach depending on how you slept that night, in idle circles. The feeling of your skin no matter if it was smooth or blemished, he never cared either way, soothed him more than he thought it could. You were real, you were here- with him! And gods did you look exhilarating in his arms, trusting him completely as you dreamed.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

There was something in Nathan that constantly made him want to impress you as your relationship grew increasingly more docile. He picked up more around the areas the two of you occupied most at Mordhaus; cleaning up the empty beer cans and putting away any stray bongs or other illicit drugs that were littered around the main room the previous night, or he’d take the time to clean his room and bathroom a tad more he usually would when it was just him. It was never about getting a deep clean, he wasn’t embarrassed to have you over when his room was messy, yet something about you made him more motivated to do more than just sit on his ass with you.

Settling down never crossed his mind until you, that was always something he’d associated with parents and old people- you settled down when you wanted to start a family and give up your career and anything that gave you substance. It was always love or hate when he thought about it. On one hand, he absolutely loved you and wanted to spend his life with you. His parents always seemed so happy with each other even after all the years they’d spent together, so maybe it couldn’t be too bad. Yet on the other hand he wouldn’t give up the band or the empire he built for you, you never wanted him to.

Who said you two had to slow down or give up to settle completely into each other? Nathan’s wanted to settle up with you, so he’d said, to never slow down or stop experiencing the fast life he was so accustomed to.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

The way Nathan would break up with you depends on how deep he was into the relationship with you. He wouldn’t have any qualms about bluntly telling you to stay out of his life if he wasn’t feeling it, and he would tell you the moment the thought arose. He’s been with a few women who’d overstayed their welcome and he’s learned not to dance around it if he wanted the comforting discomfort of his loneliness back. Alternatively, if he’s been invested, gave a shit, and was receptive to you opening your soul to him, he’d be more delicate. Whether it was a fault on his end, or you had finally had enough of his baggage he could feel it. He could feel when your laugh didn’t hold the same joy in it like it used to, your eyes didn’t look at him with the enthusiasm he’s grown accustomed to anymore. When Nathan noticed the signs, it was the most brutal pain he’s ever felt, emotionally that is. He never wanted you to feel like you were trapped with him, it’s just as bad if not worse for sticking around just because he was famous in his eyes.

Much like his affection for you, the man has to put all of his feelings, all the words he has left to say to you, and his best wishes for you all on paper. It’s not a script mind you, more of a practice for how he’d approach you. He felt pitiful as he stood in front of his mirror as you slept in the bed just feet from him, mumbling tiredly as he rehearsed the best approach. Nathan didn’t want to completely break your spirits or guilt trip you, the only thing that has brought him joy was your happiness and even if you had to find it with someone else he’d be content knowing you weren’t forcing something that had died out a long time ago.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The moment he felt like he could talk to you openly without the guard of his walls, he knew he wanted to be yours forever. Mind you this would be over the course of at least a couple of years as you grew with the band. He was a busy man and in the beginning he’d rather do anything else that sit down to have a conversation he thought he’d regret at the time.

And now here he was five years later, the best version of himself that he’s been in gods knows how long, commissioning a ring he’d deem as the perfect oath to you. He’d been planning this for the last six months, between working on the music and getting his band mates to swear on their lives that they wouldn’t fuck anything up the time has passed him by. When everything was perfect he put his plan into motion. While on some vacation he’d pull you aside, away from the band and any prying eyes and propose to you. He’d been so caught up in not crying that he definitely didn’t notice Pickle and Toki recording him while skwisgaar recovered from his preemptive cringe to see everything went surprisingly well.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

While Nathan was essentially a brick wall, he has learned to carry himself a bit lighter while he was around you. He used to be heavy handed whenever he handled you but since then he figured out how to turn the brutality meter down. Not to say he didn’t rough house with you, play fights were a guarantee.

Emotionally, it took several trials and tribulations to find that sweet spot he could handle. While he did figure out how to talk a bit easier with you there were still certain topics he’d be blunt and a little hurtful, though it’s never his intention. There’s just some things he needed to work through himself before he drug you into it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Nathan’s arms are two heavy magnets when it comes to you. Anytime you were cooking, washing dishes, or hell just standing around, you’d come to expect Nathan to hug you from behind at any given moment.

He’d also liked to pick you up just to marvel at how light you were! He also enjoyed how you’d instinctively wrap your arms around him but don’t tell him I told you that. Any time he could have you like that he would, most often pulling you in his lap no matter where you were (it was also a tactic to scare any wandering eyes).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Just like with the engagement, he would tell you the moment he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. It took a lot of time, you showing your love for him through your actions so you didn’t scare him off. Nathan is grateful for it and it certainly had him thinking about it. With each passing day he grew more confident that his feelings were concrete.

When he told you, it wasn’t anything special, hell if you ask him he probably wouldn’t remember what you were doing when he did. You could have been laying in bed, you humming a soft tune and he was just laying there. Whatever the case was he wanted to catch you in your most candid moment, being the you- the person he fell for, before he finally said those three magic words.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

It’s Nathan fucking Explosion. You were the one thing he truly had any incentive to keep for himself and himself alone. If he so much as catches anyone glancing your way they caught his cold intimidating glare in response. He knew better than to make a scene, the first incident nearly killed you with how embarrassed you were. He definitely pulled the “do you know who I am” card and slung a few swears, very loudly might I add.

He would take every step he could to keep you close to prevent anyone from making that move. Every possible chance he could get you were in his lap, leaning against his chest, or wrapped around his arm. It was definitely something he needed to work on, but it was gonna be a bit of a bumpy road. For now you appreciate the thought behind it at the very least.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

You had actually initiated the first kiss, but when he found his footing he found it. He was breathless as he watched you crawl over him, wanting to do something but didn’t want to scare you incase you changed your mind last minute. The kiss grew fervent quickly as his lips molded to yours in his own sloppy rhythm.

Usually when he was itching for a kiss you’d catch him staring at your lips and then quickly away nonchalantly. Other times, he’d turn your face from what ever you were doing or whoever you were talking to to steal a quick one. And no matter the length or intensity he always held so much passion with each connection.

Nathan was a sucker for kissing the top of your head. Whatever shampoo you used always seemed to lull the giant into a docile state as he hugged you from behind. Pickle mentioned it as something akin to witchcraft how fast you could switch up his mood. Alternatively, when he’d lay his heavy head in your lap he’d occasionally turn his head to kiss at your thighs. No matter how small or thick they were he adored how comfortable they were to lay on.

When it came to receiving, he was fairly partial to cheek kisses. It tickled him how gentle you were with him not matter what you did, even though you knew he was the farthest thing from fragile. As unbrutal as it was, he couldn’t help but enjoy every attack you’d unleash upon him, smothering his face in peppered kisses. In addition, he liked getting neck kisses, not even in a sexual way. Lately he’d say the most metal thing was waking up to your partner grazing their lips against his throat before following it up with a proper good morning kiss.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Children were very rarely an obstacle Nathan had come across, even when he did he had at least nough common sense not to act like a complete jack ass around them. He’d goof around, tell a grey joke and generally just get along until they could be done with the whole situation.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Nathan usually slept in so you were up before him most mornings. The man almost always had an iron grip around you preventing you from moving until you, playfully, threatened to piss the bed. Then you’d earned yourself a half asleep “ick” before the heavy limb was begrudgingly removed from you.

When both of you were finally ready for the day, the first thing you did together was stuff your faces with breakfast food and down some black coffee to shake off the rest of the sleep that plagued your systems. After a brief discussion of what your respective plans were for the day you’d go on about your separate ways.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It was never a guarantee when you’d settle down on any given night. Nathan was a busy man after all, and that included when he wasn’t doing anything music related. You couldn’t complain that’s just how the band was. Nearly constant procrastination to get stuff done was the only unchanging factor, so you were dragged around to all their adventures and shenanigans.

When you did finally retreat to the bedroom at the end of the night, the first thing on your itinerary was climbing into a shower. Lately Nathan’s skin has been breaking out from the stage makeup he wears, but fear not for you figured out a skin care routine for him. And it started with you helping him wash his face properly in the shower. Man has a 6-in-one that he uses for everything.

After showers always consisted of sitting on the bed, wrapped in towels while you talked about any and everything to procrastinate actually getting dressed and settling down. Remember how I said Nathan procrastinates everything? When you finally did get up to get dressed you very rarely went to your own closet, instead you opted just to take one of Nathan’s massive shirts so you didn’t have to sleep in pants.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It didn’t take long to realize that you weren’t going away that easily, and it took even less time for him to realize that you weren’t like a ‘normal’ fan of his. You had confided your fair share of secrets in him that he thought he wouldn’t care about. He found himself holding onto every word you said and realized that maybe he should let you in the metaphorical door. Usually it was small details or a look into how his thought process goes.

Whenever he told you something new it was seldom prompted. It was like you’d stumbled into a secret area in a video game while you were exploring, and the character you’d been trailing with suddenly drops some lore without warning. Despite how odd his patterns were it made him all the more intriguing to you, learning about him as an individual and putting the puzzle pieces together.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience was like a generator for him, the less stress he had plugged in metaphorically, the more patience he had. But as more and more things were piled on the battery drained faster. He tried not to be irritable around you, you never in your time with him ever gave him a reason to be mad. He didn’t want you to be in the splash zone if he snapped.

The only exception to the battery rule he had was if anything happened to you. He can remember all too vividly being at some bar full of regular jack offs with you and the band. Someone where in the background while you and the band were laughing about something Pickle had said, a bar fight had started. At first Nathan shrugged it off, it was annoying but it didn’t ruin the atmosphere. That was until one of them threw a half full bottle of Natty Light just above your head, having missed its initial target. The glass shattered and nicked your shoulder, the remaining booze that splashed didn’t do much to help the situation as you winced hardly at the stinging.

None of the band knew Nathan had hopped over the table until they heard him toss a couple of rage filled swears at the culprit.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Having always been slow to learn things, Nathan took it upon himself to keep a section of his notebook dedicated to your favorite anything. It could be as small as your favorite color or as important as an allergy you’d mentioned so he didn’t accidentally gift you something you couldn’t eat/enjoy. He would challenge himself to memorize important dates and names you’d told him in passing to surprise you when he asks about them later.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in their relationship?)

The singers favorite moment in the time he’s met you would probably have to be the first time he heard you sing. As insignificant as it may seem, he did really enjoy your voice.

He was walking back to his room after having a particularly frustrating conversation with Charles. When he grew closer he could hear muffled noises that sounded like humming. Slowly, he opened the door to see you standing by the window, looking out over the rest of Mordhaus as you sang. It was a song he’s never heard but you carried it so well.

Nathan shut the door quietly and made his way over, any frustration he had faded into the back ground. His arms wrapped around your waist and he had to bite back a chuckle as you squealed. The moment was short but it was the softest he’s felt for anyone ever, and he has you to thank for that.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

Much like the jealousy segment showcased, Nathan is usually on top of everything when it comes to your protection. He’s a fuckin brick shithouse so he can handle anything physically. During the course of your relationship with him, he’s most likely hospitalized a small country worth of people who tried to make any kind of move to hurt you— being in the spot light did have its risks you know.

Security ran deeper than just what he could do physically. Having to overcome fear and rejection, he’s learned a small handful of coping mechanisms. He uses that knowledge to help you whenever he recognizes the signs of panic or in general just discomfort. Sometimes you’d have to remind him that you’re ok, that it wasn’t that serious. He just worries about you!

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nathan’s parents were always he blueprint when it came to his perspective of love. When he got famous he never thought he’d reach it, but now that he has you he’s ecstatic to use every trick he’s observed in his youth. On dates and anniversaries expect a plethora of cliche gifts: big bouquets of roses, stuffed animals, jewelry.

He engraved each and every date that something important has happened on in his brain, and also written several times on calendars and in his notebook, so there was absolutely no chance he’d forget anything. He’s working with Charles to plan events and parties for your anniversary, the big fancy ones and not just something he’d usually throw together with the guys.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Nathan tends to shut down some days when he’d have a particularly bad dream…speaking of he’s rather private about his dreams. Any time you’d ask what was on his mind he refused to elaborate further than just “mm’bad dream..”

He was a diva in his own way, if it wasn’t perfect it wasn’t accepted. So many albums lost, green rooms wrecked, tours nearly ruined. Though it makes you uncomfortable to see him regress to tantrums sometimes, you chalked it up to the fame. These moments were small in comparison to your relationship as a whole.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Nathan takes at least some pride in his appearance, anything so he didn’t fall to Williams level. He did have an Old Spice 4-in-1: shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash. Why have so many products that all smelled different? It was a lot on his senses so he uses that so all of him was clean and smelled like…wait what did the bottle say? Congealed Liquified Corpse…it was a Dethklok x Old Spice collab. Brutal name aside, it actually made him smell earthy, piney even— it was a joke in a bottle.

Shower practice aside, he did the basics when it came to his actual appearance; he’d comb his hair, brush his teeth, wipe his ass. It did the job well enough and he was ok with how he looked.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely he would, you’d become his home. You domesticated the beast and he was forever putty in your hands. Without you, he’d feel lost. There was no hole in his heart, it was just gone— you were his heart. Any time you had to leave for some other business Charles had you doing, he’d just mope around alone in the room if he wasn’t distracting himself with the band. Even then, the party felt incomplete without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Nathan is very fluent in French, like he sounds like he grew up speaking it. He most definitely sweet talks you in French. Alternatively he would get away with saying the most outta pocket and down right filthy shit to you and no one has a clue until they see you quickly turn red.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner, he really doesn’t want just some fan— he’s been burned way too many times. They’re shallow and don’t even want to know who he is as a person, it’s slimy and not to mention very one sided.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

See his thre- uhh two point plan, in the cuddle section. He won’t sleep well if he isn’t tangled up with you. In addition if you sleep with any kind of noise going on, he’d adapt and now he can’t sleep without anything going on in the background. Noticing his infatuation with the ocean lately, you introduced him to whale songs to sleep to and boy howdy is he out like a light whenever you turn it on.

Ok I got a little carried away, but I’m really proud of it! Let me know what you think of my big pushover- aha!

Keep those requests in coming! I’m loving the ideas so far. Up next is trans! Pickles x gn! Reader! What’s the plot? No body knows, babe! It it will certainly be an adventure that’s for sure!

Stay tuned, dethfans!

[iznsfw]

Any plans for Eunbi smut? Or Kkura? Or Hyewon?? Lots of love for iznsfw! ❤️❤️❤️

Mon Chef-D'oeuvre

IZ Days of Christmas: Day 3 - Kang Hyewon

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4235 words

Categories: biography-style fic, muse!Hyewon, haunted_artist!Reader, cunnilingus, cockwarming, riding

T/W: suicide, cancer/sickness, self-deprecating thoughts

The smut parts are quite short, but I was leaning on a more emotional side of the story, so I apologize if it is not fulfilling.

MASTERPIECE AND MADNESS: A LOOK INTO THE LIFE OF KANG SEUNGWOON, THE MOURNFUL ARTIST

Excerpts from page 99-102

[...] Grief was a major theme in Kang’s paintings. In Secret Story of the Swan (figure 5.5), created in 1916 hung in the Louvre in 1920, he takes a twist on the classic children’s story of The Ugly Duckling. He depicts the mother of the duckling as a rejected, brutalized victim at the hands of her husband. When asked about how he took the harsh criticism from the public for this controversial artwork by the Korea Times, he stated: “There is no right or wrong way to tell a story [...] it is fiction, it does not matter. All of life is a fictional construct. I say the world was simply not prepared for it.”

He presented this artwork in muted colors as he did not have formal materials until his graduation from the Iz School of Creative Art in November 1917. But it is safe to say the painting presented the emotions as much as any vibrant colors could, although it was met by praise and critical acclaim as late as the birth of the twenty-first century.

Another artwork of his in the category of grief is Winter Poem (see Figure 5.6), made shortly after his muse and wife, Kang Hyewon, passed.

Kang first met her at the university from which he took art and graduated at the top of the class. She was described as an “innocent girl with a pure face”. Quoted from Kang from his journals, which were released to the public in 2014: “She had the beauty of an angel. I think she really was an angel. I felt that I did not deserve her.”

-

You graduated at the top of your class, with honors and awards for everything you have ever painted in school. They hung your artworks around and gladly presented them to the wealthy visitors looking to enroll their children in there, as if to say, "This is what your child can make if you enter them in our school." They all saw you as the best painter in class, the one with instinctive and natural talent that comes to you as easily as the wind.

So, why are you so sad?

The joy of these moments have lost their effect on you. Maybe it is because you are growing up. As one grows up, things slowly lose meaning. Birthdays are not as exciting as they used to be, and even if the events were big things such as this: your graduation, not one smile paints itself on your sullen face.

Your mother once told you that all things were temporary. “Gifts, birthdays, parties…” she had listed out for you the examples thoughtfully. “They’re all temporary just like we are. So you have to enjoy them while you can.” But you cannot take her advice, and now, you feel as if you have disappointed her.

The tears drop despite your efforts to remain a stoic face. But what is done is done. All you have to do is to go home with your diploma in hand, and probably encase it with glass. It will be a good thing to add to your resume as well as the credentials you list when people commission you. If, and only if, there is a slim possibility anyone would want you to make them something. You have never been the best artist out there, although you have strived to be.

“Seungwoon-ah!” Turn to the direction you hear the yell from to meet the happy face of Choi Yena. She is one of your fellow honor graduates. Her smile is wide as she asks you, “Are you coming to the grad party tonight?”

Choi Yena is a social butterfly. She can make friends with simply the use of her smile, adding to the fact that she is so naturally cheerful. Nothing can get to her. Sometimes, you wish you were born in her shoes, to have the luxury to be so effortlessly happy.

“I’ll pass,” you tell her. She was kind enough to invite you, the weird outcast, but you will have to turn her offer down. You are not good at big events. You either stutter too much or remain without a plus one. You have learned over the years to save yourself from your own embarrassment. “Congratulations, though!”

“You, too!” Yena beams. The anxious part of your heart tells you that the beam is caused by the fact that you are not going. The rational part tells you, of course, the rational side to the story: Yena is a bubbly girl. She will smile at anything, even if you present her the ugliest thing in the world. But you decide to believe the former, anyway. You always do.

You go away from all of the crowds. They are becoming too much for you. Everyone is jumping and screaming as a famous singer takes the stage and sings a song everyone is obsessed over. You recognize the song but cannot remember its title, but you know it is something along the lines of “I’m gonna make it smile, smile, smile away.” Something like that. You would have liked to ponder over it more, but right now, all you want to do is go home. Probably heat a hot chocolate and read a book before sleeping. It’s getting late, anyway.

You turn the curve to go to the parking spaces. Everything is jammed; every brand of vehicle in existence is cramped in the small, ugly space your university reserves for events like these. All the money in the world from profiting off of the tuition fees and they still cannot invest in bigger hectares. How pathetic.

The richer kids own the Ferraris parked cleanly in the corner, while yours is an old truck your dad used to drive around. You yearn for a better car like those; yours is almost broken down due to the engine, and it isn’t exactly a pretty sight. But you mustn’t let your jealousy overtake you. It is a terrible habit not too many people recognize.

And that is when you see her.

You are rarely starstruck. Models come into your classrooms everyday as references for your art. A lot of them enter in the nude, except for underwear. However, none of them had an effect on you like she did.

She is the girl standing near your car, observing its structure and wheels. She is dressed casually, despite the occasion. A lit cigarette hangs from between her full, pink lips. Her arms form two curves near her hips’. And in that moment, you forget all about what you said negatively about love at first sight. You swear you haven’t felt so stupidly in love.

She takes art classes on the side in the summer. She comes there sometimes, and you see her paint dutifully, pencil tucked behind her ear, to produce a pretty artwork. She rarely laughs nor smiles, but when she does, every person in the room is captured by the neck, including you.

She is the most beautiful girl in the world. And she introduces herself to you as Kang Hyewon.

You knew you were done for when you saw that smirk.

-

Kang Hyewon was born in Busan and resided there until she was thirteen years old. From then on, she moved to Seoul and took art classes while pursuing photography at the same university Seungwoon graduated from. They met after his graduation, and began dating casually after two months. Historians doubt this, saying that Seungwoon was a shy man and would have taken longer to charm her, but the journals are concrete evidence that support the widely accepted timeline. They married on 4 July 1922, on Hyewon's twenty-third birthday.

She inspired Seungwoon’s decision to make his first attempt at photography. His first photos consisted of Hyewon herself. According to Dr. Lee’s book on Han Seungwoon and his muses over the years, he “did not see why Hyewon was the photographer rather than the model herself; she was very easy on the eyes.”

Some of Kang’s photographs of Hyewon are shown below:

Contemplation, 1919

A Snack to Go By, 1920

A Camera for the camera, 1922

Seungwoon was not only skilled in painting, but also mathematics, geometry, and science. So it was not long until he had been talented in the field of photography as well. While Hyewon taught him the rules and aspects of it, he gave her advice on her drawings. She inspired and modelled for his one of his last paintings of her: Taste. The story behind the title of the painting or the artwork itself is unknown.

-

She has been your muse from the moment you first saw her.

Of course, the first thing that can be attributed to her being your muse is her undeniable beauty. It is kind of ridiculous how pretty Kang Hyewon is. Her features are soft, yet full: doe eyes, paired with two full lips, and a perfectly shaped nose that can make her look like a lovingly-carved statue if you used your gray paint on her. She looks good in anything you request her to wear, anything she wears when she enters your studio with a new inquiry about art. Any photograph taken of her comes out prettily. She is just naturally photogenic, naturally beautiful.

She is also naturally kind. You are the moody one in the pair, always grumping about a new day without a cup of coffee to start it. But Hyewon… Hyewon is patient. You try not to be too much for her, with the amount of space your art and materials take and all, yet she always tells you it is okay. It is fine, she says, because she knows you more than anyone and loves you more than anyone. She knows exactly what to make you calm down after a disappointed commissioner, or a day where things are simply too gloomy for you to go on. And you truly do not want to say it out loud in fears of being ridiculed, but you cannot live without her. She is your solace, and if, by any cursed chance, she disappears from this world, you would join her. You would challenge death to return her to you and laugh in its skull face. You would do anything, just to be by her side forever.

You never exaggerate except in paintings. You would honestly do all things those things for Hyewon if needed. You are a blessed man for being able to have her take your last name as her own, live in the same home as her and have her as your muse.

"These are gorgeous," she says. Hyewon looked around your studio, observing the hues and the dues, the bright and the dull. A lot of your drafts have filled the room, and you are a little embarrassed to have your wife look at them.

"You are far more gorgeous than any of them. There is a reason why people like my paintings of you more."

"My husband is so charming," says Hyewon, throwing you a sweet smile. It is only semi-sarcastic, and it looks pretty with her clothes for this shoot. She is wearing your blue polo under a white vest, along with two gray socks that are almost thigh-high. Her visuals affect you a little too much today, but you try to ignore it. Focus on applying the curves of her face on your semi-finished canvas. You have added stripes of brown to show the strands of Hyewon's hair, and alternated between white and light blue to draw her polo.

"How can I not be when you look so..."

Go over Hyewon's whole look and you get even more worked up. Her hair is styled into two buns, while her thighs are generously shown by the skirt that folds around them. Her eyes are wide and curious as she waits for you to continue. But she knows what you are going to say anyway. She is not as innocent as she used to be, being your muse and all.

She spreads her legs a little wider. "Why don't you come and charm me even more?"

Your palette and brush drop to the ground. Suddenly, your arms around Hyewon and you are diligently kissing her. Her lips always taste of sweetness. You can never go without her.

Hyewon cannot go without you either. Her firm kisses and caresses all over the sides of your head and body just show that if you love her, she loves you more. She loves your artwork and your talent and the sleepy face you have as you get up in the morning. She loves your diligence and your kisses and the taut bulge that rubs against her core. She loves you, and after you put her on one of your sturdier desks, you are determined to show that your adoration for her is greater.

Which is why you are glad to tear the vest off of her. She looks hotter in the polo alone, yet you take that one off as well. Her bare, beautiful breasts are presented to you. The brush you pick up once the idea entered your mind dances along their soft mountains. Hyewon lets out a soft whimper. Her sensitivity is at a great height at which she is rendered helpless; she does not know what to do without moaning.

"God, I love you, Hyem," you say breathily.

"Sounds like you're talking to my tits rather than me," laughs Hyewon.

"Fine. I love you." Kiss her again and again. She giggles in between moans. Start from her forehead and end on her breasts. Lick a stripe on their nipples, and squeeze them happily in your hands. "I love you more than anything."

You mean it. You mean it with every pump of blood your heart creates, with every bit of your troubled soul.

Hyewon's thighs shudder as the brush tickles and caresses them. You run kisses along each trail your brush has swiped upon. But soon you are kissing something else, and Hyewon is reduced to moans.

The only clue at what you are doing is her underwear that you have thrown carelessly near the doorway.

"Oh my god, hon," whispers Hyewon, trying to keep a straight face. She raises her head out of view with her eyes closed and a firm bite on her lower lip. "You always eat me so well."

Hyewon loves being eaten out. It is such a divine experience for her. Every session is like the first, when she was particularly delicate and inexperienced. That is why the first suck already brings forth a rush of wetness and her thighs squirm on the sides of your head.

Hyewon remains a beauty, even in her unruly state. Her soft moans are like comforting tunes, motivating even. They coax you to take her harder—lap a teasing tongue up between her folds and wiggle it around, give smacks on her ass above the blue skirt, and suck the pretty nub with more diligence. Hyewon's legs never stop their quivering, and her fingers never stop trying to push you away and keep you licking her. The onslaught of stimulation has her breathless; how does it still feel so new and good?

You spread her legs far apart. Afterwards, stop the thrust of your tongue and go with offering sharp laps on her clitoris. It pulses with need, and so does Hyewon's heart, which beats so fast against her chest that she feels weak. But you are too good at this. She can do nothing but moan and let you fire blunt flicks at her erogenous zone.

"Hmnn... hah! Oh my god, baby!"

She herself is surprised by how early she came. But it is too late; your tongue is already delved deep inside her spasming core, catching the continuous leak of feminine orgasm. And it still feels so good. Sparks keep her on the edge of the desk and her toes curl tightly in response to her rough climax.

Continue the waves of your tongue while you keep her closely to your lips. You are determined to take advantage of the heightened sensitivity of her orgasm and make her feel even more good. You kiss her clit as if it were her own full lips. Give it open-mouthed smooches. By now, Hyewon's moans, which are usually soft and almost silent, have grown and spread inside the studio like a wildfire. Her hips are a force to be reckoned with, bucking against your mouth in search for more and pushing its center into your face. It is no problem for you; you are glad to give more.

You would give anything, in fact, just to see your wife's beautiful and blissful face.

-

Seungwoon took many photographs: of birds, nature, and sometimes his paintings. Many of these were formally released, yet the photos of his wife, although many, were not as abundantly shown to people. He took many pictures of her and kept a large amount for himself. He explained that he felt as if the public did not deserve to see "another side" of Hyewon. Hyewon also said that she would like to keep it that way.

His penultimate photograph of her that we know of is one wherein she reads her books to him. He entitled it A timely read [...]

-

Hyewon's thighs are snug in your lap, yet your cock rather explores in the hole in between them. Its pleasure tells and makes you bounce your own thigh up and down, creating a fulfilling process of her hole squeezing onto your shaft as you enter and exit.

Her fingers lose their assured squeeze on the book. "H-hah, you really aren't going to make this easy for me, are you?" she asks in between moans.

Shake your head; of course not. With her slick entrance ready for the taking, you have all day to plug yourself inside of her.

"Just keep reading, Hyewon-ah," you tell her, sweetly nibbling on her earlobe. She whimpers quietly, but does as you say.

Your thigh rises and falls to let your cock probe further inside her. Her tight, sweet body writhes with each bounce, yet she keeps on reading. She is your good girl, after all. Your muse.

But muses are not as desperate for you as she is. No muse drops to her knees and begs for "just one touch, please," say Hyewon with fearful eyes. "Just this time."

Her breast is fit for pearls /

Hyewon opens her mouth to read once more. However, your hand finds her breast before she can get a word out. From there, she can only make soft, whimpery sounds. Her chirps of pleasure are as pleasant as any songbirds. You love Hyewon's voice. She sings softly round the house, smiling giddily when you catch her, yet she claims that she is as never as good as Jo Yuri, the famous singer at the time. But that doesn't matter to you. You love Hyewon's voice.

Most of all, you love Hyewon.

But I was not a "Diver"— /

It does not matter anyway into her neck. Several counts of delicate cries leave her full lips. But Hyewon loves it. She loves being yours. She loves the way you make her feel, especially with the sword you unsheathe and sheathe again in the depths of her core, as if you are not certain if you should keep it inside or not. She likes it better inside her anyway.

Her brow is fit for pearls /

But I have not a crest.

Hyewon leans back in your shoulder. Kiss her beaded brow lovingly. She has stopped trying to read. It is a setup challenge anyway, designed to make her fail. What, with your cock's rainy adventures in between her wet folds, it was not a fair game from the beginning. But she is your loser, and because you love her, you would give her the prize anyway.

Your lips and Hyewon's collide. Hers are full and soft; there is a reason why you love it when she drops to her knees for you. Both carnal pleasures are hard to choose from, but you'd rather kiss her till you are out of breath than have her mouth somewhere else.

She hums a song of bliss, and you fashion yours with a grunt. Her thighs shake above your lap. Your fingers catch the release she makes. It floods on your hand; Hyewon blushes at your touch lingering on her vagina, and cums even more. It is a flood that you do not mind having assault you.

Because...

Her heart is fit for home /

Not one of your artworks can live up to her undeniable beauty. A studio full of the world's greatest paintings can easily be beaten by her. She is one created with duty and love—a soft yet intimate masterpiece, whose colors you make yourself comfortable in, even as she rests your head on your heart and closes her eyes.

I—a sparrow—build there

Sweet of twigs and twine

My perennial nest.

The little bird sleeps.

-

[...] while his last photograph of her is given the name The last stroll in the yards of life.

-

You do not want to live anymore.

It is as simple as that. Death is something that you would not refuse after the inevitable death she will have to take on. In fact, you welcome it. You urge it to come early despite your youthful age. You challenge it, even. You spit in the face of death and tell him to come get a piece of you.

Before you know it, you are crying again. Your tears blot what was supposed to be a masterpiece, making the colors drip down unpleasantly the canvas into one, big, rainbow mess. But your current state is a bigger mess than your artwork, and so is your life. Your wife will soon leave you, and just thinking about it makes you want to leave first.

If only you did not love her so much. If you didn't, it would not be this hard for the two of you.

"Oh, honey."

Her voice is as sweet as the nickname, but it does not pacify you. Not when you know the arms bound around your quivering form will soon melt away. Not when the scent from her hair and neck directly under your nose will leave along with her, only letting behind few sprays throughout rooms that will drive you crazy for days on end.

And she is so fucking pretty that it hurts.

"Hey," she tells you softly, with a smile that betrays the fear that she feels as well. Her brown sweater is beautiful; it matches the colors of the crops and grass around you. Hyewon truly looks like the love of your life. "It's okay. I'm still here. I haven't gone anywhere yet."

Yet. The word hangs in your mind like a noose. You want to take its rounded syllable ropes and execute yourself with them.

"You look so beautiful, Hyewon," you say, wrapping your arms around her like she does. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too. I love you, too."

You know you sound pathetic, but you go on with it anyway. There is little time left in the hourglass, and each grain of sand counts. "C-can you promise me something?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"P-promise me that you will try to hold on for as long as you can. I—I know it sounds selfish, and it is, but I can't see a life without you, Hyewon. I just can't. I truly think I'll die without you."

Hyewon's eyes are blurred with tears now, just like you. She hates knowing that she can do nothing about you feeling terrible about her dying. She hates knowing that you have felt this way from the moment you knew about her death.

She herself is still not ready for it. She does not know when she will be. Hyewon will always have to look over her shoulder in the afterlife, making sure that you do not follow.

"I promise," she says quietly. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and exhales through her nose. "I promise with all my heart."

-

Kang Hyewon died on December 23rd, 1924. She succumbed to cancer the night before Seungwoon's first exhibition. It can be deduced that Seungwoon called off his exhibition to mourn his wife and have time for himself. He did not set a date for the day on which the exhibition was supposedly postponed to.

After a week, he shot himself in his studio and died alone. In his suicide note, he asked that he be buried next to his wife and his paintings are formally taken by the university. In 1945, the university showcased his paintings—the famous, the lesser known, finished and unfinished—in one of its biggest exhibitions.

It is safe to say that Kang Seungwoon's artwork maintains its provision of inspiration to people today. People now talk about his paintings, love, and his tragic death as a source of reassurance and motivation. His famous quote still makes its rounds today: "There is no sculpture or painting that has lived up to the chef-d'oeuvre of true love."

[chantsdemarins]

Find Tom: Part 2

(a little new art too)

The whole "soccer era" Tom was the push I needed to jump back into a Tom fic, although I am by far much more comfortable just sticking with Loki. I hope this isn't cringey. It’s not that great but I feel like it needs to be posted. 😑

⚠️It's mature so no under 18 readers!

❤️It's a love poem with not a lot of plot!

☠️I used some new smutty words

Lastly, I truly appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my work! No comment is too small, no reblog is unfelt. I wouldn't do any of this if I didn't have readers. You mean the world to me.

@lovelysizzlingbluebird @mischief2sarawr @five-miles-over @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @kats72 @fictive-sl0th @sailorholly @tbhiddlestan83 @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @goblingirlsarah @jennyggggrrr @mjsthrillernp @wolfsmom1 @lady-rose-moon @mygfloki @buttercupcookies-blog @lokixryss @simplyholl @eleniblue @kingtwhiddleston

Thank you-thank you-thank you!

Read Find Tom Part 1

He had stayed an extra week-you had called in to work with hope and a prayer you wouldn’t lose your job.

How could you have known that the remarkable business of bedding a movie star not only included being passionately taken on every mid-modern furnishing capable of withstanding Tom’s athleticism but also came replete with nuanced discussions of such things as little-known facets of British history?

A mere night with this man would have been impossible. His words alone filled the time so completely while his cock took up the rest of the hours left in the day. You needed a lifetime but would have to settle for a week. You also felt like Tom’s spare thoughts were enough to earn him a second Cambridge degree.

You often found yourself pouring strong coffee between glasses of Cab to keep your mind sharp enough to ask intelligent follow-up questions. Which you always did. It was impossible not to notice how his conversational ability effervesced through him, a surging sparkle that galvanized in his eyes, creating a disproportionate lure and the impulse to return the enchanting discourse in kind. Over the course of the week, you had time to observe how many of Tom’s features would appear as backdrops to his emotions.

Like the plane of his nose, its pristine alpine slope, when he was grinding his hips into you. Or how his smile consumed half of his face while his lips found yours.

His eyes were mesmerizing vehicles of his intellect like twin comets streaking the sky. You had to watch them. You couldn’t take your own eyes off them. He saw not only you but what was beyond you, possibly what you would become. He had a witchy sense.

Also, strangely when you least expected it, a pallor of sadness would also occasionally descend between your bodies. A departure from his enthusiastic nature that usually led the way. It was clear something had made a lasting impact on him. Was it another woman? A situation? Strife of the elite? Champagne problems that you could never understand. You wanted to ask him to tell you, but you let the sadness be a silent companion to your passion.

All this revelation was amplified in the vintage quiet of the Sea Ranch cottage you had all to yourselves.

That first night, he took you easily. Perhaps embarrassingly easy. After all, you’d been wet since you saw him from across the crowded room. An uncomfortable distraction while you talked about your lives and listened to the quartet play The Lark Ascending in the main room of the after-party. Something about the tender violin and his deep voice from a place far away. The details. The decorations, wild peach-colored streamers blowing in the ocean wind battering the rafters. A hum in your ears.

The way he leaned in closer when you knew he could hear you. You’d swallow him up if given the chance. Later at his Sea Ranch cottage, what felt like an eternity after so much conversation and ephemera, you were finally a crumpled passionate mess. You remember looking down and seeing him finally enter you, the implications, the spectacle.

You felt your breath leave and never quite return.

Later as dawn coursed through and put the evening to rest, Tom made sure to use the California poppy napkins to tidy you both up but stopped himself short of a full janitorial protocol. There was something a little wicked about his disregard. He liked seeing you wrecked. He liked seeing the lingering elements of the sex you just had, still on you. He didn’t want to make things too neat. You felt exposed but did not want to assemble a wall between you.

The instinct was that of vulnerability. Only sometimes found in casual romance. Only sometimes experienced by you.

By Tuesday, Tom’s effulgent historical discourse had fully found its way into your conversation yet again. You sat on the ocean-facing porch in two aging red deck chairs, a temptation for Tom’s fingers. He easily peeled off their flaking paint and collected it into a neat pile on the property’s 1972 glass Sands Hotel ashtray.

He would continue to move the small pile around with his long finger mixing the chipped paint with the singed tobacco and marijuana wrappings from the day for the hours you talked. Tom would grow quiet only when he rolled his own cigarettes one-handed.

You wondered if he smoked back in London or only when on holiday or business, or as an affront to suffocating California standards of healthy living. The sea wind picked up and moved through his rust-colored hair, salt air conjuring it into full attention.

Apparently, he had forgotten his blow dryer, but now, surprisingly, he seemed besotted with his curls. He ran his hands through them as he resumed your previous conversation.

You tried not to lose your concentration on the details. Tom’s mental ephemera began to have a companion in the details of his being you were collecting in the hallows of your own mind. Topics spun wildly from one to another but often fell back into history and philosophy. You prided yourself in keeping up, even if you had to use the cottage's old ethernet cable and early 2000s PC to look up “ontology.”

"British history is rife with privileged white opportunists, wouldn't you say?" His words were intended for both the relentless waves below and you as he stared off into the inky distance. That was quite the conversation shift. You had both just been talking about Steinerberg, Switzerland. He’d been while filming The Night Manager. He went on.

"Take William Bennett, for example, a complete ass."

"William Bennett?" Repeating his choice of subject often gave you a few vital seconds to collect your thoughts.

"Indeed. He essentially earned his fame from an aquatint print of the New York City fire in 1836. The untold story is that he bought the original sketch from an impoverished Italian artist, Nicolino Calyo. Calyo was there amidst the 700 homes succumbing to flames. Bennett essentially duplicated it, and therefore, as a wealthy, idle British artist, he managed to elude any consequences." You scrunched your nose in a silent response before replying.

"And Calyo?" you finally ventured, already anticipating Tom's reply.

"Naturally, he ended up dead and destitute. The old D and D, if you will.”

You laughed but felt a parallel emerge within you. Your life seemed uncomfortably akin to Nicolino Calyo's. Your mind raced - was Tom, beneath his casual Louis Vuitton button-down, a modern William Bennett? Your thoughts looped back to yesterday's breathy exchange after you’d gone down on him and where you confessed that after a long hiatus, you'd begun painting again. Was he secretly archiving the ideas you'd shared about your nascent series, ready to unearth them during his leisure in Margate - a place allegedly sharing the "spirit and design" of Sea Ranch? While Tom moved your things inside as the chill of the evening overtook you both, your mind was fixated on your previous conversation.

In your carnally vexed state, you'd unveiled your infatuation with the hues of mint green, adobe red, and translucent pink. His curiosity had been particularly piqued by "adobe," which led to a discourse on the disparity between the tangible "true adobe" and the digitized shade we've now associated with the word.

He reflected on his time in New Mexico during the filming of the first Thor movie, where he was first introduced to the color scheme of the American Southwest. It had been a captivating conversation that moved fast. An image of Tom as a reincarnated William Bennett, unveiling his own mint green and adobe masterpiece at a glitzy auction event eight years from now felt lodged in your mind.

Apparently, this emerging anxiety of trusting such a departure from your usual type of lover was hard. None of your other partners would still an idea you had for a painting and make millions from it, but of course, neither would Tom. You were becoming irrational. You poured yourself a new glass of wine, emptying another bottle. Closing your eyes for a moment by yourself while Tom assembled the next part of your evening with his usual intentionality intact, even if he didn’t catch your mood. He tracked even the tiniest details in the short time you’d spent together. You wondered if his sadness had descended, preventing him from noticing.

The next day you made love in the early morning hours, savoring his body. He was deeply asleep his naked luminosity shining against the white of the sheets. Tom still smelled like the rosemary he had picked from the bushes out front. You had watched him in his running shorts and nothing else, springs of rosemary in his hands.

He remarked about how wild rosemary doesn’t grow in England; at least, he didn’t think so. He joked he would take some of it back in his suitcase. He’d smell like California. He’d smell like privileged things like taking an extra week off. At that moment, you had felt his lineage as if a halo surrounded him - an impenetrable force field.

The afternoon found you both in the living room, wrapped in tartan blankets, partaking in an improvised indoor picnic. Tom had run a 10-mile round trip to Jenner's only grocery store. The sight of him returning with baguettes, ham, brie, and more wine bottles settled his existence in your mind as a true enigma. His sweaty, proud smile covered his face completely as held the baguette up to the sky in a triumphant cheer. You ran to him and held him around his middle.

You always loved the way tall skinny guys felt. It was a too-familiar gesture for such a casual situation, you tried to pull back, but he nestled his head into the crook of your shoulder. You closed your eyes and heard only the ambient sound of birds.

The morning of the sixth day, you dressed in his white undershirt and boxer shorts. You both reveled in the amusement of exchanging clothing items to create new outfits each day. The addition of Tom’s packed subtly luxurious clothing gave you both interesting options. His Armani suit jacket with just your black underwear. Tom amusingly in your skirt, paired with his unexpected choice of nude suede Herve ankle boots.

Your scarf and his sleek Ray-Bans. His running shorts were cleverly repurposed as a strapless jumpsuit. In the end, the clothes would always come off. You would be naked. You would have your hands consuming one another in a shocking discovery of hidden pleasure. The responses were the truth.

The thing you both could trust. In his sighs, in the warm breath that haunted your collar bones. In the flush of his cheeks. In the sweat on his forehead or the goosebumps on your arms when his fingertips traced the edges of your body with the precision of an engineer, you held on to the touches, the utterances of euphoria. With every orgasm, you felt the incredible raw honor of being human.

You wanted to slow it down long enough to feel it truly. To feel a king cuming inside you. To feel his cum and his claim while lost in the gravity of his eyes. Those magnificent extensions of his brain were a lifeline. Your bodies became sculptures, black quartz in the hot sun.

By Sunday, the end of your time together had finally found its way to you. He whispered in your ear after pulling out, catching any breath he could. He could only stay until Monday, he had to go back to London. You stared at the slow oscillations of the Casablanca ceiling fan. “I’ll miss this,” your words were an echo of the real words you longed to say.

His eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

The woman he would one day choose to marry, you thought, God help her. She would undoubtedly be transformed if your brief moments with Tom were any sign. However, for some melancholic reason, you knew it wasn’t going to be you.

You weren’t destined to be the lover who would eventually turn into a wife. He only had room for the ecstasy of passion and intellectual tête-à-têtes. This affair was incomplete, with no clear conclusion in sight. It wasn't a tale like that of William Bennett and his ill-gotten fame through art theft—a story with a beginning, middle, and end.

No, this was something else entirely. Suddenly, as if he was privy to the endless stream of inner thoughts, Tom spoke. "I met you at the right time, y/n," he said, his piercing blue eyes now open.

He jumped out of bed and casually dressed, slipping on a single item of clothing or, more accurately, an accessory — his Gucci belt wrapped sideways around his bare body. It was difficult to concentrate as he strolled past the expansive windows of the cottage. His muscles and his semi-hard cock were the only things holding that thing in place. Your cheeks grew hot. Tom followed up his emotional revelation with a more practical question.

"Shall I make us eggs on this, our final morning together?”

Without waiting for your response, he ventured into the kitchen, energetically rummaging through the cabinets in search of pepper before swinging open the refrigerator.

As he busily prepared breakfast, his underlying sadness was emerging, defying the rational part of his mind that wished it weren't there. Balancing a glass bowl against his stomach, he swiftly began whisking eggs, his intense gaze fixed upon you. This prompted you to inquire once more, "Why is this the right time, Tom?"

He continued whisking the eggs as he replied, "You found me, truly. Sometimes, we serve that purpose for others, akin to amateur archaeologists. Returning to London, I will be more whole, not less."

You found yourself fidgeting with the hem of Tom's t-shirt you were now wearing.

"You desired this life you have didn't you? You wanted fame?"

"I don't know, y/n. I wanted to do what I loved," Tom confessed, pouring the frothy mixture into the heated pan.

"I doubt it’s that simple, I'm sure you've had to make difficult decisions to reach the top."

"Like parting ways with a beautiful woman I met while on an extended work trip?"

"Yes, exactly like that,” you struggled to say.

"It happens all the time, love, all the time. Regret is my middle name. Thomas Regret Hiddleston."

With that sentence, he refocused his attention on cooking, his hands and mind engaged in a synchronized activity not unlike sex, serving a similar yet less emotional purpose.

You discovered a tablecloth tucked away in the back of a cabinet and spread it over the aged blonde table. Professionally, he placed the plates of food before you.

"Quite the last supper we have here," you remarked, attempting a joke to mask your emerging underlying sadness, though failing in your intended delivery.

Your gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet the sunlight streaming through the windows or Tom's eyes. He continued in his relational eulogy, "Its breakfast, y/n, and many more will come. Someday, you'll have a partner, and I'll have someone too. We'll be enjoying meals with them, and something will trigger a memory. Perhaps we'll be by the sea on vacation, and you'll remember me, and I'll remember you."

So he was thinking similar thoughts as you. He did not feel he met his future wife at a Bay Area film festival after-party. It was a long shot at best. You nervously tried to continue talking.

"Of course, not simultaneously. How could we possibly know if we remember each other at the same time?"

"We will never know, y/n. We will only remember each other out-of-sync for the rest of our lives."

With that bittersweet but strangely truthful statement, he reached across the table and gently took your hand and kissed it. You wouldn’t watch him leave late that night. You skipped the coffee after the wine, and poured yourself another, watching the moon reflect off the darkness of the glass.

[sulfies]

can you spill more abt that self insert of yours? 👁️👁️

Oh boy oh boy can I? (big yapping incoming) (typo and grammar massaccare of 2024)

He is a self insert OC Assassin from the Ottoman brotherhood (bc Im Turkish) and he is 23 (bc I am)

not a secret mentor or anything lol I was just joking in the first post making a mary sue.

I imagine he is similar or one above than whatever Yusuf’s rank is (I have yet to play Revelations :,p ) tho I do not know what time he should be in, Realistically if no time travel happened he would be in same time as Yusuf but I dont want Gilf Ezio (sorry) but if its Ezio, Alt and Desmon togather timeline probobly he is in around AC2 Brotherhood time. (maybe he came by Italy to do a mission and dropped by the hideout)

He is ethnically Balkan or/and Greek (bc I am) which probobly means he was taken to Constantinople as a teen or kid to eighter be sent to Jenniserrie training or the male-harem.

Small history lesson:

- Devşirme was the name of the practice where Ottoman empire basically enslaved young Greek,Balkan,Ukranian,etc etc boys and inserted them into an Elite military (Janniserries) even the Sultans themselves were scared of bc they were known to start coups and kill Sultans(they got a salary and are socially above the commonfolk but… military slaves non the less)

-Male-harems existed, again Balkan, Romanian, Slavic and greek etc people were often the main people in the harems (fun fact nearly no Sultan is Turkish due to this lmao they are all mixed), once again their status were above the common folk and they were well taken care of (the older males could even become gov officals after) but slavery non the less.

Idk if I want him to escape the harem or Jenniserrie for his edgy backgrund but maybe he did few years of training, cought the eye of the Sultan and escaped the moment someone was like “you have been promoted to an elite employeeee, u won harem lotterry” . Probobly wandered the streets a bit, got into hella fights till an Assassin picked him up escaping a group of soliders. Maybe it was an older dude who saw him when they were both in training

He is basically based off my own ethnicity and its context to the time and sociatal goings of that era lol (which was hella gay… very gay… too gay almost)

He probobly has some traditional slavic leg,hand and arm tattoos (bc I have em but also) mostly bc around those times (nearly always women) used to tattoo themselves in those motifs to remember their christian roots and their culture (that Ottoman tried to erease) and also to make themselves less appealing to Ottoman Harem/ Devşirme recuiters :,D

For his name, Maybe to be on the nose… Adem? (Turkish ver of Adam) so he is tied to the apples in a fun way? Or Poyraz (means a northern wind) since the meaning is similar to my own name?

He doesnt grow much facial hair (bc I am also stuck w a weak beard) but he refuses to get rid of it no matter how much others tease him bc he is like “I aint getting courted by random crazy men ew” (I dont irl also bc I desperetly believe it looks good…I refuse to open my eyes)

History lesson 2:

-facial hair was important in Ottoman times, It LİTTERALLY determined your gender and how you were approached.

-Socially and in Litriture Ottoman almost had 3 gender roles; Men, Boys (Oğlan) and Women. Once a man grew a beard he would “transition” from being a boy.

-Romantically having a beard versus not determined if you were to be courted or court. Bearded man were called “Lovers” while NON-bearded were called “Beloveds” (yes more often the boys were underage :/ for the sake of history lesson lets…. try to ignore that like ancient greeks)

there is many gay ass poems ^

He got all the mentall illness coctails that I got bc why not make it worse fr him. I imagine him sarcastic and catty, Claudia prob loves taking him to shop around bc he always got something to fckn say about everyone. Big gossipper. Hides the fact that he hates being as short as he is very well (im like… 165? 5’5-4?). If in Yusuf time, nearly BFFS (if im not inserting myself into the throuple (bc Its my self insert and I CAN BE AS CRINGY AS I WANT) he would end up w Yusuf)

Him about others:

Ezio: will never stop calling him de la la la,likes him a lot, loves pranking and teasing him. Enjoys fake flirting with him till he takes it so far Ezio has to throw in the towel. Probobly teached him how to Oil wrestle and Ezio was like “Are you sure this is a real sport…” and all he did was sigh and say “I am so glad it actually is” as he admired Oiled up Ezio

Altaïr: loves mocking whatever big words he uses all the time. calls him “Big boss” just to see his eye twitch with cringe. Knows he can get away with shit if he acts stupid enough. Altair knows he is not that stupid but is impressed(deragotory, fondly) how low he is willing to go.

Desmond: clearly his favorite (im biased sue me) obvious by how much softer he acts around Des. Ezİo falls he laughs, Des falls “My leige, hop on my back”. Is facinated by his piercings and begs him to help him get some. Desmond desperetly wishes he could invent some ADHD Meds for him. Des also finds him strangely comforting, can imagine himself back in 2010s almost…

————-

Idk im not rlly a self insert person so thinking about him was hard and I also dont wanna make my oc “the main character” in this au so I dont really wanna give him any secret powers or anything.

Maybe some edgy gnarly scars on his back from a past mission where he came in contact with an apple? Maybe when he touched the apple he was supplied that canonly he doesnt exist and he is just a fan created being and has a whole issue about it? I can imagine a sad scene of him crying like “You dont understand, You exist! even as some damn video game you do and people know you they cannot deny you exist. ME? all I am is some weirdos self writing, not even enough to be in canon. Does anything I do matter?” lololol

Thats all I got for him for now lol but feel free to ask more:p Im also open to ideas for him.

sorry for the yapping and history lesson… here is some more fun facts:

-Oğlancılık (male prostitution) was pretty respected they were seen like any other tradesperson in some parts

-a Paşa tried to ban under 30 males from being washers in Turkish Hamams due to them also being sex workers and litterally everyone was so mad he got replaced

-dancers in coffeehouses wore the same fit no matter the gender so boys and girls looked the same (once again they were also sex workers)

-one time a jewish boy caused such a big fight between janniserries the sultan had to threathen to kill 40 man from each side if they didnt stop

-Draculas are real people and RADU the beutyfull (his OFFİCİAL NAME) had a full on recorded relationship with Sultan Mehmet2 :p

- Gay shit was legalized in 1853 mostly bc they never rlly punished it….

for the girlies

-in harems the girls couldnt order things like cucumbers or carrots to their rooms w out it being cut up :p

[neondiamond]

🌻 Recently Read Fics - September 2023 🌻

These are all the amazing fics I read over the past month (from shortest to longest). Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show the authors your appreciation if you read any of these! 💛

🌻 I Want To Sea by @tommokat (198, G)

Dorks in love being dorks in love, featuring two bad pick up lines and one good one.

🌻 Stable and Steady by @tommokat (496, G)

A tutoring lesson about stability with Tutor Marcel and his crush, Louis.

🌻 Team Gaelic FTW by @lululawrence (611, NR)

Just another Scrabble Game Night at the Stylinson House...

🌻 It’s a rush inside I can’t control by @beardyboyzx (764, G)

Wind is hitting him in the face as Louis runs, freely and carelessly, through the woods.

There’s no one chasing him for once, and he’s got all the time in the world to enjoy how the soil feels under his feet.

🌻 Glasgow by @hellolovers13 (859, T)

Louis' first moments with his newborn daughter.

🌻 I’ll Run (Run To You) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (1k, M)

What do people need after running a marathon?

Louis remembers the first time he Googled that, about 2.8 minutes after saying goodbye to Harry during a round of speed dating. It was probably a bit of a dickish move, considering he was already sat opposite another, presumably lovely, boy, but all it had taken was one look at Harry and he'd known.

🌻 Orange Blossoms by @red-pandaaa (1k, T)

Louis runs Harry a bath

🌻 It’s human to break, it’s human to fall by @larry-hiatus (1k, T)

A wobbly ladder and a stubborn Louis don’t make for a good combination, and now he’s left to deal with the painful consequences. His boyfriend Harry can’t help but be annoyed that Louis didn’t listen to him, but he quickly puts aside his irritation when he realizes something else is wrong.

🌻 Enemies to Lovers by @londonfoginacup (1k, G)

There's something happening

at Styles' place.

Louis can sense it. He's good like that.

🌻 Fly To You by @babyhoneyheslt (1k, G)

On the way to their honeymoon, Harry and Louis find out the pilot is ill. With Louis being a pilot, he offers to fly the plane there, and it turns out to make the start of their honeymoon extra special.

🌻 Were You There On That Christmas Night? By @lululawrence (2k, NR)

the one where Harry has some fears regarding the animals present in the school's nativity play.

🌻 Accomodate This by @londonfoginacup (2k, T)

Harry's a professor just trying to get proper accommodations.

🌻 Eyes So Blue, Shorts So Red by @absoloutenonsense (2k, G)

Harry isn't like any roommate Louis has had before. For one, he doesn't know what a poem is (or skee-ball, for that matter), but luckily for him, Louis doesn't mind answering any and all of his questions.

Or Alien Harry discovers poetry.

🌻 No (Birth) Control by @haztobegood (2k, E)

An unfortunate situation left Harry without contraceptives a day before his heat.

🌻 Love Is In The Air by @justahappycloud (3k, G)

When Louis gets stuck in an airport during a snow storm, he mentally prepared for his already bad day to turn into something even worse.

What he wasn't counting on was a certain green-eyed boy who would come to light candles in the dark of his bad mood.

🌻 there his charming nest doth lay series by @bottomhaztoplou (3k, T)

Louis reads poetry to Harry, his upset mate, as he nests in their bed.

🌻 Stand Not in Front or Behind by @londonfoginacup (4k, NR)

Harry Styles always knew his purpose in life was to be a pawn in an arranged marriage to assure allegiances.

He never actually put much thought into his future partner.

🌻 The Doppel Effect by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright (6k, T)

In a future where the rich and famous can use lifelike android doppelgangers to increase their reach and expand their fortunes, unauthorized use of the technology by enterprising criminals results in a sub-class of doppelgangers referred to as Forgeries.

Harry Styles lives a simple life, far from the luxurious and nefarious worlds occupied by Dops and Forgeries. At least, he's never had a reason to think otherwise. Until a mysterious stranger shows up and threatens to turn Harry's world upside down.

🌻 like a bridge over troubled water (I will lay me down) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (6k, T)

Zayn loves all of his friends. He just might love Liam in a different way.

Or: a love letter from Zayn to his friends, written in 4+1.

🌻 Sink Through Your Skin by @ireallysawanangel (6k, M)

It’s tough work being a detective. Long hours on the job, grueling cases that keep you up at night, but it’s especially hard to be a detective when you’re married to a serial killer.

🌻 To A Higher Place by @ireallysawanangel (8k, E)

Louis arrives home during his break from tour just in time for Harry’s rut.

🌻 Ace of Hearts by @allwaswell16 (10k, E)

Louis Tomlinson, the alpha Duke of Yorkshire, had returned to England to stay now that he’d married and mated. But since his husband was also the omega he’d once held captive aboard his half-brother’s pirate ship, he held back from pushing Harry into parenthood.

With the Ace of Spades now docked in London, Harry spent time with his friends from the crew and remained a bit oblivious to his alpha’s deepest desires. What he was aware of was his best friend’s hurt and his mother-in-law’s wish for more than friendship with her oldest friend.

A sequel to Ace of Spades

🌻 The Princess and the Pea by @absoloutenonsense (12k, NR)

A brutal storm finds Harry and Niall seeking shelter at the nearest place they can find - a rather grand manor, with some peculiar people of the house. At least Harry has made a friend in one of the servants there.

[ash5monster01]

Truths of Our Past Part 1

Pairing: Older!Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depression, depressing thoughts, past trauma, facing trauma, romance, understanding, fluff.

Summary: You had met Charlie in University, were married shortly after, and had become accustomed to a beautiful life together. When you receive a wedding invitation to one of Charlie’s previous classmates weddings you discover that Charlie had a dark past, one he had been trying to forget. In the midst of it all you try to help him through it while finding out that he’s not the guy you thought you married at all. Maybe he’s even better.

word count: 2.6k

Intro ←→ Part 2

Masterlist

10/3/69

Day 1/8

You loved the drive to Vermont. You and Charlie did it at least two times a year and it had never gotten any less beautiful. There was something magical about the scenery turning from giant skyscrapers to deep forests. You always told Charlie it was so romantic, poetic, and all he could ever do is smile at you when you said it. You knew he was uneasy, like always, but a small part of him was still comforted by it. The sad thing about reminiscing was it always held the good with the bad. So every time you made a trip out here you made sure it held more good because even if it didn’t erase the pain maybe it could somehow make it less.

"Recite me something darling" you asked sweetly, sliding across the front seat of the car to be pressed against his warm side. Charlie smiled as his hand curled in your own, resting on the plaid of your skirt.

"What do you want to hear?" he asked as you flew down the country roads, orange leaves spiralling up behind you. You loved the countryside. Especially in the Fall, it was so much more magical.

"Something about the season, how everything is so pretty this time of year" you told him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. You felt his lips brush softly against your forehead.

"O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.”

You hummed in contentment as he recited this to you, the golden sun kissing the tops of the trees as you reached the town of your destination. The beauty of it painted exactly like the poem.

"Robert Frost, how lovely" you told your husband and a small laugh fell from him as he took the familar route to Knox and Chris' large white house on the edge of town, miles of field behind them.

"I love that you know old dead poets" he told you, shifting the car into park, and you leaned your head up to smile at him.

"I love that I married a dead poet" you told him earnestly and his lips met yours in a soft kiss. You only pulled away when you heard the screen door on the porch slam shut. That could only mean one thing. Charlie was out of the car in an instant, helping you out beside him as the six year olds feet thumped fastly against the hard ground.

"Johnny!" your husband bellowed as he squatted down to meet the height of the small brunette boy.

"Uncle Charlie" the boy was squealing right back before launching into his embrace. You laughed as he lifted the boy to his feet, spinning him around and tossing him into the air.

"Careful Charles!" Chris was already calling from the front porch and you snickered lightly at the fact he was already in trouble. It had only been a minute.

"Sorry little man but your Mom would not hesitate to suffocate me in my sleep if you get hurt" Charlie said as he placed the boy down to the ground but the six year old didn’t care before he was already barreling over to you and wrapping his small arms around your legs.

"Hey kiddo" you said, hand ruffling through his hair and he smiled up at you.

"Aunt Y/N! Do you want to see my new toys?" he asked sweetly and your heart instantly melted.

"Of course I do" and then you were holding hands with the six year old and walking forward towards your husband. Johnny reached for Charlies hand as well and you were both swinging the small boy between you as you moved the rest of the way to the porch.

"I hope the drive went okay" Chris said once you were up the short three steps and you smiled, letting go of Johnny to give her a hug.

"Beautiful as always, Charlie recited a poem for me" you grinned and Chris chuckled as she looked to the boy, his hair shorter than the last time she saw him.

"Our boys, such charmers" she grinned and Charlie was leaning over, pressing a sweet kiss to Chris' cheek.

"You tease but I recall a poem or two that Knox wrote you and won you over" Charlie said and she just laughed at the fond memories as Johnny curled his hand back in your own, tugging you towards the house.

"Knox is inside finishing up some work, save him Charlie I beg" Chris said, putting her hands together to convey her seriousness and Charlie chuckled as he let himself into the home and made his way to the study. You and Chris followed Johnny to the living room where he did indeed show you all of his new toys.

"Hey Mr. Lawyer man, work is over" Charlie’s hands clapped down on the shoulders of the boy who sat hunched over his desk, pencil danglng from his lip.

"Charlie, you made it" Knox was turning with a wide smile, meeting Charlie in a hug. No longer concerned about the extra work he needed to get done in his week off for the wedding.

“Yeah well, Todd is getting married and I had to come check for myself that it was actually happening” Charlie said and Knox laughed, reaching to tug his tie loose.

“Yeah, it’s shocking honestly but we’re happy for him” Knox responded, shuffling over to the bar cart and pouring out two scotches for them.

“I hope me and Y/N aren’t intruding. Todd did offer a room if we needed” Charlie said as Knox handed him the crystal glass half full of amber liquid.

“Nonsense, we all want you here. Chris and Johnny would’ve had me hung if I didn’t offer it to you first” Knox said before taking a sip from the glass.

“Either way it’s good to see you, good to be back in Vermont” Charlie said but Knox didn’t miss the way his eyes nervously darted around the study, a shaky hand reaching the crystal to his lips.

“Since when did you start telling me half truths?” Knox asked and Charlie sighed, dragging a hand down his face, gold wedding band glinting from the desk lamp.

“Sorry, it’s just. It’s Vermont, I wasn’t given much choice in leaving and I didn’t have much control of what happened either” Charlie said and Knox gave him a tight lipped smile, hand falling on his shoulder.

“I know, you get used to it though. Take the week and you might find it’s not as hard anymore” Knox said, him and Todd being the only ones to stay in the neighborhood but that was mainly because of family. Charlie stayed in the city after attending Columbia and Meeks and Pitts had an apartment together somewhere in Boston.

“I heard Chris wants Johnathon to be a Welton blazer boy” Charlie said, directing the conversation in a different route.

“She suggested it. I’ve been considering. It’s tough because I know Welton is the better school for him and he’s crazy smart for a kid, but when I start thinking about all these successful things I want for him I worry I’m turning into my own parents. Forcing a kid to conform who just wants to enjoy life the way it is” Knox explained and Charlie nodded knowing exactly what he had meant. Getting older made you realize you didn’t give your parents the benefit of the doubt at the time. Maybe they really truly wanted what was best for you and not just them.

“Listen, as the guy who did not survive Welton maybe give it a shot. I heard that old bag Nolan isn’t in charge anymore and maybe you can attend classes, see the curriculum, determine if they’ve changed the last ten years” Charlie offered a suggestion and Knox’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m surprised Charles, you hated Hellton more than the rest of us” Knox exclaimed and Charlie just shrugged, sipping more of the scotch that made his insides buzz.

“If anyone can be different Knox it would be you. You wouldn’t force him to do anything, if he said he didn’t want to go to Welton anymore you’d let him leave in an instant. You’d actually have him come home on weekends and for holidays. It wouldn’t be like how it was for us” Charlie said reminiscing one too many lonely winters where his parents had yet again sent a gift instead of bringing him home for Christmas.

“I know, which is why I think we might enroll him next Fall” Knox said and Charlie gave him a smile.

“At least you can trust he’ll make good friends” Charlie told him and Knox realized he had agreed with his decision. It was possible Welton wasn’t a soul crushing machine anymore.

“Lifelong friends at that” Knox told him before clinking his glass with his own.

“Boys, dinner!” Chris called for them and Knox gave Charlie a grin before finishing his drink and heading for the door.

“Let’s go Nuwanda, Chris made meatloaf” Charlie was chuckling at his friend, finishing his own scotch before following him out the door.

Vermont made Charlie feel uneasy of course but the five of you sitting at the dinner table felt like the safest place in the world. Even if it had been months it felt like the most natural thing, easy conversation, bottomless glasses of wine, and collectively keeping Johnny from spilling his milk. Charlie realized it was the first place since Welton that made him feel comforted like that. It was funny how the worst of places could be the ones you felt the most comfortable in. So after a short prayer you were all digging in, catching up as if you didn’t call each other at least three times a week.

“Y/N dear, please tell me you brought some copies of the times. I so wish to read some of your latest articles” Chris was saying as she passed the potatoes to Knox who scooped them onto Johnny’s plate. Charlie was the one to catch the milk glass when Johnny hit it with his fork.

“Of course I did, and I brought my famous blondies for Knox” you said, pointing to the man who just smiled wide.

“That’s why you’re my favorite” he told her and the group was laughing again.

“How about you Charles, how is Wall Street, you know stocks, and money?” Chris asked, everyone laughing again at her confusion over Charlie’s work.

“It is so good Chris, our company is doing very well” he informed her and Chris smiled widely, pouring some wine into your glass.

“I’m so glad you all could get off of work for this week, we have so much to prepare” Chris said, starting to dig in to her own meat loaf.

“In layman’s terms that means the girls decorate while we do all the heavy lifting” Knox explained, reaching for a napkin to wipe Johnnys chin that had gravy dripping down it. Charlie leaned over, pointing to his own mouth to which Knox just rolled his eyes.

“He’s exaggerating. Tomorrow my mother will come over and watch the kids and we’ll go over to the Anderson’s to build centerpieces. I think the boys are going over to the venue to start setting things up” Chris explained to you, hand patting your own, and Knox chuckled.

“See heavy lifting” but Chris rolling her eyes at him was enough to shut him up.

“Kids?” you questioned and Chris suddenly beamed.

“Yes! Todd’s older brother Jeff has two, Michael who is eight and Clara who is five. She’s going to be the flower girl, isn’t that so sweet” Chris grinned, eyes blown wide at the thought of so many young kids. After her own complications during Johnathons birth she had been waiting before considering more children but you all knew she wanted at least five more.

“Wow, I bet she’ll be adorable” you tried to beam back but Charlie could see the uneasy look on your face, how you both hadn’t been able to conceive yet. It wasn’t that you were necessarily trying but you were never that careful either.

“Either way I am so excited, the whole week has been planned out. I haven’t been in a wedding since yours and Ginny Danbury’s” Chris smiled, clearly excited, and feeling the love in the air.

“We’re excited as well, I mean Todd. Forget the blushing bride we’re going to be having a blushing groom!” you teased, pivoting the conversation from children as quickly as you could.

“I’ll drink the that” Charlie said to his wife, raising his wine glass, and the group just laughed.

“I’ll serve breakfast at eight and then we can ride together to the Andersons after” Chris told you and you nodded quickly, eager to agree with any terms because she was so kind to have welcomed you in her home.

“This will be a wedding for the books” Knox said before shoving a large bite of meat loaf in his mouth that made Johnny incessantly giggle at the goofiness of his father. This also cause Charlie to follow along and when Johnny went to try himself Chris stopped it, muttering about choking hazards, and you were so thankful for Charlie allowing you to be apart of this life.

“I’m glad we’re here” you told him later that night in the guest room, hanging your dresses in the closet after folding all his dress pants into the dresser.

“Me too, Johnny has grown at least five inches since we last saw him” he said, now propped up nicely in the bed wearing an old Columbia sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms. You admired his wife rimmed glasses tucked on his nose and the way his thumb kept his place in his book despite his attention being on you.

“You ever miss it, the countryside?” you asked curiously, closing the now empty suitcase, and reaching for the curlers to put in your hair.

“Sometimes, I forget how quiet it is. I like the quiet” Charlie said and you were smiling, sitting beside your husband. A man of many trades and attributes. Gentle but overconfident. Teenage him must’ve been relentless.

“You do not like the quiet, I think you like that this is still home” you told him, hand resting on his knee from your spot on the edge of the bed.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong dear, because wherever you are is my home” he told you, permanent flirtatious smirk on his face, and you hoped one day he could share everything about this place. The good and the bad, because all of it shaped him into the man you loved today.

“Sweet talker” you teased, leaning forward to kiss him but before you could pull back he was tucking you softly against his chest.

“Only for you Mrs. Dalton” he told you and you couldn’t help the butterflies that flapped in your stomach, there permanently for the last six years.

“Keep it that way Mr. Dalton”

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[averageallogene]

Kazuha ♡⊹˚ Only you (NSFW)

✧˖°. Summary: Loving a wanderer is not easy, especially when the lonely nights grow in numbers and the longing brings forth negative thoughts. Just as her self doubt begins to boil over, her Kazuha returns, committed to chase any insecurities away.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; hurt to comfort with then concluding smut. cw for insecurities / self doubt regarding love life.

6k words.

notes. I really couldn't just not write something as sickeningly sweet as this for our beloved Kazuha <3. We all just know he's the sweetest there is and I wanted to attempt and showcase that! I hope you like the progression in this one~ Enjoy! ✧˖°.

Normality remained strong in Ligue Harbor, the banality of human life boasting lively as another day concluded for many across the prosperous city. The sun was still in the sky, golden rays blessing the nation of the Geo Lord as many of its inhabitants retired for their families or loved ones, the night soon beginning. Lights were lit, the harbor still roaring as the dock workers ensured everything was in order for the day. 

On the usual spot she remained, hands holding across her front as she silently prayed for the known ship to dock. Colorful eyes gleamed with hope, grasping one of the many letters she'd been given to the messengers that reached her, the only link between herself and her beloved. 

"Waiting for the Crux, I reckon?" One of the workers approached her, sympathetic look across his face as she nodded in confirmation. "I'm afraid the ship won't be docking today either, miss. The sea's been rather violent out there, so that might just be the cause of their delay."

[F/N] simply nodded her head, gaze lowering as she sighed quietly. The vague explanation was a clear attempt at an excuse to soothe the heartache the sailor had probably seen many times before her, yet it still stung all the same despite the good intentions. Another day without her lover felt like yet another knife that perforated her heart, wound gashing deep as she silently wept for his absence.

Loving a wanderer wasn't easy, and [F/N] was very aware of such. Still, caging a bird that wished for nothing more than to soar across the skies was brutal, far too brutal for anyone as loving and as carefree as her dearest Kazuha. Even if it stung whenever he wouldn't be there with her, the love she held for him far surpassed the temporary ache. [F/N] knew she was loved, it was evidently clear in the way Kazuha always returned, regardless of his love of freedom. It was evident in the way he always held her, the way he eyed her, the way he dedicated a poem in each letter he'd send - of how the winds atop a mountain reminded him of her soothing embrace, of how the hues in the sunset of the west resembled her face whenever she gained a pink color, of how the sound of the waterfalls couldn't possibly compare to all the pure love that poured from his heart in her name. Kaedehara Kazuha was a very loving man, one that ensured to make it known for the one he always thought back to and returned, regardless of where he was. 

Even so, why would these thoughts every so often creep up on her? He loved her, and his word had always been sacred. [F/N] would never even dream of doubting Kazuha's words, yet the mind could be an ugly enemy to battle against when the lonely nights carried on, one after the other.

"Why not join us for dinner tonight? Come on, it'll be fun!" A friend had suggested, noticing the way her mere aura wept around her very frame. 

The intentions had been good, to say the least. Yet the way her friends were either accompanied or spoke of nothing else than their partners and their relationships served little to distract her of her own ordeal. The food was delectable, yet it seemed particularly bland despite the expertise of the cooks that carried out the Yue Cuisine legacy. [F/N] could only find herself picking at the food presented to her, head hanging low as her locks partially hid her face from the view of her friends in front of her. 

"Hey [F/N], are you alright?" Another one of her girlfriends inquired, receiving only a short response from the girl in question. 

"How's Kazuha been?" The girl beside her asked, intentions nice despite not reading the room.

The only one that seemed to truly be aware of their friend's emotions at that moment had been the one that had invited her in the first place. With a glance that inquired if they were serious?, she gesticulated her hands slightly before [F/N] were to notice. 

"He's… He's been doing good. I hope?" She responded, the last question leaving her in a quick breath that nearly escaped everyone in the room. The atmosphere was quickly shifting, everyone around the table growing quieter as the conversation went on. 

"O-Oh?" Although definitely reading the room now, it felt odd to leave it out in the open after inquiring of how everything was on their end. Ignoring their friend's glance, her attention shifted to [F/N] once more. "Wasn't he due to return a few days ago?"

"Yes… He was. I'm a little worried if…"

If he won't come back to me, it was stuck at the back of her throat as it formed into a lump that threatened to suffocate her. After all, Kazuha was just… Perfection. He deserved only the very best. A life chained down to Liyue Harbor with herself… Was it really something he deserved?

"Oh, dear…" A sigh of frustration was heard from the same friend, deciding that her opinion should be heard on the matter. Even as she was quietly urged to not say it, something everyone but [F/N] seemed to be aware of, she continued to speak. "You've been way too gloomy these past few days… Is Kazuha the reason you haven't been yourself?"

"Huh?"

"He's not really been there for you has he? I mean- With someone as far away as he is, how can he truly be there for you when you're like this?"

"Hey, stop it-" The other girlfriend tried to stop her then and there, the urge of throwing her out of the dining area of the restaurant becoming quite enticing all of the sudden. 

"When was the last time he was here? And for what, a week? I don't like seeing you like this, and I don't want to be the one to break it to you [F/N], but someone that truly cared wouldn't always be leaving you in the dirt like this."

"Shut up, you idiot!" Her friend nearly shouted, all the while [F/N] simply stared at her, apparently processing what she was saying before formulating a response. 

"I'm sorry, but it has to be said! You're always supporting Kazuha on his decisions, but why doesn't he just stay more often? Wouldn't he be able to do so if he loves you? Is he afraid of commitment?"

"I'm not hungry anymore." Suddenly [F/N] got up, placing the chopsticks to the side carefully before eyeing everyone on the table. Despite the twisting emotions stirring deep within her, the fire to still respond somehow came forth. "You wouldn't possibly understand just how important this is for Kazuha. I'd advise you to think before you spew hurtful things about your friends' relationships."

The group was left in utter awkwardness, the young girl retiring for the night as frustrated tears fell down from her face. Anger and disappointment flowed together, both at her idiot friend, if she could even be called that, and at herself. Her heart felt as though it was punctured with small needles, threatening to shatter in a thousand pieces as her mind continued to juggle between her self doubt and her faith in Kazuha. 

[F/N] hadn't even realized when she had entered her small home, the door closing behind her as her vision remained blurry with the tears. Kazuha loves me, right? , Of course he does, would he ever lie? , Well, why would he want me anyway? , He could have anyone after all , I’m sure he’s met many more interesting people out there , they were all thoughts that jumbled inside her head as she retired to her cold and empty room, disappearing amidst the silken sheets as she succumbed to a melancholic sleep. 

The following day at work was difficult, [F/N] having trouble focusing as she attended to her duties with due diligence. It didn't help the fact that, working directly with people, she had to tuck away her sorrows for the day all the while faking her smile to the customers that kept the business afloat. Her mind however could only wonder back to her lover, the one that hadn't sent a letter to her in a while, the one that perhaps was too good for her after all. 

She found herself at the docks after her shift, seeking comfort amidst the soothing breeze of Liyue as it caressed her face. Her eyes sought refuge from the light as they closed, a pained expression painted in faint layers as she breathed slowly. In the distance, seagulls could be heard as they took flight, the echoing sounds reaching her ears as she sighed quietly.

Perhaps… A free bird shouldn't be bound to anything, she thought.

Perhaps that was what she was, a mere binding down to his happiness. If she wasn't there… Would Kazuha have more time to enjoy himself across Teyvat?

She hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps, a lonesome figure dressed in the warmest reds reaching her from behind. She remained there, fingers interlaced together against her belly as she pondered over, mind painstakingly torturing her heart as it overanalyzed every little thing.

"This conflict within your heart, dove… It worries me so." Her eyes shot wide open, body jumping lightly before coming face to face with the warmest gaze that reflected the most radiants of sunsets. "Would you like to explain to me what troubles you?"

"Kazuha!.. You’re back!" [F/N] murmured, eyes still locked with his own as she took the moment to even react. This was enough to further confirm his suspicions, expression furrowing with worry as he gently reached his hand out to hold her own.

"Yes, my love." He hummed softly, reading her like an open book. Averting his gaze was of little use, yet she did it all the same, the little faith in hiding her conflict from his experienced eyes leading her to do so as he tucked some strands behind her ear. " Something wrong? I'm all ears, I hope you know so."

"I… I don't want to burden you." She sighed softly, voice speaking lower than what he'd like. After all, her voice was the most beautiful sound to ever grace his ears. "After all, you've just returned…"

"You'd never, ever burden me." He spoke with confidence, yet his tone oozed with the honey that would always draw her back into him. His fingers, previously lingering on the side of her face, quickly traveled down her jawline, lifting her chin gently as she finally looked back into his eyes once more. "I arrived a little bit ago. The Crux had to continue their voyage, yet my promise to return to you was much more important."

Her eyes glistened upon his words, the previous brick walls that isolated her within her self doubts crumbling piece by piece. Her smile lifted for a mere moment before it faltered, silently thanking him for always knowing what to say, as was customary for Kazuha. Seemingly reading her yet again, he continued.

"There was a delay in our trip as we were nearly ambushed amidst the sea. Even with a reputation as high as hers, Beidou still finds some rascals willing to try their very best from time to time." He explained calmly, fingers caressing her skin as the harbor seemingly stood still around them. "All I could think about was how you'd be doing… Oh, how I missed you, my love."

"Kazuha… I missed you so much…" She sobbed, hands covering her face as she felt herself be lovingly embraced into his grasp. His arms held the warmth of the world, the faint scent of the salty sea enveloping her as [F/N] let herself go. His voice soothed her with calming words, reassuring her once more of how he missed her so, her aching heart slowly and steadily being soothed over. 

It was the first time in a very long while that the house didn't feel cold. The couple returned to the humble abode as the door was closed behind them, Kazuha never letting go of his lover's hand even as they remained there in the entryway. His thumb caressed her skin carefully, his eyes pleading for her to speak her mind as she deserved to.

"My dear… You wouldn't happen to be so sorrowful on my account, would you?"

The mere way her muscles tensed as a response was more than enough to confirm his worries, it now being his turn to feel his heart ache. His hand held hers tighter now, a light squeeze that spoke directly of his regret of ever being the cause of her hurt. 

"It's not your fault, don't ever think that…" [F/N] shook her head, her fingers reciprocating the same gentleness to him as they remained perfectly still. Kazuha carefully came closer, his breath tickling her skin softly as he quietly coaxed her to continue. "I've just been having… Some negative, unwanted thoughts."

"Is that so? Would you like to share more with me?" Kazuha softly voiced out, at that point her chest pressing against his own. "Just know you don't have to if you don't feel comfortable, dear. I'll support you either way, just like you've always supported me."

Kazuha spoke with the utmost love, the utmost devotion, like one worshiped a deity with all their being. His feather light touch was enough to ignite small sparks from within her skin, sending small shivers down her spine as she relished on his presence. The way he'd worded himself was enough to finally crumble her walls, the sudden suffocation within her chest urging her to spill every worry she had, every ache her mind fabricated. 

"Kazuha- I… I love you, so much," [F/N] stuttered, her cheeks gaining color as she openly wept before him. "But I just can't help but… But feel like I'm-"

"Holding me back?" He completed it for her, watching as she adorably nodded her head, lip twisting in agony as he hummed in response. His fingers lingered on her cheek, calloused thumb working to carefully wipe off every tear that left her gaze. 

"How did you know?" She hiccuped.

"The wind whispered your sorrows to me, dove." He responded truthfully, watching as she cracked a small smile. To her it was a poetic way to tell her it was intuition, but only Kazuha knew the true reality of his words. "My love, if I may ask, why would you ever think that?"

"I… I just… I suppose that…"

Patience was one of the many things that made Kazuha the perfect person, his gaze burning with nothing short of sheer love as his other hand carefully lowered to rest upon her hip. He wanted her to fully let it all out, together finding the root of the issue before they could grow together. 

"I think it all started with me just… Missing you too much? It sounds a little ridiculous-"

"It isn't, dear. None of your emotions are ridiculous. But please, continue."

"I suppose I started wondering if I had become too… Boring. Against the excitement described in all the letters you send me, I’d fear I can't be all that exciting to return to… Right? There must be far more intriguing people out there, someone that perhaps…. That perhaps, is more…” It stung her to even say it, yet the need to finally communicate what her brain processed was evident. “...Compatible, with you.”

Kazuha continued to gaze at her with fondness and sympathy, his thumb continuing to circle her cheek in a slow and soothing pattern. He waited for her to finally look back up at him, searching for any signs of confirmation to what she suspected. There was nothing as far as she could tell, the samurai before her glancing at her with nothing short of pure love. 

"Is that what you've been thinking, dear?" He hummed warmly, his strong grasp only pulling her closer to him. He felt as her arms wrapped around his lower back, her head nodding slowly as his fingers entangled themselves through her hair. "I'm so sorry, I wouldn't ever want you to think that I wished to be away from you for longer than I already can be…"

He began leaning closer, his soft lips brushing against the top of her head before he began to plant soft kisses. His breath tickled her skin, feeling as he moved towards her forehead, leaving a trail of warm kisses all the while he continued to speak. 

"In truth, wherever I go, I always find myself circling back to you. Every piece of beauty I stumble upon brings me back to your own, reminding me over and over just how lucky I am to have you." Kazuha smiled softly, his own cheeks gaining a hint of color as he opened his heart for her. It wasn't difficult for someone who held his heart in his sleeve, yet the way his girlfriend reacted to it each time only made his fondness grow even more. "To have someone who truly understands and supports me, I won't ever take that for granted. No one shall ever compare to your kindness, your support, your patience, your positivity, your dedication… No matter how 'intriguing' they may be, to me no one shall ever, ever whisk my heart from you." His hand continued to circle her back slowly, her body growing soothed as his words reaffirmed their position and blew away her worries. "I too don't like being far from you my love, yet I can't also force you to follow me and give up on your own dream."

Her head nodded against his chest, signifying her agreement to his words. Her grip onto his frame tightened, causing him to bring her even closer as they remained where they were. Kazuha could feel their heartbeats pump in unison, the vulnerable moment only amplifying their strong emotions to one another. 

"I love you, my dear [F/N]. With all my heart and a promise to the stars above, my heart belongs to you, only." Kazuha whispered, his tone honest and ardent. His hand slid up to once more hold her cheek, coaxing her to look up to him once more. His eyes shimmered with love, a small smile gracing his handsome face as she felt her own cheeks grow in warmth. 

"I love you too, Kazuha…" [F/N] eagerly responded, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry I've ever let myself think that-"

His thumb softly pressed against her lips, quietly hushing her as he shook his head. It's alright, I understand, his gaze told her in silence. His smile only grew, letting them bask in the quietness for a mere instance. Kazuha himself wasn't immune to those thoughts, either. On lonesome nights across his journey he'd pondered if he was worthy of his beloved, if his presence was doing her more harm than good. Yet the love he held for her always pulled him back, never being courageous enough to let go, never wanting to. 

With his head tilting forward they shared a deep kiss, their confessions pouring into it as their lips danced slowly. Kazuha savored every instance, sighing against her hold as he basked in the familiarity and warmth of her soft, irresistible kisses. Whilst one hand remained snuggly on her hip, the other lowered to her neck, carefully stroking behind as he pulled his beloved closer, leading the two of them across their silent confession as none dared to move. [F/N] smiled softly against his lips, her own hand holding him closer by his clothing while another stroking upwards to find his lovely hair. The way her fingers waved through his locks had him trembling at the end of his back, Kazuha taking the instance to deepen the kiss with a passion that only began to overflow. She could feel it as well, the way his lips moved a little more frantically, the way he began to sigh a little quicker against her mouth. He leaned to the side, attacking the corner while letting her catch her breath, whispering to her ear. 

"I love you, my dove. My flame only burns for you, only you." His words of love and adoration were hard to ever cease, her head beginning to spin in the process as she slowly got drunk on his confessions. "Allow me to show you, just how much I mean my words."

A small gasp leaving her throat, her arms quickly sought stability on his neck, Kazuha easily lifting her off the ground as he whisked her in his arms. One hand around the back of her knees and the other on her lower back, his cheeky smile wasn't passed unnoticed as he continued to pepper her with kisses, all the way to their shared bedroom. Even with the dim light he moved without any issues, ending up with the two of them on their bed, him atop his beloved as she eyed him with expectancy. 

Even with such little light Kazuha looked ethereal, his calming smile sending her heart ablaze as her hand worked on removing the hair tie that caged his beautiful hair. It was his own turn to tremble, the sensation of her hands on his scalp always triggering something within him as he pounced. His calloused fingers moved around her frame with the utmost care, as if before him stood a masterpiece that could break under any sign of force. The little shivers he could feel against his fingers had him biting his lower lip, gazing at her with love as he removed each and every layer of her clothing. 

"You're the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid my eyes upon, [F/N]..." He murmured, lips brushing against her own before lowering to her chest. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the cold of her bare skin, causing her to jolt slightly against him as her hands held him close. "I will never get tired of your beauty, never will I not want to show my devotion to you."

"K-Kazuha," she breathed out in a trembling tone, her skin reacting to every little bit of attention he bestowed upon her. His hands explored her chest before landing on her breasts, one hand cupping each as he massaged them sensually. [F/N] could do little but bite her lower lip, suppressing the little sounds from eagerly escaping as she gazed at him with half lidded eyes.

“You’re beautiful… So beautiful.” He repeated like a prayer, lips lingering lower down her belly, planting kisses along all the way. 

He could feel the way her thighs closed shut, the smile against her skin being felt as his hands lowered to reach her hips. His lovely girlfriend could only whine at the sudden loss of warmth across her bare chest, feeling her entire body grow excited as he continued his ministrations. By that point, Kazuha nestled himself comfortably against her legs, burrowing himself in between them as his strong hold carefully pried her open, like a most delicate gift he’d forever treasure. His red eyes, gleaming with a burning passion, gazed up to her as he gave her a loopy smile, one of both love and lust as his fingers ran across her sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby. Don’t you worry…” He cooed softly, kissing and nibbling from her inner thigh closer and closer until he reached her exposed heat, already wet with excitement for his attention. His breath both tickled and excited her further, attentive fingers spreading her pussy lips apart before he gave her one slow lick.

“A-Ah, K-Kazuha!” [F/N] yelped, her back arching lightly as she closed her eyes. Her hand sought the bedsheets below them as she attempted to hold still, her hips involuntarily jerking against his mouth for more. He could only smile, basking in her essence and scent as he fully intended on drowning himself in the moment.

“You taste wonderful, dove. I can never get enough of you.” His tone came out in a groan, feeling his throat dry up like he’d been thirsty for years. Another lick, and another, he couldn’t even get his request out without eating her out more and more. “I want you to, look at me,” He groaned, his hand squishing her thigh. He watched as she hesitated for a moment, before finally opening her eyes and looking at him, the most endearing expression of bashfulness across her beautiful face as she breathed heavily. “I want you to keep looking at him while I pleasure you, baby. Can you do that for me?”

“M-Mhm, I-I’ll try…” [F/N] moaned out, clenched first hiding her opened mouth as she continued to breathe out. It was difficult, yet she could never deny any request her beloved Kazuha had for her. Despite the embarrassment, the way he got off on the eye contact as he ate her out was something that stirred her in a way she couldn’t quite describe, enough to convince her to oblige. 

“Good girl. My good girl…” The samurai breathed out, leaning in before putting his skilled tongue to use. 

Setting her pussy lips apart with his wet muscle, Kazuha’s gleaming gaze didn’t deviate from her face, watching with entertainment every little reaction and shift of expression she offered to him. Her lips remained parted in a delicious expression, breathing out repetitions of his name as his tongue swirled upwards to her bud. He licked, tasted, explored, leaving no corner of her needy pussy untouched as he savored every drop of juice she had to offer to him. 

“You taste so good, dove. I could die a happy man like this,” he chuckled in a breathless tone, burrowing himself even deeper as her thighs closed in on his head. Kazuha could feel himself becoming lightheaded, drowning himself in the taste of his lover as he lifted one hand to aid his tongue.

“Nnnnhah, Kazuha! That feels so good, ah-” She moaned in a high pitched tone, eyes shutting for a mere moment upon feeling two of his fingers going inside her. [F/N] continued moaning his name, shivering in delight as a hand landed back on his gorgeous light hair.

Against her grip he grunted, now his turn of feeling his eyes nearly closing. Kazuha remained steady however, his mouth suckling and playing with her clit as he continued to pump his fingers deeper into her. He could feel her walls tighten around his digits, the sounds of her juices squelching against his hand bringing a most satisfied smile to his face. His soul burned brightly as he realized how despite everything she kept on gazing down at him, doing her utmost to keep up her promise to him even as her eyes grew glossy.

“You’re just too precious, my love.” He cooed against her pussy, fingers pumping faster and deeper, hitting her where she saw stars. Her response was a gasp and a dragged out moan, hand gripping tighter onto his hair, pulling him closer as she sought any form of release while grinding against his face. 

“Kazu, d-don’t look at me l-like that,” [F/N] breathed out, tears falling down her rosy cheeks as she felt herself grow closer and closer to her orgasm. “It’s, ahn- Embarrassing~”

“I’m sorry love, I just can’t help myself.” He sighed blissfully in response, lowering himself for a mere moment before licking greedily all around the juices that dripped down from her hole, his fingers scissoring her with expertise as she contorted in pleasure. “I just can’t keep my eyes off of your beautiful frame, all sensitive and just for my eyes to see… I’m such a lucky man.”

“Kazuha!” [F/N] called out in a trembling voice, eyes pleading with him to not stop. 

“Are you close, darling?” He hummed, her head nodding frantically as she eyed him with fervor, pleading to please bring her to a release. Kazuha could only offer her a lopsided smile, his heart soaring to watch as he pleased her so well. “Don’t worry, I promised I’d take good care of you, baby. Go on, cum for me, alright?”

Her breathing grew frantic, moaning to his delightful ears as he continued to finger her quicker, tongue carving out every corner of her pussy as he engraved her scent in his mind. His eyes didn’t leave her face, wishing to witness her beautiful expression twisting upon reaching her high. [F/N] babbled on his name, hips bucking against his face before finally releasing the tight knot that had formed in her belly. He felt her walls spasm against his fingers, moving them slower, riding her through her wild climax as his tongue calmed down, offering her slower licks before moving on to kiss her inner thighs.

“There you go, dove… So gorgeous, so good for me.” Kazuha smiled, reassurance beaming through his words as they dripped out like the sweetest honey in her ears. He watched as she relaxed, her hold around him loosening and letting him crawl up to meet her face.

Kazuha kissed her deeply, his lover being quick to reciprocate the act. Her hands grasped onto him weakly, moaning against the kiss as his tongue met hers, saliva connecting as they twisted in bed, bodies grinding together. Kazuha could feel himself throbbing underneath his layers of clothing, growing hotter with each moment he spent with the love of his life. He made sure to part her lips nice and wide, suddenly ambushing her mouth as he slipped his fingers in, watching as she opened her eyes in confusion. Her face grew hotter, tasting her own release as her tongue swirled around his fingers, licking them fully while gifting him with the most delectable moans. His eyes grew heavier, his breathing following suit as he felt the urge to move forward with their session. 

“You came quite hard, didn’t you?” He pointed out, a hint of cheekiness amidst the otherwise sugary sweet voice he had for her. “I bet it was lonely without me, wasn’t it honey?”

She shyly nodded her head. “I-It just… Isn’t the same, without you…” She admitted under her breath, watching as he began to undress himself. 

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, I’ll take good care of you now.” He reassured her, chasing her lips with his own as they fumbled together to fully undress the samurai. 

Kazuha couldn’t possibly let go of her mouth, soft laughter filling the room every so often as the two lovers jumbled around the now messy bed. His clothing was thrown to the floor without much thought, his hot body being hit with the cooler air as they finally embraced one another skin to skin. [F/N]’s ears were filled with excuses as to why he couldn’t possibly let her go, citing how her lips tasted too sweet, how she always captivated him beyond the wish to breathe.

“I love you, [F/N]. Only you.” Kazuha repeated, his fingers lacing with her own as they stood still, bodies pressed together as he finally stopped kissing her for a mere second.

“I love you too, Kazuha…” She quickly replied, the smile on her face genuine as his heart leaped at the view before him.

His hand snuck behind her lower back, quickly turning the two of them around. [F/N] gasped softly upon feeling him move her with ease, soon finding herself sat on his lap, her beloved laying below her with the most radiant of smiles, accompanied by the loveliest shade of pink on his cheeks.

“I want you to use me, pleasure yourself.” He requested, voice velvety sweet as his hands came to rest on her hips. He watched her hesitate, blushing furiously as he began rubbing circles around her waist.

“B-But…”

She watched as he tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently for a response. Yet nothing came, the thought about taking the lead was exciting [F/N] quite a lot. Up to that point Kazuha had usually been the one to take charge, yet the way he seemed to hold her and wanting to be the one to be used brought a new sensation to her belly she hadn’t quite experienced. She was brought out of those thoughts as his hardened cock grinded against her still sensitive pussy, feeling the thick vein on its side pressing against her and making her nearly see stars.   

“I belong to only you, after all.” Kazuha sighed in bliss, eagerly attempting to hold his hips from bucking too frequently as he patiently waited for her to move.

A shiver was felt down her spine, the two lovers sharing a glance before she nodded her head. With her hand she cautiously aligned herself with his cock, slowly but surely lowering herself onto him before her expression began shifting. How long had she felt her walls being stretched to fit him- Goodness, her mind was already melting. Kazuha just felt deliciously good, reaching all the right spots as she moaned out his name. 

“Ngh, h-how I missed this.” He moaned, his hands gripping at her hips before slowly finding their way closer to her ass. His eyes nearly shut in pure bliss, yet he held on, gaze lowering only to watch as her pussy engulfed him whole.

“Ah Kazu, y-you’re so big…” [F/N] shivered, the blush upon her face rivaling the maple leaves of his homeland in the cooler months. Her walls sucked him eagerly, as if kissing his dick and begging him to remain there forever, something that had his head spinning in delight. As she adjusted to his size, she couldn’t help but wonder, how come he felt bigger? Was she just so desperate to have him that her mind warped her perception, or...?

After a mere moment and a shared glance, her hips began moving, taking charge as they both began letting out sounds of pleasure. Kazuha could only watch as his cock was buried deep within her walls, each time kissing her deeper and deeper with his tip as he focused to not come undone then and there - it wasn’t like he could be blamed however, after all, not only did his darling’s pussy just feel sinfully delicious, but the view before him was to die for. [F/N]’s body moved up and down, the sweat gleaming off her skin with the little light they had amidst the dark room, her eyes focusing on him as they drowned in one another’s presence. Her tits bounced in rhythm with her body, hypnotizing him to a trance as he felt his throat dry up with all the sighs of pleasure he let out.

“[F/N]...” He moaned out, causing her inner walls to squeeze him even harder in response. “Y-You look, ahgn- Simply d-divine, love.” He smiled widely, his hands reaching out for her to take them. 

[F/N] blushed furiously, only moaning in response as she took his hands in hers. Their fingers laced together, Kazuha holding her with conviction as he offered her a steady way to hold herself up as she fucked herself on his throbbing cock. The sound of her ass rippling on him as she breathed heavily only further enhanced his pleasure, watching the show as he continued to praise and worship her very being.

“I love you, [F/N]... Archons, how much I love you. I can’t, ah, get enough of you.” Kazuha sighed, watching as her locks partially covered her face, lips twisting in pleasure as she felt herself pick up the pace, the same knot from before beginning to form deep within her belly.

“Kazuha, ah, Kazuha!” She whined, her hips moving in a circling motion as his cock kissed her in a particularly delicious spot, her back arching in response. “I love you, so much! Ah~”

He could feel himself closing in, his jawline tensing as his muscles contracted as a response. [F/N] could nearly drool at the sight, his toned body reacting with the way she bounced on his cock, doing nothing else but milking him for all he was worth.

“I love you,” He huffed, feeling as she lowered herself unexpectedly to chase after his lips. Obliging with a wide smile, his moans were muffled as she kissed him deeply, his hands returning to her hips and aiding her in keeping the rapid rhythm she sought. Even amidst the kisses he found openings to proclaim his desire for her, his mind already melting with how good she was making him feel. “I love you, I love you. Only you, dove. Only you.”

[F/N] could only moan incomprehensibly as a response, a faint attempt to reply a similar variant falling short as he bucked his hips involuntarily. Her eyes rolled back as she could only register his tip kissing her cervix, thrusting deeper and quicker, abusing her aching hole whilst also doing little less than worshiping it at the same time. He nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, relishing on her broken moans of his name as her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers stroking through his freed blond hair.

“Ahhh- ‘M close, Kazu!” [F/N] warned him, her eyes stinging with tears once more as her hips nearly gave out on her, were it not for the support his strong grip gave her.

“M-Me too,” Kazuha replied, a hint of disappointment evident amidst the pleasure. “Y-You just- Feel too- Good, ah.”

Even so, like always, he focused on ensuring her release before his own. Even on the brink of orgasm, his discipline knew no bounds, focusing instead on her lips and neck before feeling her wave crash against his body. [F/N] let out one final broken moan of his name, alongside a plea to release inside of her. He was nobody to not oblige, smiling drunkenly against her skin before picking up the pace, thrusting through her overstimulated pussy as he chased his own release. Repeated moans of her name left his lips like a sacred chant, nails gripping her ass before one final thrust having him release deep within her walls. Thick spurts of white painted her every corner, a tremble going all the way down her back as [F/N] felt her mind turn into a puddle. Even as he came Kazuha continued thrusting his hips, mouth open wide as he breathed heavily against her lips, feeling as his seed spilled out even before he had pulled out of her pussy.

“Ahn… S-So m-much…” She stuttered, eyes shutting close as she felt her body press against his own. Breathing heavily against his frame, her hands remained on his hair as she began stroking it slower, calmer, trying to catch her breath as he rode his high.

Kazuha’s lips were soon glued to her own, refusing to pull out of her pussy as they remained there. His hands stroked through her lovely figure, silently thanking her for taking him so well, for obliging to every little request he’d given her. He could only smile as he felt her body fully press against his own, resting against his toned chest as their heartbeats slowed down. 

“That was beyond amazing, dove.” He commented, tucking some hair behind her ear before giving her a smile. He studied her flushed face, basking in the smile she returned to him. “Are you tired?”

“O-Oh… Mhm…” Her blush worsened, hesitantly nodding her head. His perceptive eyes saw right through her though, the cheeky smile she adored too much returning to his face as his head tilted to the side. 

“Oh really? Seems like someone missed me that much…” A playful pinch of her ass followed, laughing quietly at the yelp she let out before eyeing him back with a pout. “Well, I believe I missed you much more…”

[F/N]’s back shivered as she realized the shift in his gaze, feeling as his cock began hardening whilst still buried deep inside her. She bit her lip with expectancy, shimmering eyes locking with his own as he played with her hair gently.

“How about we catch our breaths before round two, dove? We have to make up for our time apart, after all…”

[lume-nosity]

until i found you

characters: albedo, kazuha, mona, xiao

style: fluff

song inspo: until i found you by stephen sanchez (it’s such a beautiful song :sobs:)

notes: reader is gender neutral, this is practically word vomit, not proofread, xiao’s part is pre-confession, i got a little lost writing for kazuha’s part, in mona’s part you and her are/were best friends, apologies for anything ooc im trying to test out writing for other characters, xiao’s karmic debt gets soothed by you (this is listed because i overuse this but i love it), lowercase intended

albedo

as it’s known, albedo’s not used to having to put up with relationships. but ever since you’ve walked into his life that seemed to change. first meeting him when he was doing an experiment and you offered to help. the way you’re patient and reassuring makes him feel warm inside despite being originally made from chalk. you made him feel human. and your eyes, he’d always wonder what makes them look so breathtaking. it may seem off, but in his perspective, your eyes shine like that of a shimmering star. and he would love to research about them too. especially your likes, dislikes, personality, all that jazz. you’re just a stunning person, a stunning mystery. something he’d like to learn more about. even going as far as to ask you questions relating to his research (aka you). and don’t be surprised when you find a painted canvas of yourself at your doorstep as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. this is his way of saying he loves you. even though he was taught of the ways of alchemy and other knowledge correlating to the world and is incapable to understand the concept of what love truly means. but with you by his side, maybe then will he know as time goes on.

kazuha

he always follows the wind, right? now, how about he views you as a maple leaf flying with the wind? yes, you mean that much to him. he owes you his life after everything you’ve done for him. before, when you trusted him enough to take him into your stead, not being afraid despite him wielding a blade, and let alone having a wanted samurai in your home! you cared enough to take care of him even after the explanations. you didn’t care, you just wanted to keep him safe. he is deeply grateful of your kind act. and yet can’t ignore that warm feeling in his heart. however overtime you knew he can’t stay in one spot, as he’s a wanderer. so when you both had to part ways and bid each other farewell when the hunting started to die down, he’d vowed he’ll see you again. to truly give you his thanks. and present time, he has! you reunited with him at an isolated flower field. it was no surprise that the winds led you both together again, in a beautiful atmosphere. that was when you two realized you have feelings for each other and were honest about them. both feeling relieved that the other has felt the same way. the maple leaf to his wind, the muse to his poems, and now nature will guide this relationship to go far and wide.

mona

mona believed that chance has brought you two together. the stars were aligned and clear, that you both were destined to be together. she cannot foretell her fate, but she can foretell yours. you know she’s an astrologer, and is always telling the truth of one’s fate no matter how saddening or shocking it is. because that’s the way of astrology, yes? mona’s afraid to disappoint you after knowing what your future would look like. she is this close to you and she wouldn’t want to ruin your shared bond. well, even after knowing the warnings, you still want to know what your future would be like. you don’t care if it’s good or bad, because the truth is the truth. and you trust mona. so when she performed a hydromancy for you, everything was crystal clear in mona’s eyes. mona had to stop and process what was displayed in front of her. the future is known, that you two are meant to be together. she was flustered and tried to keep her composure but failed courtesy of her pink blush plastered on her face. destiny can’t lie about this, it’s written in the stars. she even performed a divination to put the icing on the cake. again, destiny can’t lie about these things. your fates were sealed. but what mona missed on her scryglass is that you too, feel the same way. surprising how pure chance can lead two stars to intertwine, it’s such a beauty.

xiao

he won’t admit it, but your stubbornness won him over. whenever he keeps telling you to stay away from him because of his karmic debt you always stuck to him like glue. at first this was annoying to him, because you’re like a stain that’s unable to be cleaned. he finds it irritating to say the least because he’s just trying to keep you safe and yet here you are taking every chance to see him. but now, he’s at ease. he doesn’t mind the accompaniment. only if it’s you. he can’t help but wonder ‘how can a mortal be this persistent?’ and how your presence soothes him like that of a blanket enveloping him; ridding him of any karmic debt lingering within him. the feeling is warm and softer than the almond tofu he’s usually served at the inn. you even listened in to his past because he trusts you that much. and for you to give him a simple hug made his brain malfunction. sure, he isn’t used to physical contact, but this is different. it cleanses him of his debt, the screams in his head subsided, it’s quiet. he closes his eyes and his arms shakily moved on their own and wrapped themselves around you as well. ‘thank you.’ is what he said. he tightened the hug a little while you rubbed circles around his back. he doesn’t understand how can a mortal like yourself be this sympathetic towards a yaksha who had done terrible things in the past and yet you showed bits and pieces of comfort despite it all. you understood him. because of this he silently promised himself that he will always protect you no matter how small or insignificant the matter is and to always be there for you. and maybe someday, he will realize his feelings for you. maybe someday he will realize he does have a purpose. this is the first step in changing xiao’s thoughts towards himself, and to you. and you’re right there to see it all.

an: so here’s the second upload for today! surprise surprise! i hope my word vomit will do your hearts justice because one time i’ve made my english teacher cry and be impressed by writing something similar to these,,, but anyways, i hope you enjoyed reading this little something and i’ll be going to bed now good night :)

[toast-writes]

Struck By Cupid's Arrow (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Description: It's Valentine's Day (or close to it, at least), and you're trying to come up with the perfect gift for Daryl. Gender isn't specified, no use of (Y/N). [Also I wrote this in February, and haven't wrote in awhile. I apologize if this is kinda bleh, but I figured it was decent enough to post here lololol]

Words: 1,280

Warnings: nothing but sappy good times

You sat at the small, cluttered desk in your bedroom, peering out the window as you watch the trees sway with the bitingly cold wind; the branches and ground below were covered in a blanket of snow.  You thought maybe if you watched nature do its thing, you'd find that groundbreaking inspiration for the project you were working on, because Valentine's Day was rearing it's soft, rosey face right around the corner, and you had no clue what to give your boyfriend.

Balls of paper were crumpled at your feet, each one containing a sappy poem scribbled inside. Your hand lay still on the paper with a pen gently nestled between your index and thumb. 

"Why is this so hard?! I jus- aw, biscuits!" The pen had left an inky puddle onto the paper. You sigh, wadding it up and tossing it behind with the others. Everything had to be perfect. This was your first Valentine's Day as a real couple, and you'd be damned if things weren't gonna go as planned.

"You know what," you speak to yourself, pulling out a pair of scissors and red construction paper, "I'll just make a card." You always thought you were at least halfway decent with the whole "arts-and-crafts" thing, so why not put your skills to the test and just craft something together.

After a another few failed attempts, you look at the little arrow-pierced heart with a slight sense of pride. It looked (almost) like a card you'd find at the store! The hard part is coming up with something on the inside.

You chew absentmindedly on the end of your pen as you ponder over good one-liners, then it hit you. A smile stretches across your face as the ink flows gracefully against the paper. 

       'Cupid, you've struck me with your arrow ♡' '

It was cheesey, sure, but the sentiment and meaning was still there.

Your heart gives a giddy leap as you think about giving it to Daryl. Even before, this time of year always brought joy to you. You loved nothing more than to, well, love. Whether it was family or friends, but this time? You had someone to call yours, someone to share a romantic love with, and that brought even more happiness to you. 

The plan was for Daryl to stop by in the evening, and the two of you would exchange gifts then. You had annoyed Daryl about it all week. 

"Hey, don't forget we've got Valentine's plans in a few days!"

"How could I forget when ya've been talkin' my ear off about it every damn near day." 

Right on schedule, there was a gentle rapping at the door, and you practically flung your self down the stairs with your hand-made gift behind your back. You opened the door with an excited, "Hi!!" and invited the man in, giving him a quick peck to the lips.

Candles dimly lit the living room, their sweet, alluring aroma filled the air. You really did put in some thought to this, wanting every second to be magical. Daryl was not one to "celebrate" this kind of holiday, unlike you. He never really saw himself as romantic, or loving for that matter. He didn't understand the whole concept of a day revolving around chocolates and flowers, or couples being ext-

"Do you want a glass of wine?" 

That piqued his interest. He follows you over to the couch as you tried your best to keep the card hidden from sight before "discreetly" setting it on the end table under a book, and take a seat.

The cork releases from the bottle with a loud 'pop!' and you fill both glasses about halfway.

"I would've made a spaghetti dinner to go along, but I don't have spaghetti." You tell him, a small frown etched on your face.

"S'alright," he replies, reaching for the wine and taking a gulp, "you've done plenty." His words were sincere and you could just melt with the love you felt for him. 

"Mm-" he let out a noise of acknowledgement with another mouth full, "almos' forgot." He pulls out a silvery chain and gestures for you to turn around.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna forget," You taunted, a playful smirk playing at your lips.

"Shut up an' close yer eyes." 

The cool metal nips at your neck, contradicting the warmth of Daryl's fingers. That familiar fluttery feeling worms its way into your chest again as you grow more and more eager to see what laid so delicately at your chest.

Daryl grunts, signaling you to open your eyes, and you let out a happy little gasp. The most beautiful, dainty moonstone necklace wrapped with wire in the shape of the tree of life sat so sweetly against your skin, glimmering in the candle light. 

"Found it in one o'them gift shops up the way. Reminded me of ya." 

You turn back to the archer, engulfing him in a hug. He tenses a bit at your touch, but just as quick melts into your arms, hugging you back.

"This is so sweet of you! And all I did was make you a-"

You pull away, a wave of embarrassment coating your cheeks with a warm kiss.

"What'd'ja make me?" He pushes, curiosity lacing his voice. 

'Oh, god. He's not gonna like my gift. He got me a gem and I made a dinky little card.'

"Um," you start, averting your gaze, "I don't wanna exchange gifts anymore."

You go to stand up, but quickly get pulled back down by your wrist.

"Ya did not talk m' damn ear off abou' this holiday fer days jus' to chicken out at th' las' second."

The two of you stare into each other's eyes at a stalemate.

"I ain't leavin' without no gift." He finalized, leaning back into the couch with his foot resting over his knee.

'Crap.'

You reach behind you, carefully holding your little card in both hands and shyly hand it to him, "don't laugh."

His brow creases as he takes the gift into his hold, looking over every detail and snip you made before opening it. 

You palms grow clammy as you watch his eyes flick over the words inside, and his mouth noticeably twitches.

'Fuck, he's gonna laugh at me he thinks it's stupid.'

"I love this." He admitted, a gentle half-smile danced on his face.

'Oh?' 

"You, uh- you do?" 

He nods, "yeah." His chest swarms with tender love as he reads over it one more time. Not many people have done what you did to express their love or appreciation for him. The fact it was all hand-made, and the time it must've taken to set everything up helped him come to the realization that he is loved. 

Daryl may still not totally get the hype for this holiday, but after everything you do for him, he does understand what it's like to be struck by cupid's arrow.

[ausetkmt]

WEMU: Author Veronica Johnson is capturing the stories of jazz women from Detroit

John Bommarito spoke to author Veronica Johnson about her oral history project about women in Detroit jazz on his program The Song Break.

TRANSCRIPTION:

John Bommarito: My guest on the Song Break today is a Detroit-based journalist and oral historian who is, in addition to her regular writing duties, working on something WEMU listeners will certainly be interested in knowing more about a project documenting woman in jazz music--Detroit Women in jazz music specifically. Welcome, Veronica Johnson, to the WEMU airwaves. How are you today?

Veronica Johnson: I'm good. Thanks for having me, John.

John Bommarito: It is my pleasure. Tell me a little bit about yourself. Where did you grow up?

Veronica Johnson So, I'm born and raised in Detroit, Michigan. Currently, I live in Redford, Michigan, which is just outside of Detroit. But, yeah, born and raised, west side of Detroit. So, I'm Detroit through and through.

John Bommarito: Very good. And what was on the radio when your parents were in charge of the dial versus when you took control?

Veronica Johnson: Well, I mean, my mom, she really loved my old school music. So, you know, I grew up being in a car listening to, like, the Isley Brothers or Earth, Wind and Fire, all of that. So, I'm definitely I think there are was also old soul. So, I've been listening to, like, that older R&B type of music all my life.

John Bommarito: Sure.

Veronica Johnson: And that's why I think I have definitely a great appreciation for it now, but I didn't really get into jazz until I got to college. I'm a minor with the music, and I took a music history course. It was on jazz, so it was just so much about the music that I didn't know. I was just like, "Wow!" you know, I heard of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, but just kind of really digging deep into their music and how much of an impact they had on the genre, as well as other genres as well. So, yeah, I just kind of got hooked on jazz music after that. And my major was actually in journalism, so I kind of fused my two passions together. So, that's kind of how I ended up writing about jazz music.

John Bommarito: Who got you interested in writing? Was there a particular author that inspired you?

Veronica Johnson: Well, actually, when I was younger, I started I kind of writing poetry. So, like, my grandmother, she was like a big inspiration on me. She wasn't a writer, but she kind of always championed my work. And, you know, I always would write different poems like that. And she always used to like to brag to her friends and have me read it aloud. So, I kind of started out writing poetry. But when I got in high school, I took a journalism class, and I realized I really kind of liked that art form and platform being able to kind of let people know what's going on. So, I definitely kind of started down the path of going into journalism after taking some courses in high school, and then I majored in it in college.

John Bommarito: My guest today on the Song Break is author Veronica Johnson, working on a project documenting Detroit women in jazz music. When did you start this project, and what was really your inspiration for starting? You just felt like Detroit needed a highlight?

Veronica Johnson: I mean, I've been covering jazz artists for a while on different outlets, but I'd say getting more into jazz and particularly learning more about Detroit jazz. I actually want to give a shoutout to my mentors like Charles Latimer. And he's a Detroit writer, Metro time jazz writer, and also Jim Gallert and Lars Bjorn. They actually wrote a book about Detroit jazz called "Before Motown: A History of Jazz in Detroit." So, just learning more about Detroit jazz and, obviously, so many obviously great male musicians from Detroit, likeMarcus Belgrave, Ron Carter, Paul Chambers, people like that. But, obviously, I was like, "Where's the female musicians? I know they're here." And I just really wanted to dig more deep into that. And I did a lot of research. You know, there's musicians that had a great impact on Detroit, like Terry Pollard, the great piano player. Alice Coltrane, obviously, everybody knows her being there with John Coltrane. She's from Detroit. She was a great piano player and harpist. So, yeah, I just really started digging deep into more on Detroit jazz. And I was just like, "I want to give a platform to these woman musicians. They're making just as much of an impact as male musicians, but I don't see a whole lot of them." And if I do, I don't see a lot written about them. So, I kind of just started on path, actually. My first interview was in 2018. I interviewed a musician named Carol McKinney. She's actually part of the--everybody knows--the McKinney kind of family, you know? Dalen, who's a great drummer from here in Detroit. This is her aunt. She's actually a saxophone player. So, I started playing at Bert one time, and I was just like, "Who is that? I really want to know about you. I don't see a whole lot of female saxophone players either."

John Bommarito: No.

Veronica Johnson: So, I actually did my first interview back in 2018. So, from there, I just kind of started musicians who I was familiar with. I've interviewed a lot of vocalists, a lot of piano players. Obviously, this kind of almost doesn't really have an end to it because there's so many female musicians that are doing so much great work here in Detroit and metro Detroit. Yeah, I've got about 21 interviews under my belt so far.

John Bommarito: Who have been some of the favorites that you've done so far?

Veronica Johnson: Well, I mean, everybody I think is special about this. Everybody has just, like, their own unique story. So, my thing is I just love hearing how they got started and things like that. I have the same questions like, "How did you get started in music and all that?" I guess if I just had to pick, I mean, like I've interviewed just about everybody from straight ahead. So, like, Mary Hayden--she's awesome. I got to mention Gaelynn McKinney. Mickey Braden, Elena Moore. So, those, I guess are some of the ones that have been really memorable. But, again, just musicians that are doing really great work. But, again, you don't hear about a lot of. A musician named Taslim Abay--she's a really amazing stride piano player. She had a really amazing story. I've interviewed a lot of vocalists--Ursula Walker, she's amazing. I interviewed her back in 2019. Those are the few that come to mind, but everybody I've interviewed definitely has a unique story.

John Bommarito: Who is still on the wish list? And how are you tracking these people down?

Veronica Johnson: Yeah, a lot of it, I mean, thankfully, I've connected a lot with musicians. When I do an interview, I'll say, "Hey, who do you think I should interview next?" or X-Y-Z. I'm going to get tons of names of different musicians, but definitely actually is next on my list. I've been doing a lot of local musicians, but I've actually would like to interview some people, obviously, that are like super national, like Regina Carter. I had an opportunity to interview her last year about the Detroit Jazz Fest when she was given the NEA jazz Masters and all that. But, obviously, she's from Detroit. So, even though she's obviously had a larger platform, but I definitely want to add her to the list. She's on there. Sheila Jordan is another one. You know, obviously, she's, I think, in her 90s, but she's from Detroit. So, I definitely want to get her story as well. So, yeah, I got a lot more to go obviously. But those are just a couple that I definitely want to get to sooner than later.

John Bommarito: Looking forward to when we were going to be able to consume this. When is it going to be able to be seen by the public?

Veronica Johnson: So, I'm actually working with a grassroots organization here in Detroit called The Detroit Sound Conservancy. I used to be a board member. I've been a part of it for a long time. So, they're really passionate about making sure that Detroit music is preserved. And they actually doing a lot of work at their store in actually the Bluebird Inn, which was a famous club back in like the 40s and 50s. They actually own the building now. And they're restoring it and turning into an archival location for Detroit music and things like that, so, working with them, trying to get it out there. I've worked with a couple of organizations who really anchor now with the Detroit Sound Conservancy. So, I'm hoping toget everything digitized. Everything obviously has been recorded, but just working with them to get everything digitized. And then, hopefully, my goal is to have everything--at least the interviews I've done so far--out there by next year. And, my goal is to work with BFC to do an exhibit. I would love to work with these musicians to, again, just have a place where they can go with the platform they have or other people that aren't familiar or may not be familiar with their music can go and learn more about them. And, you can check out their oral histories and all that. So, that's just a couple of things I have to work on.

John Bommarito: On the Song Break today, we're chatting with Veronica Johnson. Veronica, thanks for taking the time to explain what you're working on. And where can people find out more about you in particular at this point--about your writing and the things you've done so far?

Veronica Johnson: So, I do freelancing for a couple of publications: Metro Times, some stuff with them, Moderately Media. Also, I write monthly jazz reviews, album reviews for Downbeat, doing some stuff with them, hopefully doing some features soon as well. So, yeah, obviously, people can get in touch with me on Facebook as well. If there's, again, any musicians out there--female musicians--that you think I should be getting their story, definitely feel free to reach out to me on social media.

John Bommarito: I also found Roots Rhythm and Rhyme.WordPress.com is a place to find out some of your previous work, so I don't know if you're embarrassed by that. You shouldn't be, but that's a good resource as well. Roots Rhythm and Rhyme.WordPress.com. Check that out. Thank you so much for your time, Veronica. Good luck with the project. We look forward to seeing it when it's all finished and ready to go.

Veronica Johnson: Thanks for having me, John.

John Bommarito: My pleasure. Music from one of the artists you've spoken to up next. Joan Belgrave was on that list of people you sent me, so we're going to get something from her album "Excitable" right now on the Song Break on 89 one WEMU.

[xploded-tb]

[23/11/23] #BaiYu - BE PRESENT 专注在当下 | Translated Interview with SoFigaro Magazine

The following thread is a full translation of the 2023 November issue of SoFigaro. (First posted to Twitter here.)

Bai Yu is fond of taking photos of things that grow upwards.

During his photoshoot breaks, he would snap some photos of trees standing tall and swaying gently in the autumn wind, and some reeds in the distance.

The top of the pine trees in the cold November rain, the city walls that extend upwards, and the ancient corner towers that pierce into the sky…

These are things he likes to take photos of.

Perhaps all these have one thing in common.

Over time, they may seem to be standing tall and still, but in reality, they have been quietly absorbing and silently expressing themselves.

Parallel World

Following the conclusion of the Parallel World episodes, Bai Yu bid Chang Dong goodbye with a group of photos.

During the interview, he explained, "These are the yardangs we encountered along the way. This is an abandoned village, and this is where Chang Dong encountered an incident…" Although filming is complete, precious memories of this story are all carved into Bai Yu's mind.

Since ancient times, the Yumen Pass has always been an important landmark to the poets. It is an important frontier pass established along the Hexi Corridor during the Han dynasty. And today, it has become a heritage site.

To protect the area, most of the filming took place in the vast and endless Dunhuang desert. 'In boundless desert lonely smokes rise straight; over endless river the sun sinks round' (1)… The scenery described in the poem was right before his eyes. It was gorgeous, but they also had to tackle challenges brought on by the harsh environment.

Bai Yu recalled...

"We shot during June, so the winds were strong and it was the sunniest period. It was hard to illuminate the area at night in the desert, so a lot of scenes were shot day for night. Shooting under the scorching sun and in fierce winds did have some impact on performance."

One night, the giant tent the staff had set up securely was blown away by the wind. "The tent was huge, with really thick poles and sturdy ropes holding it down. Who knew that the next day it'd be missing, completely blown away by the wind!"

When time allowed, Bai Yu would drive his car to and from work, driving back to where he'd rest after the crew wrapped filming. "Nobody was around where we filmed, so knocking off and driving a jeep in this vast land felt great."

Whenever Bai Yu wraps up filming for a drama, he gives himself an extended break. Recently, he returned home to Xi'an and recharged with a bowl of hot oil noodles (2). Going back home is something Bai Yu often looks forward to the most after completing a project. After all, fully immersing oneself in a role is a significant test on an actor's physical and mental well-being. "Only when I'm back home can I unload and relax."

This year, Bai Yu also visited Wubu County, where he was born.

"I was born in a yaodong (3) that my parents built themselves, and it still stands today." Beside their yaodong are aging neighbors who could still recognize Bai Yu as that mischievous boy in their memories.

Some feel that the characters that Bai Yu has portrayed in the recent years carry this underlying theme of 'endurance.' We wondered if he felt 'bottled up' portraying such characters for some time.

Smiling, he replied, "A little, but you have to do something about it. So you need to rest properly to adjust." But every time he comes across a good script, he'd still be moved by the very authentic and rich characters.

.

.

.

After all, life isn't a feel-good drama. Struggles and compromises with things that turn out contrary to our wants are part and parcel of life.

Bai Yu had this to say…

"I used to be captivated by exciting stories, but now it's more the details that draw me in. These details should be used to portray a character instead of their embellished aspects. It's these details that let me get deeper into the character."

To Bai Yu now, there are no differences between 'important' and 'regular' scenes. People may enjoy discussing an actor's skill and portrayal of intense emotions in an important scene, but Bai Yu feels that shouldn't be all that makes a character.

"There are too many details happening all the time. It's like when I filmed 'The Long Night'; Jiang Yang is a character defined by many details."

The Long Night

Without a doubt, bringing up Bai Yu makes people immediately recall 'The Long Night.' Hearing this, he only laughed and said, "Then I have to reflect on myself. I don't have another work that makes people think of me this way. I have to keep working hard."

A lot of people say this is the work that successfully transformed him. To this, he responded, "These labels are given by others. I was never concerned with 'transformation' since that's what others define you. At the end of the day, it's about the performance and character, about what I like and what I feel fits me."

Before our interview, we came across something Bai Yu once said. He said that Jiang Yang was the first character that he just wanted to portray no matter what. Often, he would reflect on Jiang Yang afterward, and still felt dazed. It wasn't until the day 'The Long Night' premiered, a rainy day where he walked for a long time, that the weight in his mind finally lifted.

In a flash, the year is ending. We asked Bai Yu how he would sum this year up. He thought for a little while and said, "Never thought about it. I used to think time passes really quickly, so I took a long break this year. When I did, I thought time passed really slowly."

For a period of time, his tight schedule made him stop in his tracks to take the time to rest. To many actors, resting could mean missing opportunities.

"Of course, you could miss out on a good opportunity, a good script. But you need to first understand yourself. Can you do a good job if what you truly need is a good rest? If you encounter a good script that captivates you, that's great. But can you mentally tackle the task? Life is about making choices and sacrifices."

As the saying goes, one must take a step back in order to leap better. To Bai Yu, he has never stopped in his path as an actor, but only rested to make sure he has the energy to meet his next challenge.

Occasionally, the passing of time brings about certain thoughts. "A few days ago, I told my dad that I feel like I'm almost forty. He almost burst out laughing, saying, 'You're just in your early thirties!'" Bai Yu expressed that he felt this way because there are many things he still wants to do. Time has its own rhythm, whether fast or slow, but it shouldn't be a worry.

Summing things up, he said, "You set your rhythm. Don't be too bothered about how fast or slow time is going, just stay focused on the present. Live honestly and respect your own thoughts, no matter what it is you want to do. Just go ahead and pursue it!"

/END

TL notes: (1) From Wang Wei's "On Mission to the Frontier" (王维 《使至塞上》) (2) Hot oil noodles = you po mian (3) Yaodong = earth shelter

Mag link here Mag in text format here compiled by Sweetheart_白宇甜心

BUY THE MAG HERE (can be accessed via PC)! If you need help with purchase, let me know and I'll try to help.

[blood-mocha-latte]

damp - hilldane drabble

for an anonymous ask || request an edit/drabble || i… don’t know what this is. i call it ‘rie accidentally projects a lot onto two characters simultaneously and accidentally makes herself cry’ and also 'rie needs to stop obsessing about keaton st james poems before they Consume her'

9 LINES ABOUT EITHER ROMANCE OR DEATH

The damp, damp dark seemed to find Andy always wanting, always in a limbo between humanity and something else. Something more, something less. A change, but never one big or small enough to be important.

Eddie sat by him, carving a stick with his knife, warm at Andy’s shoulder.

“Ya ever think love stories will be told about people like us?” He asked. Andy shrugged. He knew the answer that Eddie believed. The same one most men like them believed. A story that ain’t ever worth telling. That wasn’t the answer Andy wanted to give.

“Maybe one day.” He said, watching the way the wind shifted through the palm fronds, the men laughing and talking and playing around in the sand and around the camp. “If it’s a good story.”

Eddie snorted. His knife slipped, and he nicked the pad of his thumb. As he held it up to his lips to suck on the cut, he said, “or a tragic one.”

1. It guides our every action.

Andy walked in front of a tank, and didn’t have to turn around to know that Eddie would follow him. Like a soft string that was tethered to his heart with steel, he never had to think too hard about where Eddie would ever be.

He watched as Eddie bent over, pistol loose in his grip, and talked lowly to the army tanker. Andy didn’t need to see him to know how his eyes flashed on certain words, how his lips twisted around others. 

Talkin’ and killin’. Sometimes Andy thought it might be the same deadly dance.

The army tanker bowed his head, and Eddie turned on his heel and back to their boys, gripping them by their arms, pulling them to their feet. Dusting them off, helping guide them Away. 

Andy wondered if the seraphim of his mothers bible could even hold a candle to Eddie Jones.

He stood in front of the tank until Eddie was done. He watched the treads of the tank, its gun, the crew that he couldn’t see but stared down anyways. 

He’d probably let the damn thing crush him, if it would buy Eddie more time, help more of their boys.

2. Do you remember when we rode the train home from the ocean with salt dried in our hair, and yet, somehow, your mouth still tasted so sweet as i kissed you goodnight on your porch? while the dark-winged sedges sang?

“C’mon, just one.”

“No,” Andy laughed, crossing his legs under him to sit in the shallow foxhole with Eddie, who's smile was wide and eyes even brighter. “You're drunk.”

Eddie laughed, and it was warm and free. “Turns out, the more Saki you drink, it does not taste better.” Andy smiled, leaning against loose dirt and feeling the warmth of the setting sun across his face. 

“You know, I never would've guessed.” He said dryly. Eddie laughed again. He held the near-empty bottle by its glass neck, and extended it to Andy, shaking it slightly.

“Probably should drink some all the same, though.” He said, and Andy couldn't tell if his pupils swallowed his irises because of the drink or something else. “Just to make sure.”

“Nah.” Andy said lightly, in reference to the Saki. “I've got all the proof I need.”

Eddie smiled and, after looking over his shoulder as if a conspiracy, cheeks flushed red and eyes ink dark, he whispered, loudly, “just one kiss, huh, Skip? ‘M probably drunk enough that it's run off on you.”

Andy watched him seriously, if only for a moment, if only to see the way Eddie leaned against the shallow foxhole again and smiled at him with bitten-red lips and dark, happy eyes.

“Well, you could be stone-cold sober and I could still get drunk off you.” Is what he ended up saying, and Eddie's laugh was warm and bright and it made Andy want to reach for him.

“Hopefully I taste less shitty.” Is what Eddie said back, and drank the rest of the Saki in one go. 

3. i dream about you all the time.

Eddie loved, loved, loved Australia, with such a fervor that Andy almost forgot about taking him back home entirely to focus instead on buying them a house Down Under.

They sat in a darker corner of the bar, other marines shouting and singing and drinking and dancing with laughing women. 

Eddie sat with light eyes and a whiskey in front of him, running his index finger along the rim of its glass. 

“I wonder what it's like in the middle of Australia.” Eddie said thoughtfully, his hand stilling. “I know it's wild, but I'd like to know how.”

Under the table, their knees knocked together, and Andy risked hooking his foot around Eddie's calf, downing the rest of his own drink. “I’d guess somewhat like how the west was, before Lewis and Clark got there.” He said, the whiskey burning down his throat and settling in his chest, curling around his heart.

Eddie hummed, finished off his own drink. “I heard from a woman at a corner shop that they tried to send their own Lewis and Clark out there.” He said. “But nature doesn't want them out there. It's just… meant to be wild. Meant to be sand and dark and stars.”

Andy thought about that, for a moment. About a place that can’t be tamed by man, not really. Not like back home, in Lawrence, or even like their camps along every island the Marine Corps sends them to. Just really, truly wild. Home to no one but itself and those who were there first.

“It sounds nice.” He said.

“Yeah.” Eddie said back.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go, picked up his and Andy’s empty glasses and tilted them towards the door. Andy huffed, pushing his chair out and standing up.

“Thought I was the one that made orders.” He said dryly. Eddie smiles, small and barely there, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes brilliantly, brilliantly bright.

“Yeah.” He said, slowly. Like a joke. “Don’t get too used to that, Skip.”

4. i’m so constantly hungry sometimes i feel as if i’m nothing but ache

They traded the cigarette back and forth, and it was gone entirely too quickly.

Andy turned to watch Eddie, just out of the corner of his eye, just like he always did, and watched him stub the smoke out against a rock.

“You did what you had to do.” Andy said softly. 

The sun, still sleeping along the horizon, wasn't showing herself. In her absence, shadows stretched across Eddie's face, making him seem older. Haggard.

“I know.” He said. His voice was quiet, his voice slightly off. He swayed slightly, where he rested on his knees, and scrubbed a hand down his face. 

Andy turned to face him fully. Eddie was close enough that he could reach the hand not covering his eyes easily, tangling their fingers together and linking their pinkies.

“When this is over,” He said, “I'm going to take you to the park just outside my neighborhood, and we can watch the sunset there instead, and not worry about this. About any of this.”

From the way Eddie looked at him, Andy knows he didn't believe him. He still tightened his grip in Andy’s hand.

“Yeah.” He said. His voice was rough, like he'd been crying. He'd given his entrenching tool to Andy – it still had blood and brain matter across the flat edge of it – and wouldn't take it back. They both knew the boys were worried now, about having nightmares. They were having their buddies wake them up every fifteen minutes, so they couldn't fall too deep into it. 

Eddie didn't say anything else, but Andy nodded anyway.

“One day,” He said, “I'm going to take you home. And you don't have to believe it, because I do.”

He went back to watching the sunrise, and smiled when he felt Eddie's chapped lips press to his knuckles.

5. every sentence i try to write starts with you and ends with my heart wanting to burst open, less like gates during a flood and more like a peach growing on the vine. so ripe, so ready for the fall.

“I read the book about Huck Finn, once.” Eddie said, one day, while they led their platoon down a water-swollen, muddy crevice. He was quiet, after that, and Andy looked at him sideways, keeping his eyes on his feet and the treacherous path in front of them. 

“Yeah?” Andy asked, after a moment, to prompt him. Eddie blinked, like he'd forgotten he'd spoken at all, but nodded after a moment.

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “When I was thirteen. It was hard as all hell to read, it took me almost a year to get through the damn thing. But I read it. Was real proud, too. Gettin’ through that big book like that.”

“Yeah.” Andy said, trying to remember anything about the book. He'd read it, what seemed like ages ago, but trying to remember its contents or words was like trying to recall the face of a long gone childhood friend. No memory, only feelings. “Did you like it?”

Eddie was quiet again.

When he finally spoke, his eyes stayed on the ground, boots sinking four or five inches into the mud with every squelching step. “I did.” He said, vague. “But my daddy—” 

He stopped, face doing something complicated, one of his hands twitching on his rifle as if, by habit, to have fingertips ghost along a scar. 

Andy half-turned, looking over his shoulder and counting the helmets behind him. He counted them one more time before turning back again. By the time he did so, Eddie’s expression had smoothed back out, eyes ahead.

“He wasn't as proud that I'd read that book as I was.” He said, quietly. “He didn't — I guess he didn't much like what… what Huck Finn was. Or maybe how Tom Sawyer was. I don't know.” 

Andy was quiet. He didn't say sorry. He knew Eddie hated that. 

“I'll have to read it again sometime.” Is what he said, after a long moment. “So we can talk about it.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh, and Andy, as always, was angry so quickly it made his head hurt.

He imagined a thirteen-year-old Eddie Jones, reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn whenever and wherever he could, a finger tracking the words and his mouth moving silently around them, working steadily through the pages, sentence by sentence. 

He imagined the kind of father who couldn't be so goddamn proud of his son for that, who wouldn't be able to see much past his own beliefs, like rotting teeth in a crying child's mouth. He felt, rather guiltily, a wave of gratefulness towards his own father at the thought. 

The anger passed as quick as it came. It always did. 

“I'd like that.” Eddie said, and Andy tried to remember what they were talking about, in the split second he'd gone somewhere else. “I'd like to talk about Huck Finn with you.”

Andy wished he could let go of his rifle for just a split second, if not to just knock his knuckles against Eddie's.

“I bet I could scrounge one up by next week.” He said instead, just to see Eddie's mouth curl into a smile, and it would have to be enough.

6. i bring up your name any time i eat black raspberry ice cream with someone who isn’t you.

“I'm a shitty writer.” Eddie began out of nowhere, and Andy looked up from where he was trying to clean clotting sand out of his rifle barrel. Eddie wasn't looking at him, his face turned towards the blood-red sun. 

“You're not so bad.” Andy said. Eddie wasn't, was the thing, for all he pretended to be illiterate. It made boys with similar experiences, like Snafu Shelton, laugh; and boys like Eugene Sledge, with enough money to drown in, uncomfortable. 

It just made Andy smile.

Then again, everything that Eddie did made Andy smile. 

“I can't spell for shit.” Eddie said. “You're the only one that can read my handwriting.” 

That, at least, was true. Andy shrugged.

“I like rewriting your reports.” He said. Eddie waved a hand, dismissive.

“Whatever.” He said. “The letters are always fucking moving around, that’s their fuckin’ problem.” Andy smiled. He looked back down to his rifle and continued to unclog it. “My point is that I can't write a letter to save my life.”

Andy shrugged again, but kept his eyes focused on the rifle stock. “I can write a letter for you, if you want.” He offered. Eddie snorted.

“Nah.” He said. “I'm just… well, I’m glad that we're together, here. You know? Because if we weren't, I'd want to write you a letter, and then you'd just be wondering who in the hell gave their blind chicken a pencil.”

Andy’s chest felt warm, like there was hot coffee spreading throughout his veins, and he huffed. “Your writing isn't that bad.” He said. 

Eddie turned to look back at him, for the first time, and the bright horizon dyed the side of his face a brilliant orange. His lips were twisted into their same ever smile.

“No.” He said. “But I'm glad it doesn't need to get better. I'm glad I have you for that.”

And with that, he went back to watching the sunset and Andy went back to his rifle.

Eddie leaned against him, when it was too dark to do anything but be quiet and sleep. Andy took his hands and pressed his lips to his fingers and thanked God that he was able to translate what they were able to show.

There were no artillery barrages, no death, that night. It felt like God had heard him.

8. do you remember when we went running through the wet city streets late at night, how we glowed rose-pink in the shop-lights. how we held hands and laughed and thought we’d never feel this happy again?

“D’you think he'll be alright?” Andy whispered into the dark, Eddie's curls brushing warmly against his jaw. 

Eddie shifted against him, head resting on Andy’s shoulder, and said, “I don't know.”

Andy stared straight ahead. Both of Eddie's hands were tangled with one of his, and he brought his other hand around to run his index finger along the ridges of the others knuckles. “I've never seen it that bad, before.” He murmured. 

Eddie sighed. It was weary, and heavy, and Andy closed his eyes to the melody of it and thought of their park, the one that Eddie's never even been to. It only helps somewhat.

“What matters,” Eddie said, slowly, like he was waiting for Andy to really understand what he was saying before he continued, “is that you got him off the line. Better for him, better for the other boys.”

Andy lifted their tangled mess of hands from his lap, resting his forehead against them. Eddie shifted against his shoulder to press a kiss to his jawline. 

“Maybe countin’ blankets is like counting sheep.” He said, and Andy leaned further into him. Eddie bore the weight without any effort, but Andy still worried about it being too much. He always worried about it being too much. 

That's what causes combat exhaustion. That's what causes men to break apart and start counting things they couldn't see.

“Eddie.” He said, just to say it, against the back of Eddie's hands, to his calloused fingers and warm skin. Eddie's hands tightened around his.

“I know.” Eddie murmured back. “But it's… it's okay. We're… we're right here, you know? Right here together. Here and in the park and wherever else. It’s okay.” 

Andy didn't say anything. He just turned his head and buried his face in Eddie's hair, rough with ocean spray and curled with humidity.

9. it consumes us.

As Andy turned around, he almost knew what he was doing. The rational part of him knew that no one would be there, just at his shoulder. Not ever again.

Least, no one he could ever know and love the same.

But the rational part of him died two days ago.

So Andy turned around anyway, maybe wanting to say something over his shoulder to someone that wasn’t there, and between one split second and another that never came, he could almost see Eddie over his shoulder, eyes intent and bright. Could almost feel his hand in his.