#if you're looking for a fic to read next highly recommend

[1o1percentmilk]

[ID: A drawing/fake polaroid photo of Teru from the Mob Psycho fanfic A Picture's Worth, holding up a peace sign and grinning in a selfie shot. He is wearing a gray sweatshirt with an unidentified logo on it and a gray beanie to hide his bald head, and his eyes are baggy. Behind him, boxes can be seen around the room, as well as various cleaning supplies and crumpled tissues. The image has a yellow to muted purple palette. At the bottom, the polaroid is captioned, "It isn't pretty, but that's ok." // "??/09/'12". End ID.]

A PICTURE'S WORTH // @teruthecreator

[1/12]

[lilacs-stars]

shattered reflections

pairing: morgie le fay x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is merlin's daughter) SUMMARY: you, the perfect child and student, have always been the epitome of righteousness. but what happens when you encounter a particularly annoying VK one night, when you're out doing something you're not supposed to? GENRE: pure, unbridled, heart-wrenching angst (I recommend a box of tissues), action scenes, some light humor, a bit of comfort, flirty banter CW: absent mother, neglectful father, family troubles, cursing, magical fighting, a bit of blood, threats, mentions of violence and stealing, heavy emotions WC: 15.2k (to those of you hungry for morgie fics…you have been fed) BACKGROUND: the mirror of ytirev is pronounced yih-tur-ev, the spells are all in latin (for anyone wondering)

A/N: this got a loooot longer and deeper than I thought it would...seriously how did we get here. I had fun adding some touches of light humor to offset the angst, and experimenting with different pov's was nice too. sooo go get comfy and settle down, and have fun reading this! (the ending is worth it I swear). thank you to the anon who requested this for all the details, I hope you enjoy! all feedback is highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts and reactions!

A piercing clatter sounds from somewhere behind you. You whip around, eyes locking with snake-like slits glowing in the dark.

Shit, you think. 

They finally discovered my secret.

“…can anyone explain to me the properties of goblin mucus?” the teacher of your Magical Artifacts and Antiquities class asks.

A hand shoots up, causing a smile to spread on her face as she calls on the student—only to be met with the reply, “Miss, it says in our textbook that there’s a highly powerful and dangerous artifact stored here, in Merlin Academy. What’s that all about?”

The teacher’s smile falters for a brief second, but she answers the question regardless. “Yes, every class today has asked me about that. It seems like it’s only the dangerous objects that attract students’ attention. Class, turn to page two hundred seventy-five, where there is a more detailed explanation.”

Everyone flips through the pages of their books, more eager to learn than they’ve been for the entire lesson. Your teacher waits a moment before continuing.

“As it says in your textbooks, the Mirror of Ytirev is indeed kept in this school, although it is locked away in a very safe and secure place. For everyone’s safety, and the Mirror’s security. Now, can anyone tell me how it was created?”

You raise your hand swiftly, already knowing the answer from having read this chapter before it was even covered in class, along with the next three chapters. “After the creator of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror originally made it, he accidentally dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter. He reconstructed the mirror using the larger shards, which became the famed mirror that eventually ended up in the hands of the Evil Queen. But there were still many miniscule fragments left from the first mirror, so he melted them again and made a smaller, weaker version of the Evil Queen's mirror. The small mirror is known today as the Mirror of Ytirev.” 

Your teacher beams again at your perfect recitation. “That is precisely correct, Y/N. Although I don’t expect anything less from the headmaster’s daughter, of course.

“This mirror has the ability to show its user exactly one truth, an answer to any question. But since its original form was shattered, its magic is no longer stable. That’s why it is covered in this chapter,” she continues to the class. “As you can see in the image in your textbook, it is a portable artifact, putting it in Category D, Type Three.”

You look down at your textbook, studying the picture of the mirror, despite having looked at it before. It depicts a vintage handheld mirror, encased in a detailed and ornate silver frame that surrounds the glass itself. The intricate carvings of the metal create symmetrical twin arches at the top of the mirror, ending in fancy loops. In these arches two bright red gemstones are set, their edges cleanly cut and shining brilliantly. The glass of the mirror looks almost cracked, although you know it isn't really.

Just as the thought passes through your mind, someone calls out, “Why is the mirror cracked? I thought the creator fixed it.”

The answer pops up in your brain before the teacher even opens her mouth, but you still patiently listen to her as she explains to the rest of the class. “It’s not really cracked, it just appears that way to anyone who looks at it. The only time someone can see the mirror’s smooth surface is if they’re staring directly in the eyes of their own reflection. When someone does this, it is rumored they will see the truest form of themselves, the truth they desire the most.”

Someone else raises their hand, and the teacher calls on them this time. “So,” they ask, “you can get the answer to anything from that? Like how to become rich or live forever?”

The teacher masks what you can tell is a rather displeased look with yet another—fake—smile. She turns to face the entire class, a telltale sign that the student said something wrong. “Now, as we all know, there’s always a price to magic. When it comes to this mirror, due to its unstable powers, there are many prices.”

She continues her lecture, one that provides you with absolutely no new information, but being the ever-diligent student you are, you continue to listen intently. “If you look at the next page, it explains that anyone who wishes to use the Mirror must first present an offering that is very dear to them. If the Mirror accepts the offering, it allows the person to ask their question.” “And if it doesn’t?” your classmate asked.

“Does anyone know the answer to that?” The teacher looks around the class, before her eyes land on you. “Y/N?”

You brighten up at being called on, before rattling off the information as if it was common knowledge. “If the Mirror doesn’t accept the offering, or if it becomes displeased for any other reason, it will drag the person’s soul not to enlightenment, but to eternal torment. They will end up losing their mind and going crazy, with any form of intelligent life getting absorbed by the Mirror.”

“Correct again,” your teacher praises, and you beam. “And if that's not enough to ward any of you off, keep in mind that everyone who has ever used the Mirror has gone completely mad. No one has ever obtained the answer they sought; instead, they were all lost to its evil spirit. And let me assure you, many people throughout history have attempted to use the Mirror, only to fail. Therefore, it was voted as too dangerous for any beneficial uses by the Department of Magical Security. That is why it is contained here, under the watchful eye of our very own Headmaster Merlin.” 

At the mention of your father, everyone turns to stare at you, as if you’re somehow the reason the Mirror is locked up. Despite the stifling moment of silence, you shrug off the unwanted attention. After all, you’re used to this. Used to the looks that other kids give you when you receive special attention from teachers for being the smartest one, for always raising your hand, for answering questions perfectly, for acing every test and having every homework assignment completed—yet refusing to share your answers (“But if I tell you the answers, how will you ever learn?”). 

Used to the whispers that follow you everywhere you go, rumors of your family life; how your mother must have left because of your father’s bad habits, or neglect, or because she was having an affair with another man. Constant reminders of the past.

Used to how everyone walks on eggshells around you, how they all put you on a ledge far away from them. How people’s conversations quiet as you pass by, afraid you’ll go and report them to your father at the slightest whiff of mischief. How they always eye you when they pass notes in class or plan a prank—as if you weren't already aware of what they were doing—sometimes even begging you not to tell on them.

Used to how teachers and adults in your life expect the absolute best of you. Even when there’s no more left of yourself to give. 

How they expect you to be the absolute best, a paragon of righteousness. You always have to determine the right decision, make the right call, be the epitome of morality and virtue. This is your burden to bear, all by yourself; instead of worries over bad grades or boys, you suffer under the crushing weight of the expectations of everyone around you. The expectations of society.

Briiiiiiingg! The sound of the bell marking the end of class snaps you out of your musings. “Um, Miss?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the sounds of everyone packing their bags.

“You didn’t tell us what our homework assignment is for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for reminding me, Y/N,” the teacher exclaims amidst a chorus of groans, along with a few colorful words directed your way. “Everyone, please finish up chapter three and be prepared to turn in your report on seventh century runes by the start of tomorrow’s class.”

After all, you’re used to how right they are about you.

…Or so they think.

“Oh good, Y/N! I was looking for you all over, you know,” a panting, all-too familiar voice calls out from behind you. You freeze in your tracks, grimacing. After a deep breath, you paint a smile on your face, before turning around.

A tall man, although much shorter due to his slouched posture, hurries towards you animatedly. His short, dark brown hair is matted against the top of his head, and a thick, bushy beard trails down from his chin, rounding above his mouth in a matching mustache. He dons a pair of thin spectacles that hang low on his large nose, dressed in a dark blue robe with faint golden embroidery and a waistcoat to match. A little brown stick juts out from a hidden pocket inside his robe, an object you can only assume to be his wand—which you are quite shocked he hadn’t lost today yet.

“Dad!” you say as enthusiastically as you can muster, but if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen the way you ever so slightly cringe as he stumbles towards you. You silently thank the heavens that this man doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Not even to his own family.

Merlin clambers towards you, gripping one of your shoulders once you’re within arm’s length. He pants, leaning his weight on you as he catches his breath.

“Dad, what is it?” you ask him, trying your best not to fall over from supporting him.

“I-I…k-keys,” he wheezes.

“You lost your keys?” This certainly isn't the first time he’s come to you with this problem, and you definitely won't bet it'll be his last.

He nods, clutching his chest as his breathing finally evens out. “Phew,” he says, letting go of your shoulder. “My spare keys to my office…I can’t seem to find where I’ve put them.”

“You mean that big ring that has a copy of about every single key needed to unlock absolutely anything in this school?” you ask, incredulous at the way he nods feverishly. Honestly, how he doesn’t see the issue with what you just plainly pointed out is beyond you.

“Nope, haven’t seen them,” you reply. “Have you checked under the counter? Inside your desk drawers? In the little pockets sewn in the other pockets in all of your robes? On top of a clothing rack? Under the vase of orchids? In the fish bowl? In the left sock from your pair that has those reindeers on them?”

He nods at each one, sometimes hesitating as if recalling something deep in his memory , but then continuing to fervently nod nonetheless. You sigh again. “Well, I don’t know then. I suppose you’ve found someplace new to hide them this time.”

“Hmm…” he mutters, scratching his beard.

“Well, Dad, I don’t know if you heard, but I, uh, I made top student of my year last quarter. For the fifth consecutive time,” you mention, trying to ease into the conversation, albeit very tentatively and with great unease. Most people’s parents would applaud them and give them a prize for merely getting an A. Yours, on the other hand, barely remembers which grade you’re in.

Your father snaps his head up, staring at you with an eccentric haze in his eyes. You feel a small glimmer of hope; maybe he’s going to give you a pat on the back this time, or perhaps offer to take you out for a celebratory dinner. You wait for his response, completely still as if frozen in time, anticipation buzzing throughout every nerve.

“Wait…I believe I put it in the mouth of that owl statue…” He freezes erratically, brow furrowed in deep concentration, before releasing the tension in his body and going back to slumping. “No, I think I already checked there.”

You take a nice, long, deep breath, using up every last ounce of your carefully practiced self-control, which you had perfected through years of deploying in stifling social situations that made you want to crawl out of your own skin, to remain calm in this moment. “Well, I hope you find it.” Giving him one last attempt at even a semblance of a smile, you sharply turn back around on your heel, continuing down the hall to your first class of the day.

Watching the early morning rays of sunshine through the tall windows of the corridor, you think back to the discussion you had yesterday in your Artifacts class. You had answered every question correctly, every fact written in ink not only committed to memory but etched into the very foundation of your brain. 

You wonder if he knows of all the hard work you put into school. All the grueling hours you spend studying, all the sleepless nights you spend fighting against your body’s very nature to stay awake and keep your eyes open just enough to read the page. Heck, you wonder if he even remembers that your birthday is coming up next month—or that you gave him your wish list ages ago to ensure that he gets at least one present you asked for, unlike other years.

No, of course he doesn’t remember, you remind yourself. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.

Just like he didn’t care about Mom when she disappeared.

“Ugh, my nail chipped again. I should find the girl who did these and squeeze her to death.”

A tentacle floating in midair tightens and coils around nothingness, miming the strangulation of an innocent soul with a disturbing nonchalance. A girl with dark skin and long locks in colors such as blue, teal, and yellow, done up in a small bunch on top of her head, checks the painted nails on her left hand with a scowl on her face. 

“Come on, Uli, you’re getting your nails done like, every week,” the god of the Underworld replies, indifference practically seeping through his spiked leather jacket as he chews gum and gives the sea witch a look. “At least find yourself someone better.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Uliana snaps, dropping her hand exasperatedly as she huffs.

A sorceress with purple eyeshadow and two sleek, black horns protruding from the sides of her head rolls her eyes as she complains, “This is so boring.” 

“Well, what do you suggest we do then, love?” a crisply accented voice asks, sounding from a boy with neatly parted brown hair and a golden hook that ends in a sharp, gleaming point.

“Did you hear that there’s a, like, super dangerous magical object being kept here?” Maleficent asks, somehow keeping her voice incredibly monotonous and deathly uninterested, even as her words themselves convey enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, apparently it can tell anyone anything they want to know,” Hades replies. “I don’t know why they’re keeping it here, though.”

Uliana turns back to the group, a malicious glint in her eye. Even before she opens her mouth, the boy with powers rather similar to those of a snake can already guess what she’s going to say.

“How about we go steal it?” she asks, a wicked grin already twisting onto her features.

“You do realize that everyone who’s ever used it has gone mad, right?” Hook asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he gives Uliana a look of disbelief.

“We won’t use it ourselves, idiot,” she snaps. “But it’ll be fun to steal it and cause a panic. Right, Morgie?”

Morgie swallows, looking up at Uliana with wide eyes. “Of course! C’mon, you guys. Think of the mischief we can cause with it! We can make people think some kids used it and went crazy”—he leans in, excitement growing as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands—“and everyone would be so scared! They’d probably cancel school, too!”

Uliana grins diabolically again. “Morgie, honey,” she starts, slipping one of her tentacles under his chin, lifting his face up towards her. “How about you do this one?”

“I-I, uh…” he stammers, uncertainty laced in his voice. He definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events.

“Come on, please,” Uliana pouts. “Do it for me? After all, you’re only stealing a little mirror. How hard can that be?”

Morgie glances up at her again, before tugging uncomfortably on the black scarf wrapped around his neck. “But…it’s super dangerous…”

“Don’t you want to be evil? Don't you want to wreak havoc and cause pain?” Uliana taunts. “Or, are you”—she lets out a faux gasp—“afraid?”

“N-no, not at all!" Morgie exclaims, trying to sound more courageous than he feels. “I’ll do it!”

“Perfect,” the sea witch coos, removing her tentacle arm. “You’ll do it tonight.” She turns back to the group, adding, “I hear that old troll keeps the most dangerous and evil artifacts locked up in a room off the east wing, on the third level.”

Morgie gulps, already trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d be doing the heist tonight. Hook, jumping off a ledge, asks, “You mean the one guarded by different spells and magical alarms?”

Uliana grins wickedly. “Nothing a little bit of Kraken Powder can’t fix.” She holds up a small vial hanging from a string around her neck like a necklace. It's common knowledge how incredibly rare Kraken Powder is, which makes sense, given how potent its anti-magic properties are.

Everyone catches on to what Uliana's implying, causing the group to all laugh together at their evil plan. Morgie tries his best to join along, but he can’t quite seem to get rid of the uneasy knot already forming in the pit of his stomach.

“You remember the plan?”

Uliana’s slippery tentacles glisten under the moonlight, flailing around behind her in midair. Morgie nods, attempting to still his quivering hands before Uliana notices them. He tries, with a miserable sense of impending doom, to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail.

“Here, I stole these from Merlin’s office,” Uliana explains as one of her tentacles drops a large ring filled with probably around two dozen keys, each in various shapes and colors, straight into Morgie's open palm. “One of these has to fit the door. You didn’t forget what you need to do, right?”

Morgie clears his throat, choking out a meager, “Yep.” He pockets the keys, seriously hoping they don’t clink together and make too much noise while he moves. As Uliana already repeated a hundred times, “It’s crucial you don’t get caught.”

Morgie reaches up to touch the vial hanging from his neck yet again, making sure it’s still there—after all, better safe than sorry. Once more, he glances at the large grandfather clock in the common area where he and Uliana lurk in the shadows, waiting. Finally, its bells chime midnight, and Uliana turns back to him as the ringing reverberates around them.

“Go, hurry!” the sea witch urges, pushing him toward the door with a tentacle. 

Morgie nods, hurriedly rushing to the exit. The first part of the plan—a plan he so diligently committed to memory—is for him to sneak out while the bells are still ringing, to mask the sound of the door opening and closing. Thankfully, he makes it out by the tenth chime, carefully closing the door to make sure the latch doesn’t sound by the eleventh.

Okay, I’m really doing this, Morgie thinks as he stares into the deserted corridor. He tiptoes around silently, but still as quickly as possible. Time is, obviously, of utmost importance in missions like this.

At last, he reaches his destination. The unassuming—and misleadingly so—wooden door looms over him, ominous through the lens of his knowledge of what lies beyond it. 

An amateur villain would simply pick the lock and open the door, but Morgie is too experienced in such endeavors to make a rookie mistake like that (Uliana told him what to do, step-by-step).

He hovers his hand above the lock, taking a steadying breath as he summons the powers that reside within him. His pupils shrink into the tiniest slivers of blackness as a dark, magical smoke emits from his palm. He makes a faint hissing noise, reciting an old incantation in a tongue far different from what normal humans use, and the lock softly clicks as the door creaks open. Practically inviting him inside.

Morgie pushes it open the rest of the way, making sure to shut it behind him so as to not raise the suspicion of any night guards roaming the halls.

He turns back around, now faced with a dark, menacing hallway. Walking slowly down it, he looks around with a chilling captivation. Old suits of armor leer down at him, rustic and each coated with a thick layer of dust. Large spiderwebs cover every visible nook and cranny, which makes Morgie exceedingly grateful that the actual spiders aren't in his line of sight.

At the end of the corridor stands yet another large door, matching the first. This one, according to Uliana, has even more security than the other. Time to use my secret weapon, Morgie thinks, reaching to pull the vial of Kraken Powder out from under his shirt. He opens the cap and sprinkles a little of the finely grained dust into his palm, then blows it over the lock of the door.

At first glance, it appears the powder didn’t work, as nothing seem to change. But anyone with an affinity for magical energy can feel the spells placed on the lock of the door melt away without a trace. After the door is unarmed, Morgie fishes in his pocket for the keys. They clang horribly as he pulls them out, echoing up into the tall ceiling of the hallway. He freezes, listening intently for footsteps somewhere outside. When he hears none, Morgie begins the task of figuring out which key fits the lock.

He goes through nearly half the ring (Seriously, who keeps all their keys in one place?) before finding the one that fits perfectly. Twisting it with a swift movement, the door unlocks, and he creeps inside. 

To his immense shock, there isn't a room behind the door filled with evil objects or piled with gold coins. Instead, there’s a…

…library?

Morgie walks inside, utterly confused. Had Uliana gotten the location wrong? No, there's no way. The doors were too guarded for a normal library.

He continues down one of the aisles, wondering why he's never seen this place before. It is extremely large, with arched ceilings meters and meters above his head. Tall bookshelves tower over him, so tall that he can barely see the highest shelves.

Lined against the walls and placed on the shelves are also glass jars and containers filled with seemingly normal items: a seashell necklace, a deck of playing cards, a cane with the head of a snake. But there's something sinister about them; some strange aura that hovers above each object. In fact, it fills the entire expanse of the library. 

Morgie stops by one of the shelves, reading the titles. He brushes his fingers along one of the spines—and that’s when he feels it. An ominous energy rushes through his fingertips, electrifying his every nerve at it travels through him, causing him to realize that this is no normal book. It’s a book of dark magic.

He spins around in a circle, eyeing the entirety of the library. Now that he thinks about it, the whole place has the heavy atmosphere of dark magic. And that’s when it hits him: this is no normal library, and neither are the books. This is the room of forbidden artifacts. It just so happens that most of those artifacts are books, probably containing content deemed too dangerous for normal people to learn.

Morgie briefly considers taking a few of the books off the shelves and perusing through them, or maybe even slipping a couple in his jacket and taking them back with him. After all, all these forbidden books must have countless evil spells and potions. If he and the rest of his group got their hands on these…

However, after a moment of serious consideration, he decides the better of it. He's here for another purpose, and Uliana would be outraged if he only came back with a few meager books, no matter the contents.

Continuing through the labyrinth of shelves, Morgie looks around meticulously, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to the order of things. No student has ever been in here, and he doubts many of the teachers have, either. Therefore, there were no references or guides to help him and his friends figure out where in the room the Mirror is located. Plus, he doesn’t think any of them had expected the place to be so colossal—he surely hadn't.

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the near darkness, he finally comes across a ladder leaning against one of the shelves. It’s so tall he can’t see the top of it, but deciding it’s his best chance at finding his bearings, Morgie begins the long climb up.

He isn’t really afraid of heights. Not in the way that some people refuse to go on anything more than a few feet off the ground. But he honestly doesn’t see how anyone couldn’t feel at least a little queasy at the high altitude. I must be a dozen meters off the ground, Morgie realizes as he glances down. I wonder what would happen if I fell—

He cuts the thought off before he can imagine the gruesome details. Instead, he looks back up and around the library. From all the way up here, he can see the top of the shelves, and he really was right: this place was designed to be a maze.

On the far side of the area, his eyes spot lots of glass cases reflecting the soft moonlight and flames of enchanted candles. That must be where most of the objects are kept. Chances are, the Mirror’s there too.

He mentally charts out a course through the labyrinth, trying to remember the directions for more than two seconds. Right, left, left again, forward, right, right again, left, forward—or wait, was it right? After a few minutes, he climbs back down the ladder, praying to the demons of the Underworld that he remembers the path correctly and doesn’t get lost.

Morgie makes his way through the maze, growing more and more fascinated by the creepy and wonderful objects around him. He can’t stop thinking about how nice—and useful—it would be to pocket some of them, or maybe come back here and spend more time studying them. Every time he passes by something that intrigues him, his mind immediately wonders if it would fit inside his clothes.

Despite this, he resists the urge to steal things, as he can’t have anything weighing him down in case there are more challenges or enchantments he has to disarm before getting the Mirror. But perhaps on the way back…

His train of thought drifts away as he finally reaches a large area that is surrounded by glass cases, on tables and lining the shelves set into the walls. He never imagined there would be so many forbidden artifacts in total, much less in one place, although maybe that's because he's never really paid attention in class.

From the top of a shelf a few meters away, something catches his eye. A mysterious, eerie white fog pours from one of the highest shelves, dissipating as it cascades down the front of the bookcase. He remembers hearing something about mist related to the Mirror, and deciding it’s worth a shot, he moves closer to check it out.

And that’s when he sees it.

A dark flurry of movement from another one of the top shelves catches his attention. Morgie snaps his head up, brows furrowing as he squints, eyes trailing the structures above him. But he can’t quite make out anything, at least not in the faint light, so he hesitantly shrugs it off and continues towards the mysterious fog—albeit not being able to shake off the strange feeling he has that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He takes a few more steps, and just as he's nearly convinced himself he’s only being paranoid, it happens again. Now that he’s closer, he can see there’s another tall ladder reaching up to around where the movement is happening, close to the Mirror. This time, his eyes register the shape. 

A dark, human figure moves up the ladder, blending in and out of the shadows. 

Morgie’s eyes grow wide, pupils shrinking back into snake-like slits as a reptilian hiss escapes his mouth. There shouldn't be anyone else here.

The figure freezes in place before turning around to face him, hanging halfway up the ladder. Although Morgie can’t see their face, concealed by a thick black hood, he can tell they saw him. 

He stretches out his arms, summoning black magic that swirls around his hands and up to his elbows again. After but a second of him and the hooded figure staring at each other—which somehow felt like an hour—Morgie throws his arm forward, aimed for the figure.

A ball of twisting dark energy shoots from his hand and towards the hooded face. The figure ducks down, dodging the attack. Undeterred, Morgie hurls more swirls of dark magic. The figure dodges the first few of them, but they must have realized that merely ducking down won't be enough to win this fight, because they summon a shield of buzzing yellow electricity to block the next few attacks.

Morgie quickly becomes aware that he isn’t winning the fight like this; he needs a new strategy. And that’s when he spots it.

He puts his hands close together in front of his chest, gathering a potent sphere of black magic between his palms. The figure stands there, motionless, still hanging onto the ladder.

If you can’t knock them down, pull the carpet out from under their feet.

He thrusts both of his hands forward, sending the ball of magic not at the figure, but at the base of the ladder instead. By the time they realize what he's doing, it’s too late.

Morgie’s magic collides with the bottom rungs, exploding the material and sending wooden splinters flying everywhere. He watches as the figure falls, swiftly summoning a flash of lightning below them as they plummet, easing the crash as they hit the ground. 

The aftermath of the explosion has Morgie ducking down and covering his face with his arm, barely being able to make out what happened to the hooded person. As the dust finally settles, Morgie spots the figure get up, gripping their head as if in pain. They stumble a little, then bush off their black robe as they check for other injuries.

As if abruptly remembering why they had fallen, they spin around to face Morgie. He stares, wide-eyed in pure disbelief, as the figure comes face-to-face with him. Even though they don’t seem to be too hurt, and definitely still alive, the force of the impact caused their hood to be knocked off their head.

Morgie’s mouth drops open as he registers the figure’s face.

There, in front of him, in the forbidden archive harboring some of the world's most dangerously powerful magical objects during the dead of night, stands the headmaster’s daughter.

Your grimace grows as you lock eyes with a boy with light brown hair, hazel eyes shrunk into slits resembling a snake’s, causing your head to throb even worse.

You watch as the realization dawns upon the boy’s face, cursing the skies for this little issue that you now have to deal with.

He knows your secret.

“Y-you, you, you’re the headmaster’s daughter,” he sputters out, disbelief still painted on his face, as clear as day. Seriously, if he keeps his jaw open like that, it’ll fall off.

“Yeah, no shit,” you spit back, not paying much attention to his stunned little face. Your mind is overwhelmed with a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and ideas on how to get rid of this new liability, each plan vying for your attention, each one crueler than the last.

After all, now that he knows who you really are, how you're not a rule-abiding goody-goody, there’s no point in keeping up your sweet, innocent facade. You finally let your mask slip off, the mask that you wear constantly in the presence of others. The mask that you only relieve yourself of when you’re all alone, with no one to see your callous, vindictive, cynical side. Your true side.

Ever since that day, at least. The day that forever changed your life.

“What are you doing here?” the boy stammers, as if it isn't already dreadfully obvious.

“The same thing you’re doing here.” “How do you know what I’m doing here?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Honestly, this kid could not be more of a dunderhead. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my way, or I’ll make you get out of my way.”

At your threat, the boy, whose name you happen to remember from a class you took with him last year, changes his stance. Morgie widens his legs, arms fanned out besides him whilst summoning dark energy that clings to his skin, alive and breathing, yet submissive to its master’s will.

“Aren’t you like, a goody-goody?” he asks, face still scrunched in confusion. “I’ve heard teachers go on and on about how good your grades are, how polite you are, how you’re the perfect student.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his relentless questions. It 's already bad enough that he knows this much. You don't need him finding out more.

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” you respond as vaguely as possible, hoping that it’ll shut him up. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, shooting back, “I don’t really think so.”

You try your best to not encourage him and his irritating questions, but you can’t help but begrudgingly ask, “How so?”

Morgie looks at you for a beat with an intent gaze, before replying, “I always thought you were too pretty for a hero.”

Uh, excuse me, what? you think. Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You don’t find me scary?” You had always assumed that people would be terrified if they saw your real, unfiltered side.

“No, not really. I mean, I’m evil too. If anything, I find you even hotter now that I know you’re not a goody-goody.”

Blinking hard, your eyebrows shoot into the air. There is no way he just said that. Your mind is uncontrollably reeling at his words, but only for a brief moment. Before you can read too deeply into it, your attention is quickly snapped back to the black magic still swirling around him, growing by the second. Ah, a ploy to distract me. Maybe he is more clever than he lets on.

“Listen, Morgie,” you snarl threateningly. “That mirror is mine.”

“Wait, you’re here for the Mirror too?” he asks, with far too light a tone for a situation such as this.

“Th-that was obvious the whole time!” you exclaim, unbelievably irritated. “What did you think I was here for?” “I dunno, a book or something.” He shrugs casually, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, what do you want the Mirror for?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap back, fingers thrumming with the rush of energy as you summon your own magic. Letting your curiosity get the better of you yet again, you add, “Why do you want it?”

“I’m a villain. I steal things for fun,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What does a goody-two-shoes hero want to do with a forbidden artifact?”

Barely listening to his words, you study him carefully, needing to know the extent of his powers if you’re going to win the inevitable fight that you can sense coming. You see how his ever-growing dark magic stalls temporarily as he talks, probably from getting distracted while speaking. That’s it. Deciding to buy yourself some time, you use this little weakness to your advantage.

“I want the Mirror because I want to use it.” Even though you’re planning on entertaining his pointless questions, you definitely aren’t going to give him information for free.

“Use it? To get an answer?” His magic hesitates again.

“No, to look at myself.” You see the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to implode. “Of course to get an answer, you dumbass! Unlike you, I don’t go risking my life ‘for fun.’”

“What are you even going to use as an offering? You have to give it something, you know.”

You sigh, reaching underneath your shirt to pull out a small silver locket, its chain blackened from the trials of time. Dangling it from your fingers, you show it to Morgie.

“A locket?” he asks incredulously. “The offering's supposed to be something really special or precious.”

“It is really precious,” you hiss, tucking it back into your shirt. “It’s the most precious thing I own. If anything’s going to make the Mirror work, it’s this.”

“Well, you’re not going to get the Mirror anyways. It’s mine.” He widens his stance again, his magic continuing to grow around him. No, I need a little more time, you think, masking your growing panic with an insouciant eye roll.

“Why?” you question. “You’re not even going to use it.”

“I still need it.” “But why?”

“I won’t tell you if you won’t tell me!” he exclaims. Despite his little outburst, you can tell there’s something he’s hiding. After all, you are a master of concealing the truth yourself. “Plus, you know that everyone who's ever used the mirror has gone crazy, right? You’re literally sentencing yourself to a life of madness.” You give him an unamused look. “I’m the top of our year. Obviously I know everything there is to know about the Mirror of Ytirev.”

He gazes at you in a way you can’t decipher, but it’s softer, more sympathetic than his former glare. You notice that his snake eyes have disappeared as well, despite the magical energy still surrounding him. “Then why are you still doing this, despite the risks?”

You falter, for just a second, letting a sliver of emotion slip through. But as quickly as it happened, you patch it back up, returning to your cold, glowering face. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” You expect him to drop it after that, but he continues to press you. “You’re prepared to give up your morals? Your status as a hero? You’re willing to lose all your integrity for one answer?”

God, he talks too much. With a sniff, you throw your hands out in front of you, releasing a bright flash of crackling electricity that had been building up as you cry out, “I don’t care how evil I have to become, I will find the truth, one way or another!”

The lightning shoots forward without warning, hot as an inferno, piercing straight through his chest and flinging him backwards into a shelf like a ragdoll. He falls down to his knees, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to get up again. Clutching his chest, he wheezes yet still manages to stand up, summoning wispy black tendrils that shoot at you like arrows.

You tuck and roll, dodging them, whilst building up more crackling lightning between your fingers. The last tendril hits far too close to you for comfort, burning a hole in your robe. That would have been my flesh, had it hit me, you realize in sudden horror.

Seeing as how your opponent is summoning even more dark magic to hit you with, now engulfing his entire body, you break into a sprint. Black spears collide with the shelves behind you one after another, barely missing you, as you run past glass cases, each containing a different artifact that glistens in the silver moonlight. Something across the arena seizes your attention, and a plan begins to piece itself together in your head. You continue your dash towards the shelves behind Morgie. Once you reach a section with books instead of random magical objects, you slow your pace. Amidst Morgie's unrelenting attacks, you create a golden shield of electricity that sparks and crackles, almost alive, and which reaches as tall as you. You jog past the shelves, head craned as you scan the book titles as quickly as possible.

Morgie persists in launching balls of dark magic directly at you, smashing into your shield. Your panic rises as cracks begin to form, at first only small fissures, but growing larger and larger with each sphere that pummels your way.

You run parallel to the shelf, which boxes in the rest of the area in a rectangular shape, eyes frantically darting over words with barely enough time for your brain to comprehend them.

Glancing up as a whorl of blackness blasts the books resting directly in front of you, you duck down, yet continue to run. That’s when you see a thick tome, larger than the others and bearing a dark red cover, jutting out from a shelf a few meters in front of you. With your magical shield barely staying intact, you lunge towards it, snatching the book as you fall towards the ground and somersault behind a desk-sized wooden stand to hide. On top of it stands a glass display case, with faint candlelight illuminating the rustic, yet enchanted, metal shield contained inside it.

You crouch down, flipping through the pages of the book desperately, trying to find the incantation you know has to be in there. One time, on one of your random visits to the library—the normal one, not this hell of the most cursed items in the land—you had picked up a text that talked about the history of spellcasting. Detailed inside was a description of one of the first books of curses ever written, which had been banned from production shortly after its release due to the nature of its contents. There had been a small sketch next to the explanation, which just so happens to match the tome now weighing in your hands.

Morgie’s blasts of magic don’t stop, pounding the wooden stand and the glass case alike. You think he yells something, but you can’t tell; you’re too focused on squinting at the fine print on the page, eyes wildly scanning the names of the spells. The desk quakes with every attack, causing your hands to tremble as you rifle through the pages hastily, pointer finger trailing down the lists of incantations. 

Finally, your eyes lock onto the one you want. “Obiectum impedit semitam,” you recite, gaze darting between the page and the glass case above you. It quivers vigorously, yet remains unscathed due to its magic-bulletproof nature.

“Evanescet a lumine irae meae!” As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, the glass case dissipates into thin air. Your hand darts up, clutching the shield and shoving it in front of you. Just in time, as the wooden stand protecting you explodes from the force of Morgie’s dark magic, blasting into a shower of mere splinters that rain down around you. The shockwave causes you to recoil, even as the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact.

Quickly regaining your bearings, you crouch even lower behind the metal. Thumbing through the book pages briskly, your eyes skim the ink, trying to find the first spell that can help you now. 

“Inimicus meus, caveto tibi,” you mutter the incantation rapidly, trying your best not to stumble over the archaic words—who knows what sort of havoc that would make. “Transi me et in carcere gelido capieris.”

You peek your head over the shield as you say the last line, locking in on your target. He stands there, panting, worn from his latest, potent attack. Morgie barely has enough time to widen his eyes as the final word escapes your mouth, instantly creating ice stalagmites that burst forth from the ground, crisscrossing as they trap him in a prison of ice. They tower high all around while entrapping him in a circle, frost coating their sleek outsides, which narrow into dangerously sharp tips.

The air turns frigid, and you can see flurries of movement as Morgie thrashes within his glacial cell. Already, he’s trying to break out. Through the cracks between the icicles, you can see a swirling vortex of black magic fighting the freezingly cold charm. Even though it is a strong spell, you know it won’t last for long. Especially not with the dark energy that is slowly, yet surely, thawing out the ice.

Springing up again, you bolt to the shelves on the other side, jumping over small puddles forming on the floor. The book is still open in your hands as you wildly tear through one page after another, the minuscule words shaking and blurring together as you run. Honestly, what kind of asshole decides to print in such a tiny font? you internally rage. Flipping through the large sheets of paper filled with small text reminds you of reading a dictionary. In a way, the spellbook is a dictionary of sorts, with the way every curse is listed alphabetically, in a neat and orderly manner—much unlike your current frenzied state, with how your heart pounds against your chest as if trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins cuts off any semblance of a coherent thought forming in your brain.

Twisting sharply to your right, you dart towards the shelf that the Mirror stands on. You stare up at it as you continue to run, eyes practically sending a silent plea while it sits on its throne undisturbed, watching the scenes before it unfold as if viewing a play from the highest seat in the opera house; somehow mildly amused, yet still condescendingly blasé at the same time.

Flipping to the L section of the spellbook, you scan the page for a spell that can help you reach it at last. Finally finish the last stretch of your journey. 

The icicle prison behind you makes a dreadfully loud crack. Your heart only races even faster with a jolt, your breathing coming out only in sharp, erratic gulps that make you feel light-headed, as if you’re not getting enough oxygen no matter how much you gasp for air. 

As you scan the page, this time with a renewed fervor that has your eyes darting across the words, too panicked to even finish a sentence before leaping to the next, you make a very interesting revelation indeed. For whatever reason, the genius who wrote this book decided not to add levitation to the list of spells, but instead included lignum pullelare, which roughly translates to “sprouting a tree”.

Another thunderous boom sounds again from the constantly fracturing icicles, a violent reminder of the ticking clock. You decide that this spell, no matter how absurd, is the best shot you have. Inhaling another sharp breath that burns your lungs, you cry, “Surge, virens gigas, de terra immunda,” your eyes glued to the page. “Ascendunt ad lunam et super caelos!”

A branch smashes into your chest, knocking the wind out of you—you really need to get used to how quickly these spells take effect—lifting you up as a colossal tree ascends from the ground, growing much more rapidly than even a beanstalk, much less a normal tree. The metal shield slips out of your grasp from the impact, your fingers desperately flailing in its direction futile as it falls and hits the floor with a dull thud.  

Your get snapped back to the present from the momentary distraction as your body starts slipping off the branch, with how it's quickly growing into a thick, strong limb with no end in sight. You slide off the ever-stretching wood, scratches cutting into your arms as you frantically try to wrap them around the branch, until only your hands are still hanging on. Using the book, which remains gripped firmly in one hand, you fling it open and cling to each cover. The book's pages spread wide around the wood as you hold on for dear life.

You continue shooting upwards along with the tree, the bookcase racing past you, when a realization hits you like a strike of lightning. This tree won’t stop growing anytime soon, and when it does, you’ll be too high up—if you're still alive, that is.

Glancing above you, you spot the Mirror and the shelf it sits on getting closer, and getting closer fast. Making up your mind, or rather, making a brash decision fueled by your skyrocketing panic, you wait until the shelf you need to reach comes into view. Then, you jump off. 

Flinging yourself towards the bookcase, you manage to latch on to a shelf, fingers wrapping around the ledge while your feet find purchase on another ridge a few feet below. The book remains clutched in one hand, your iron grip refusing to let it go. Realizing you can't do anything while holding it, you risk letting go with one hand. Gripping onto the shelf with your other hand, you tuck the book under your chin, angling your head down as you struggle to hold it between your neck and body. 

You peer up at your grasp on the shelf, the unforgiving ridges digging into your skin, carving painful lines into your fingers. Your feet barely remain balanced, the ledge not jutting out as far as you’d like it to. Turning your heels in to stay on the little shelf space there is in front of the books, you wince as the ridges between your arms and legs bite into your body. The sweat coating your palms causes your grip to start slipping off, your eyes wide in sheer terror as you let go for a brief second, thrusting your hands further back and hooking onto the edge again.

Glimpsing back down, you see the Mirror resting in its glass cage a few shelves below you, the strange white mist slithering underneath the glass and pouring out over the bookcase like a waterfall. With your chin still uncomfortably positioned as to not lose the book, you release on hand and leg from the shelf, leaving you hanging in between life and death itself.

You move your free hand down one ledge below, then the corresponding foot, haltingly scaling your way down the bookcase. Each time precariously letting go of your grip or footing to blindly feel below yourself for another ledge to stay on. After a few iterations, your feet finally stand on the same shelf as the Mirror, right next to the glass case.

Another piercing boom echoes behind you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you flinch against the bookcase, quivering breaths sending your heartbeat shooting through the roof. Your eyes dart down to the book you squeeze with your neck, then to where your hands are barely clinging on to the shelf. There’s no chance of using the book to make the glass disappear again. Cursing yourself for not memorizing the incantation earlier, your mind swarms with thoughts, each one so loud they drown out each other.

An idea forms in your head—or rather, slams itself into the sides of your brain like a wave crashing in a bottle while it screams for attention—as you warily lift one foot on top of the heel of the other shoe, maneuvering it off your foot.

Now with only a sock left, you press your toes against the glass container. Inhaling a sharp breath, causing your lungs to ache as they scream for more, you muster enough energy to summon a bolt of lightning, focusing all your attention on passing electrical current through your body and to your foot.

The hotness of the electricity heats up the glass, melting it until there’s a decent-sized hole the size of your foot there. Shuffling to the side and raising your shoeless foot to the ledge above, you draw back your other leg and smash it into the glass, causing the compromised structure to shatter everywhere.

Climbing down the bookcase farther, you come face-to-face with the Mirror of Yteriv at last. It looks exactly like it was depicted in that textbook, sporting an elegant silver frame and seemingly shattered surface, with the two rubies staring at you like glowing eyes. 

A loud explosion rings behind you, resounding throughout the entire library. You snatch the Mirror with one hand, turning your head to the side as far as you can without letting the book slip, just in time to see Morgie demolish the ice prison as he breaks free.

It's clear that since now he's no longer bound by frozen spikes of ice, you’re his next target. Taking in an abrupt gasp of air—the only preparation you have—you let go of the shelf.

You plummet towards the ground for only a second before creating small thunderbolts beneath each of your feet, suspending you in midair. Already, you can see Morgie charging up another attack, aiming it straight at you. Book in one hand, Mirror in the other, you take off into a run through the air. Small platforms of electricity form beneath your feet with every step, dissipating again as soon as your foot lifts.

Balls of dark magic hurl towards you, and you already know you have no chance of winning this fight—not like this. But you don’t need to win. Glancing down at the Mirror clutched in your palm as you jump off a thunderbolt, right as it gets blasted by a black orb, you realize that you’ve already completed your mission. Now, all that’s left is to get out of here.

Your mind scrambles for a way out that doesn’t involve getting blasted into smithereens, eyes still fixed on the Mirror as you continue to dash around in midair. Watching the wispy tendrils of white smoke pour out of the artifact, a previous memory from something you read in a book hits you like a flash.

As the Mirror of Ytirev connects to its wielder’s soul, so do its properties, the book had said. The mist emitted by the Mirror fluctuates with the wielder’s emotions; the more powerfully one feels their emotions, negative ones in particular, the more smoke it produces.

A room filled with smoke? You can’t think of a more perfect cover to help you escape.

Grip tightening even further around the Mirror as you leap to another lightning platform, dodging a new attack, you rack your brain for every negative emotion you have—which turns out to be a lot. The adrenaline pumping through your veins as your life flashes before your very eyes from every near-death experience. The way your heart shatters a little more every time your father overlooks your accomplishments, not paying any mind to how hard you strive to please him. Just to get a single smile, a pat on the back, a meager look of pride in your direction. One simple “That’s my daughter!” sent your way.

The anger deep inside you starts to bubble, pure rage sizzling and growing hotter every second you spend lost in your emotions. A fury that is always there, making every breath a little shorter, every happy moment a little duller. A dormant feeling that is usually left undisturbed, except for when it's triggered. Then it becomes a fire that burns hotter than any flame in the depths of hell.

The emotions and thoughts and memories that you keep suppressed in a corner of your heart all coming flooding out, like a dam finally bursting free. How could everyone strand you like that? Leave you all alone to suffer through your grief, while always expecting you to be kind and cheerful. They know what happened, and they have to know how badly it hurts. Yet not a single one cares. Not your dad, not your teachers, not your friends. No one in the entire world ever so much as offered a shoulder for you to cry on or gave you a comforting smile. Not one “I’m here for you” or “It’s all right, take your time.” No, all they did was raise their expectations, setting the bar so high until you’re barely clinging to it, trying to pull yourself up despite your weary arms. Lifting it to such heights that losing your grip and falling would mean certain death.

You think of the snarling, twisted animal that resides deep inside you, embedded into your very being, clawing at the aching hole in your heart left by the absence of your mother. Finally letting it break free after being caged for so long, you feel, oh-so agonizingly, how it scratches its way up your throat and escapes you in a wretched sob.

Why did she leave me? How could she leave me? I’m her daughter, for fuck’s sake. Who can abandon their child like that? Does she not care about me? 

Did she ever even love me?

Painful thoughts consume your head as a few stray tears run down your cheek. You grit your teeth, sucking in shaky gasps of breaths. Smothered by your anguish, submerged in emotion.

Yet, despite all this, it works. Remembering the entire point of your self-inflicted despair, your head snaps down to the Mirror. Although your legs burn and throb from all the incessant running, you can’t stop. At least not yet.

Thick fog exudes from the Mirror, rapidly engulfing the whole of the arena. Within a few moments, everything is covered in the dense whiteness, so heavy you can barely see your hand, even if you hold it directly in front of your face.

Morgie disappears in the fog as well, to the point where you can no longer see nor hear him. Assuming that he’s no longer a threat for now—if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, and if he can’t see you, he can’t attack you—you summon a staircase of thunderbolts and walk down it until you safely step onto solid ground.

Your legs practically give way at the first touch of hard floor, the urge to collapse and lie on the ground excruciatingly strong. Mustering up the last of your strength and willpower, you force your feet to step one after another, desperately trying to distract yourself from the fire burning in your muscles at even the strain of supporting your own weight. 

Almost done. Almost.

Practically rendered blind by the all-encompassing mist, you keep one hand outstretched, making sure you won’t collide with anything—especially Morgie. Pocketing the Mirror, you continue through the fog. You had made sure to note your direction in relation to the exit before everything became completely invisible as to help you easily find your way out without getting lost. But after a few minutes in the overwhelming whiteness, you start to doubt yourself. 

What’s even worse is that there’s no sign of Morgie. You’re not foolish enough to expect him to pop up right in front of you, but you don’t hear him making any sounds either. No footsteps, no breathing, nothing. Your strides are far more muffled as you take your other shoe off too, annoyed at the limping effect the difference in heights causes. But nothing from him.

Your mind starts wandering to what happened to him, refusing to admit that the smallest part of you feels the tiniest bit concerned. Does he need help? Is he still alive? Your intentions were to steal the Mirror and disarm him, not kill him. You’re not evil enough for that.

Not yet, anyway.

After stumbling through the murky fog for a bit longer, you start to notice that now, you can see your hand extended in front of you. The fog is thinning, you think, which means I must be nearing the edge of this area and heading towards the bookcases.

A little bit further, and the fog disperses to all but a thin mist. The bookshelves in front of you come into view, the rows and rows of them finally visible as they expand into the distance. Follow those, and you’ll find the door you came in through. 

So, so close…

You take a few more steps, the heavy spellbook still in hand as you reach into your pocket with an unusual, yet profound, sense of paranoia, ensuring the Mirror is still there. Out of nowhere, you feel a strange sort of chill cover your feet. You chalk it up to your lack of shoes, but, not being able to resist the urge, you glance down.

That’s when you see strange feathery tendrils of black smoke on the floor, in stark contrast to the thin mist that hangs in the air. They slither and wrap around your feet as they move, condensing together in front of you and rising up a meter off the ground in the shape of a hissing black cobra.

The cobra flares out its hood whilst flicking its tongue at you, swaying side to side as it stretches to its full height. You stumble backwards, hesitating for only a second too long before it dawns on you where the snake came from.

Behind you, a brooding voice sounds. “Going somewhere?” Morgie asks.

You spin around sharply, dismay and a special breed of horror painted on your face as you turn to face him. “I don’t care what you do, the Mirror is mine,” you growl, shooting him a lethal glare that truly could kill.

“I don’t think so.” He gathers more black magic around his palm, creating an orb that whirls around like a dark, spherical tornado. You both stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, a fracture in time, trying to decide your next move—when he suddenly throws his hand forward.

You flinch away, yanking the book in front of your face as a shield. After a second, when you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes, turning back in his direction in confusion.

And that’s when you see that you weren't the target of his attack.

The book in front of you was.

The dark magic gnaws at it from the back cover, where it hit on impact, eating away at the pages. “No!” you scream, desperately flipping through the paper as the magic destroys it. Your own magic may be quite strong, but since you're barely allowed to practice it, it’s nowhere near the son of Morgana’s abilities or prowess. This book was your only chance at defeating him.

Frantically rifling through the pages, a look of pure horror on your face, you try to scan the spells for something to save you. Teleportation is soon gone, as well as fireball. As soon as you catch a glimpse of a spell name that could be helpful, the incantation is instantly obliterated.

Panic building faster than even the speed of the dark magic, you flip to the front of the book, trying to find a spell at the beginning of the alphabet so you have enough time to actually read the incantation.

But apple is of no use, and neither is bridge. Morgie stands there, gaze transfixed on your struggling form, wickedly smiling with an amused raise of his eyebrows. Guess he really is a villain after all.

The black energy eroding the book spreads across both covers, demolishing the tome as you hold it in your feverishly trembling hands. Your eyes race across the letters, desperate to find one that could even have a chance at saving you.

Dragon, no.

Claws, not that.

Chasm, not that either.

None of these will help me! your internal voice screeches, the book dissipating as you hold it. Then, your eyes snag along a word.

Chains. The perfect spell. 

“Ut qui inritat, catenas sentiat iras,” you wildly spit out, heart racing, tongue unable to move fast enough. Your eyes dart frenziedly ahead of your mouth, running on sheer panic as you try to memorize the words in case the book does disappear. “Pati in compedibus, ut solvas pretium peccatorum tuorum,” you continue to cry out.

As the last fibers of the pages evaporate in black fumes, you thrust a hand in Morgie’s direction, yelling the last few words. “Eris enim sine fuga ligatus!”

Nothing.

Then, boom.

The residual magic from the demolished book, no longer contained in a physical form, explodes, the force sending you flying backwards. You soar for a couple feet before colliding with a shelf behind you, your head slamming against a sharp edge.

You crumple to the floor, body bruised, beaten, and bloody. The world spins, your head throbs, and you feel so generally shitty that you want to crawl out of your body and leave this physical hindrance behind.

Your head feels too heavy to lift up, and so it falls forward, swaying back and forth. A warm sensation on the back of your skull draws your senses back to the present, and you lift one weary hand to the spot. Bringing it back down in front of your face, you see a whole lot of red smothered on it, just as more trickles down onto the base of your head and neck.

Groaning, you lift your face to scan your surroundings as the dust settles yet again. The fog is now almost completely gone, allowing you to see rather clearly. Sight still blurry, you barely make out the figure a few meters in front of you as heavy chains whip up from the floor, wrapping around his arms.

More spring up around his legs, dragging him down and causing his knees to buckle. He fights against the metal, but they only tighten as even more encircle his torso, tethering him to the ground. He leans forwards, now kneeling before you, arms spread out and chained to the floor on either side.

In front of him, halfway between you two, lies the Mirror of Yteriv, face-up on the floor.

Scrambling to get up, you slowly manage to stand, leaning your weight on the bookcase behind you. The ground sways underneath your feet, but you don’t collapse. One shaky step after another, you make your way over to the mirror.

You practically crumple to the floor as you lean down to snatch it up, the sounds of chains rattling against each other echoing through your head as their prisoner resists his bonds.

You straighten again, running your fingers over every millimeter of the Mirror’s surface to ensure that the cracks reflected on it are only part of its usual appearance and not actual damage caused during the explosion. Once you're sure of its safety, you look down at the figure shackled in front of you.

Morgie looks up at you, hair disheveled and face bruised, a few drops of blood spattered on his cheek. His eyes are a storm of anguish and a wounded kind of sorrow, his jaw clenched tight. You’d like to think that he isn’t peering up at you, body tied and bound, with resentment etched into his features, but you know you’d be lying to yourself.

He gives another violent tug against the chains, but to no avail. Neither of you speak a word, remaining in complete silence, yet somehow saying a thousand things through your eyes. You stare down at him, at the way he can barely lift his head due to his restraints, the agony swirling in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings in ways that make you ache through your core. 

But you’ve already come this far. You can’t turn back now.

The deafening silence remains as you raise the Mirror up in front of yourself, the white mist wrapping around you as if beckoning you closer. The red eyes glow even brighter, their judgment intensifying as your reflection begins to appear in the glass. The cracks on the surface slowly fade away as you come into view, until finally revealing a completely smooth and unmarred image as you gaze into your own eyes.

Except they aren’t yours.

Your reflection in the mirror is not of yourself, but of a younger version of you. She smiles effulgently, a pure, innocent sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A look of untainted bliss painted on her face as she beams. 

A look you haven’t seen in your own reflection for a long time.

“Mommy?” her young, high-pitched voice calls out. “Mommy? Moooommy? Where are you?”

A sob gets caught in your throat as you gasp, tears framing your vision. As if the memory finally gets uncovered in your mind, after being hidden away all these years from your brain deeming it too painful, you realize when this is—or rather, what this is.

“Mommy?” she calls again, her smile faltering as her little brow furrows in confusion, her face scrunching ever so slightly. “Mommy?” She turns her head to the side, looking at something out of view before asking, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”

Your chest heaves as a sharp cry escapes you, the pain taking a physical form in the tears streaking your cheeks, your face contorting as you weep. In the background, a man’s faint, shaky sobs sound.

The mirror slips from your fingers, landing on the ground with an echoing thud. You whimper, uncontrollably trembling breaths causing your chest to jolt back and forth. You don’t move, can’t move, empty hand still suspended in midair.

You feel numb, yet like you're experiencing every emotion all at once. Your brain can’t wrap around this, around any of this, can’t comprehend your own thoughts. Can’t process what you feel. You’ve shoved your emotion down for so long, that now that they’re no longer bottled up, you don’t know how to deal with them.

“I’m sorry.” The voice cuts through the thick silence, snapping you out of the raging war inside your head.

You glance over at Morgie, still wrapped in chains. His eyes no longer hold the same animosity and misery, but instead a soft sort of sympathy, an underlying look of understanding as he peers up at you, head slightly raised.

“I don’t want your pity,” you sniff indignantly.

“I’m not pitying you.”

You look down at him, your chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Taking shaky gasps of breath through your mouth, your body quivers as you wait for him to continue.

“I didn’t know about your mom, and you’re totally justified for wanting to know what happened to her,” Morgie continues. “You can take that Mirror and walk out of here if you want.” You keep on staring at him, not saying anything, frozen with anticipation as he carries on. “But are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?”

You gulp before responding, voice hoarse and eyes half-lidded, voice cold and numb. “Would you still hesitate to take that risk, even when it means it could make your future finally be one worth living?”

“Your future is already one worth living,” Morgie replies. “You may not see it, but you’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He shakes his head, eyes still boring into you. “Don’t ruin it like this. Blinded by your pain.”

Sniffling, you inhale a shuddering breath. “And how do you know my pain is blinding me, and not making me see clearer? Clearer than I have in my entire life. Clearer than she did.” You jut your chin towards the mirror lying on the floor.

“I don’t. But what I do know, from seeing my own mother, is that pain like this gets you nowhere. Letting the people who were supposed to love you instead turn you bitter and cynical never fixes things. You may think that becoming evil is the solution, but it’s not. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You stare at him intensely, a raw kind of pain displayed on your face, one that no one has ever seen before. A thousand emotions flicker through your eyes, your lips twisting into a whimpering attempt at a smile as you cry again, the sob wracking through your body. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Hope flashes in your eyes, reflected in his. Your gaze softens, looking at him as if he’s the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A small grin breaks his steady demeanor, looking at you with optimism shining through the glimmer in his eyes.

You reach down, picking up the Mirror again. You stare at it, although not directly at your reflection this time. He peers up at you, still shackled to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation.

You slip the Mirror into the pocket of your cloak once again before turning around, your back to him. Twisting your head to the side so he hears you, you say, “The chains will disappear in an hour.”

Turning your head back, you walk away and leave him behind, black cape flickering in the dark night.

Unclasping the back, you slip off the locket, placing it in front of you. The rusty metal is reflected in the mirror in front of it, along with the tears that splatter on its surface.

It had belonged to your mother, the only thing you had left of her. She had given it to you when you were a little kid, not too long before she left. It was old and weathered, the silver having tarnished over time. Still, you religiously wore it every single day, never taking it off as if it's a part of your body. And sometimes, if you stare at it hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing she's still there.

Safely back in your dorm, all alone, you had set the Mirror down, flipping to the notebook page where you had transcribed the incantations for the ritual, without a second thought.

Now, sitting on the ground, the Mirror leaning against a leg of your desk with your locket as an offering in front of it, you start to hesitate. Your face twists in pure agony, features scrunched up, lips quivering uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears splatter onto your hands and lap.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Taking another shaky breath, you extend your hands forward to the Mirror, placing one thumb on each red gemstone embedded in the intricate silver design. The jewels watch you, scorning your every action. Just like everyone else.

Your eyes flutter closed, letting out the steadiest exhale you’ve had all night. “Speculum, speculum, in conspectu oculorum meorum,” you whisper, feeling the way the rubies press into the flesh of your thumbs. Already, the Mirror starts discharging more fog, enveloping you as it grows denser with each syllable. “Accipe donum meum et veritas libera me.”

You open your eyes as the last words leave your tongue, staring straight into the eyes of your own reflection.

The red gems glow radiantly, emitting a bright light that nearly blinds you. You squint, yet still unrelentingly stare into your eyes—or rather, your younger self's eyes. The fog swirls around you, swallowing you whole. You can’t see anything anymore, can’t even tell where you are. You feel as though your soul, your life’s very essence, gets sucked out of your body and into the Mirror.

You have the sensation of being shoved forward, but you don’t fall. In fact, you don't have a body anymore, no physical vessel to hold you. You try to look down, but you're greeted by the absence of your legs, sheer nothingness filling the space beneath you. You can’t really move around either, not in the way you’re used to. All you can do is simply float, your existence diminished to an untethered life force, with some semblance of what you once were.

Looking around, everything around you is white like before, but not in the suffocating way the fog was. Instead, you stand in a wide expanse of whiteness, a vast field of empty space. It stretches on forever, with no end in sight. It’s as if you’re stuck in a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to bring you to life.

The sound of wind whistles all around you, but not so much as a breeze actually comes. In fact, everything is completely unmoving. Despite the stifling stillness, you remain listening to the sound of the wind. If you strain hard enough, you can hear something almost like faint whispers filling your senses.

You look around again, ignoring the eerie voices. According to all the texts you read, after the Mirror accepts the wielder’s offering, they can ask for their answer. You’re not quite sure if this field of emptiness means your offering’s been accepted, but seeing as how you don’t feel insane yet, you think it’s safe to presume so. Still, your brain can’t help but point out that crazy people probably don’t feel like they’re crazy either.

Shaking off your doubts, you decide to continue with the process. After all, it is the only shot you have. You had memorized all the incantations for this particular spell earlier, repeating them over and over again until every word was engraved into your mind.

“Scire volo verum,” you recite. “I wish to know a truth.” Nothing happens.

You take a deep breath. “I wish to know why my mom left.”

The wind around you grows louder, howling even in the still air. The whispers increase in volume, once seemingly non-threatening and benign, now forming a cacophony of overlapping, chaotic voices. They grow distorted and grating, pushing in from every side, wrapping around you and slithering into your brain. You can’t block them out, no matter how hard you try; can’t swat them away, can’t make them leave, leaving you trying to tear them out of your head, despite not having hands anymore.

Suddenly, the white vastness turns a dark gray, and you start getting pulled downward towards something, like moving towards the center of a black hole. The whispers grow claws and fangs, clawing and scratching at your chest as they drag you down, making it hard for you to breathe. 

You try to fight back, but the voices now in your head keep pulling you down. They’ve taken over you, consuming you whole, and it’s impossible not to succumb to their will.

As they continue to drag you down into the abyss, you turn around—or rather, focus on the other side of your vague form of spiritual energy—and notice a tiny black dot very far down, but steadily growing bigger as you move towards it.

The whispers are screaming now, cries of agony of those who came before you, encompassing you whole and forcing you to the depths of this dark chasm.

And that’s when it hits you.

The others who used the Mirror did all end up getting the truths they sought.

And the truth was what drove them to madness.

You panic, trying to shake off the invisible hands of the whisperers, but they only tighten their hold around you. No matter how hard you fight them, they don’t relent in their endeavor of pulling you towards damnation.

“Are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?” Morgie’s words echo in your head out of nowhere, haunting you with regret. You absolutely despise admitting it, but fuck, he was right.

Your last conversation with him replays in your mind, reminding you of your foolishness and idiocy. You had been so focused on getting what you wanted that you were indeed blinded to the truth that had been right in front of you this whole time.

“Your future is one worth living.”

His voice swirls around in your brain, drawing your attention away a little from the screaming voices in your head.

“You’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person.”

You realize these are probably the last words you’ll ever hear.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You feel like crying again, the despair that’s taken root in you fighting to escape. Still, you don’t have an actual body in this dreamscape, so crying is impossible.

“It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You look back up the other direction and away from the black dot, resigned to your fate as you get dragged down into the chasm, deeper, deeper, deeper. At first, you think you’re imagining it; a mirage created by your mind to distract you from your pain. But as the descent continues, you begin to realize that it may not be an illusion after all.

In front of you, from the direction you came, a faint golden thread, seemingly made of pure light, stretches from your form of consciousness and ascends, up, up, up, all the way to the never-ending sky. With each of Morgie’s words you repeat in your head, the string of light grows stronger, brighter.

“You’re talented.”

The thread becomes thicker and more luminous, and you begin to realize that your descent has slowed down as well.

“And smart.”

The thread grows again, and you slow down a little more.

“And pretty.”

Your eyes follow the string upwards, and now, you see there’s a faint patch of white amidst the murky gray surrounding you.

“You’re a good person.”

The thread, still shooting out straight from your form, gleams with a shimmering golden light now. You notice that you’re no longer getting dragged downwards, but instead up, towards the whiteness. The screaming voices aren’t as insufferably loud anymore, either.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You keep ascending, getting drawn faster and faster up. Morgie’s words serve as your lifeline, saving you from insanity.

“You’re not worth it.”

Now, you see that the white patch is actually an opening, an escape from this hell. The thread leads to it, its blinding brightness concealing whatever lies beyond.

“I know so.”

The last of his words give you the final push you need, sending you straight into the white light.

Your head snaps up with a sharp, terrified exhale. You look down, taking a moment to register that you’re back in your room. The locket dangles from one of your hands, the Mirror clutched in the other.

Fresh tears replacing the dried ones on your cheeks as you let out a sob of excruciating heartache, a sound of pure agony. The kind that no one should have to go through.

You look down at the cracked surface of the Mirror—a feeling of raw, unbridled anger set in the way you clench your jaw, and the way your face contorts with your cries—staring straight at the evil red eyes still gleaming at you.

With a swift motion, you lift your hand above your head, still grasping tight. Mustering together all your might, you hurl the Mirror towards the ground, watching as it shatters into a sea of glittering pieces.

“You’re late.”

You lean against the rough brick wall of an empty corridor, arms crossed, your figure partially obscured in shadows.

“And I’m surprised you’re still here,” Morgie quips, walking towards you. “Why’d you even want to talk with me? Especially through leaving that threatening note next to my nightstand for me to find when I woke up.”

He stops in front of you, leaving you to glower at him. Suddenly, with no warning, you lunge towards him, seizing the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, your other hand summoning a rod of crackling lightning. 

His eyes widen with a startled gaze, but he doesn’t look quite as fearful as you want him to be. “Now, listen here.” You press the tip of the lightning bolt against his neck. “If you say a word of what happened last night to anyone—especially my father—I will kill you.”

Although you try to sound as menacing as possible, Morgie is unfazed. An amused smirk spreads across his face as he replies, “Alright, relax. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anyways.”

His eyes trail down from your gaze to the locket dangling from your neck. He reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb along the tarnished metal as he softly says, “You didn’t go through with it, huh?”

You pull away, frustrated at his compassionate tone. “No. I decided…it was too risky. After all, what’s the point of figuring out the past if I can’t ever use that information, right?” A small smile spreads across Morgie’s face, that sympathetic, delicate look in his eyes again. Your irritation rising at this, you add, with a growl, “Although I will find a way to get my answer. I don’t care how bad I have to become, if you, or my father, or anyone stands in my way, you’ll truly see how evil I can be!”

Morgie keeps his unfettered appearance up. God, he’s so annoying! you mentally scream in frustration.

“Why are you so fixed on this?” he asks, tilting his head sideways and furrowing his brow as if trying to look past your cold, vengeful, rancorous mask and figure out the scarred little girl buried underneath.

You roll your eyes instead of answering. Never one to express emotions, the thought of opening up now about your years of pain feels terrifyingly vulnerable. It’s so much easier to just build walls around your heart and shut everyone out.

“Tell me this, and I promise I won’t tell a word of what happened last night to anyone,” Morgie bargains.

You narrow your eyes. “You already said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Well, now I’m having second thoughts.”

You raise your arm again to summon another bolt of electricity, and Morgie lifts his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, I won’t say anything, fine. But I just want you to talk to me. Bottling up your emotions like this isn’t healthy. Last night should be a good example of that.”

You shoot another glare at him, but can’t deny the fact that he’s right. Still, you hate the idea of how exposed and weak you'd be if you actually told someone how you feel.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

You peer up at him, eyes wide in shock, as he continues. “I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning you.”

Gulping, you nod, averting his gaze. Instead, you choose to look down at your shoes, studying the laces as you speak. “I…when my mom left, it was so sudden. No goodbyes, nothing. It was like one day, she just vanished.”

Your voice cracks, and Morgie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, unknowingly pulling you closer to him. You swallow, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My dad didn’t even care. It was as if she never existed. And everyone else…they all knew what happened. But they paid no attention whatsoever. They expected me to act normal, be all nice and sweet as if nothing changed. It made me hate them, hate all of them.”

“Do you hate me?”  

Morgie’s voice rings in the empty corridor, quiet yet speaking louder than a thousand shouts. You look up at him again, his image slightly blurred by the tears welling at the bottom of your eyes. You look up and you see the boy that stood by your side at your worst, who didn’t get scared or run away when you showed him your true colors.

The boy who said things no one’s ever said to you, whose words saved you from destroying yourself.

The boy who stands here, a concerned crinkle on his forehead as he awaits your answer. He doesn’t have to be here, listening to your problems. He doesn’t have to care.

But he does.

“No,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t hate you.”

In the suffocating sea of fake smiles and stifling pressures, Morgie is like a breath of fresh air. The first gulp of oxygen that you take as your head breaks free from the water.

“That’s a relief,” he responds, a trace of a smirk ghosting his features.

You give a small, bittersweet laugh. “Ever since my mom left and my dad stopped caring about me, I’ve never had anyone to talk to. No one seems to care about my emotions, or ask me how I’m doing. It’s as if I’m not a real person who has actual feelings.”

You’re on the verge of tears again, and Morgie must realize this, because he tries to lighten the mood by attempting—and failing—to inconspicuously wrap an arm around your shoulder as he says, “So, what I’m hearing from all this, is that you need a strong, reliable figure in your life to lean on, right? Like…a boyfriend or something?”

You duck under his arm, moving a good few feet away from him while fixing him with another glare. “Yeah no, I’m good.”

“Come on, that was smooth! You’ve got to admit it,” he whines, drawing out a small giggle from you. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this: a true, heartfelt laugh, not the fake one that you do to appease other people under the pressure of society's expectations. It feels nice, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

All because of him.

“I don’t know, maybe I'll consider it with some time, if you treat me well,” you joke as you turn your head away with faux indifference. 

“Hey, a slim chance is better than no chance at all, right?” Morgie moves closer to you again, as if he can’t stand having so much space between the two of you. “I can see I’ve made some progress since last night, when you tried to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises on my body.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so weak and sensitive,” you retort with a grin.

He nudges you playfully and you laugh again, shaking your head with an amused look. “Hey, I was wondering,” he asks, locking eyes with you, “what did you end up doing with the Mirror?”

You give a knowing grin, masking the undercurrent of what’s left unsaid. You vaguely respond, “It’s in a better place now.”

“If you say so,” Morgie replies, his smile returning to his face and lighting up his features once again. He continues to tease you, and you oblige him, keeping up the friendly banter as he walks you to class.

The Enchanted Lake glistens, reflecting the sun’s gentle rays with a bright shimmer. Deep down, under feet of clear blue water and various forms of aquatic life, in a far corner of the lake, lies a bag of glass shards. Next to it floats an ornate metal carving with a hollow center, reminiscent of something once set there. And at the top, two glowing red gemstones briefly flicker and die out, like watchful eyes finally closing.

end x

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a/n: how did this get so long...if you're still here, and if you actually read that entire thing, thank you so so soo much! I'm sending you a virtual cookie and a hug (if you're comfortable with it ofc) because you're absolutely awesome! <3 hope you enjoyed reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[genshinluvr]

Burning Desire 2 [Scaramouche's Route]

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Scaramouche x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: After inhaling a large amount of aphrodisiac, you’re now struggling to hold yourself together. You're burning with desire and desperate to extinguish the fiery pit in your stomach. Still, you're hesitant about having one of your boyfriends help you with your problem. Who knew that the first person to “help” you with your problem would only make it worse for you by teasing you and calling you names.

Note: Before you read Scaramouche's route, I want to clarify that because Burning Desire is all pure smut (aside from the first part before the smut routes), the routes/chapters will be shorter than Crave. Crave has its own plot, whereas Burning Desire is a smut-fic where readers make the decision on who's route is going to be next after the first route. Crave will be way longer because every character/group will have their own plot compared to Burning Desire. This applies to all characters, not specific characters. I highly recommend reading the first part of Burning Desire (linked down below) first before reading the routes, but that is up to you! As previously stated in my previous smut-fics, I tried to keep the story as gender-neutral as possible. All of my smuts do lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader with gender-neutral pronouns. As usual, minors DO NOT INTERACT! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Horribly written smut [as per usual], aphrodisiac, spitting, hair pulling, somewhat brat taming, spanking, doggy style, mating press, failed attempts of a dom!reader in one part, reader calls Scaramouche a good boy, oral (reader receiving), fingering, biting

Word Count: 5.5k

Burning Desire "chapters"/routes: [1], [2], [3], [4]

The door flies open, and Scaramouche stands at the doorway, smirking at you. You feel your heart drop in your chest. It’s not like you’re unhappy to see him. You know Scaramouche is going to enjoy teasing you until you break.

“Aw, look at you! So desperate and needy for someone to touch you,” You hear a familiar voice coo mockingly.

The throbbing between your legs continues to rage while you huff and cross your arms over your chest. Scaramouche steps into your room and slams the door behind him and in everyone’s faces.

You and Scaramouche hear Itto ask, “Did he just slam the door in our faces?”

“What? You want to watch Scaramouche and [Y/N] fuck each other’s brains out? Cause I don’t!” Childe huffs from behind the door.

“Let’s give them some privacy. It would be weird for us to hang around while Scaramouche tries to help [Y/N].... relieve their frustrations,” Tighnari clears his throat.

The twenty-three men grumble at Tighnari’s suggestion. Their footsteps slowly fade away, leaving you and Scaramouche in complete silence. You and Scaramouche stare at each other in silence, tension hanging above the two of you like the stars and moon. Scaramouche chuckles, walking toward you while you watch him warily. Scaramouche stops in front of you, squats to your eye level, tilts his head to the side and tips his hat back. 

A smirk appears on Scaramouche’s face. You look like a mess. Your pupils are blown wide, your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and your chest is heaving with every heavy breath you take. You look so pathetic, so helpless, and so so cute. Scaramouche nearly burst out laughing just at the mere sight of your desperation. Scaramouche cups your face in his hands and squish your cheeks together, making your lips pucker.

Scaramouche leans in close to your face. “Do you know how pathetic you look right now?” Scaramouche whispers, his breath fanning your face.

You wince and pull your head out from his grasp, mentally cursing to yourself. If the damn aphrodisiac wasn’t affecting you this way, you would’ve wiped that shit-eating grin off his face. Scaramouche lets out a breathy chuckle and pulls away from you. Scaramouche takes his hat off and puts them on the edge of your bed, running his hands through his indigo hair while eyeing you with his indigo eyes.

You gulp and close your eyes, shaking your head. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Scaramouche. I can wait for the aphrodisiac to wear off,” you whisper. 

Scaramouche lets out a loud “ha!” before standing up and brushing his clothes. “Don’t lie to me, now. I can see the burning desire and desperation in your eyes. Either let me help you with your problem or continue to suffer. Your choice!”

The aching between your legs continues to grow. Your body feels like it’s engulfed in flames. You’re so hot that you’re starting to drip in sweat. You push yourself off the ground, standing up. Your legs are shaking, and you barely have the energy to stand. So, you collapse on your bed beside Scaramouche’s hat, staring at the Inazuman man, your eyes going out of focus for a mere second.

Scaramouche watches the bead of sweat drip from your chin, landing on your white t-shirt. Your white is practically see-through because of the amount of sweat your shirt is soaking up. He can see the outlines of your breasts through the material and the areolas of your nipples behind the fabric your nipples are poking from behind.

You squeeze your thighs together tightly, hoping it’ll suppress the throbbing between your legs. Scaramouche huffs with amusement and walks toward the bed. Scaramouche stands at the end of your bed, staring you down. You wipe the sweat off your face with the back of your hand, looking away from Scaramouche.

“Scaramouche, please….” you whisper, body shaking with intense need. 

Scaramouche leans forward, cupping his ear with his hand. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. Can you say that louder?” Scaramouche asks, laughing to himself. 

You scowl at Scaramouche and give him the middle finger. Scaramouche snorts, leaning against your bed. Even when you desperately want to get rid of the burning need between your legs, you can’t stand Scaramouche and his shit-eating grin. As much as you want to shut him up, you’ve been immobilized by the aphrodisiac. 

Scaramouche shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not nice of you to treat me that way. Especially when I volunteered to help you with your,” Scaramouche trails off, grabs hold of your ankles, and pulls you toward the edge of the bed, “problem.”

Scaramouche smirks and cages you against your bed with his arms beside your head with one knee on your bed. Scaramouche leans down until his forehead is pressing against yours. The two of you look into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. Your heart is drumming against your chest. You involuntarily breathe in Scaramouche’s scent, feeling yourself melt against your bed. Scaramouche smirks, cups your jaws in his hands, tilt your head back, and press his lips against the side of your neck.

You gasp, feeling Scaramouche’s soft, warm lips pressing up against the base of your neck. Scaramouche tangles his hands in your hair, peppering kisses up and down your neck, occasionally sucking on your neck. You close your eyes, bite your quivering lips, clutching onto his shirt tightly. You can feel Scaramouche smirk against your neck. He kneels on the bed above you, continuing to do what he’s doing.

He smells so intoxicating that your mouth nearly waters when you breathe in his shampoo. Every touch and squeeze light flames upon your heated skin. Scaramouche trails his lips down further on your neck, reaching your collarbone. You suck in a deep breath and choke on your breath when Scaramouche bites on your collarbone.

“Ah! Scaramouche!” You whimper, your chest pressing up against his when you arch your back.

Scaramouche unlatches his lips from your collarbone and smirks down at you. You stare up at Scaramoche in a lustful daze, your mouth slightly agape, your tongue peeking out from your lips. Scaramouche sticks his thumb into your mouth, catching you by surprise. You look at Scaramouche with wide eyes, unsure of what to do other than to suck on his thumb. 

“You filthy little thing,” Scaramouche teases, leaning down to kiss and suck your jaws. “Such a needy, filthy slut,” Scaramouche laughs, pressing his thumb on your tongue.

You narrow your eyes in response and lightly bite down on his thumb. Scaramouche pauses and pulls away from you, staring at you blankly before taking his thumb out from your mouth. You and Scaramouche stare at one another. The corner of your lips quirks up while he narrows his eyes at you and pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“You know….” Scaramouche trails off, his hands sliding up to your hair. “For someone as needy as you, you sure act like a brat.” Scaramouche hisses, tangling his fingers beneath your hair and tugging on it, pulling your head back with a forceful tug.

You gasp at the feeling. “Oh, fuck,” you moan.

Scaramouche leans into your ear. “If you continue to act like a brat, then I’m going to treat you like one, do you understand?” Scaramouche whispers, biting on your earlobe. 

You look at Scaramouche from the corner of your eyes, batting your eyelashes. “Who? Me? Acting like a brat? I would never!” You say, feigning innocence. 

Scaramouche narrows his eyes and pushes you back against your bed. You let out an ‘oof’ when you land on your back. You prop yourself up with your arms and watch Scaramouche hop off your bed and kneel in front of where you’re lying. Scaramouche eyes your sleep shorts, shaking his head and “tsking” softly as if he’s scolding you. 

Scaramouche drags out a sigh, his indigo eyes flickering up to you. “Soaked through your pants, I see. That’s a shame,” Scaramouche mocks. 

He grabs the band of your sleep shorts before ghosting his fingers over the prominent wet patch on your shorts. You jolt when you feel Scaramouche press the pad of his thumb against the damp patch. You whimper and attempt to grab his hand, only for him to slap your hand away.

Scaramouche grabs your shorts bands and tugs at them until your shorts are off, leaving you only in your panties. 

You shiver and attempt to cover yourself. Scaramouche grabs both your wrists and pins them to your stomach with one hand while lightly rubbing the damp patch on your panties. Scaramouche licks his lips and touches the small bump beneath your panties. You jolt again when you feel Scaramouche touch your engorged bundle of nerves through the fabrics of your panties. 

“And you said you didn’t want my help,” Scaramouche snorts, shaking his head.

You huff and look away, face turning hot. “I didn’t. I would rather wait for the aphrodisiac to wear off,” you mutter.

Scaramouche looks at you with amusement. “Oh? Is that so?” Scaramouche asks, slipping his fingers underneath the band of your panties. “It’s okay to feel this way. It’s not like you can control it anyway.” 

Your face continues to feel hot. Scaramouche loops his index fingers around the side of your underwear and pulls your panties off. You nearly hiss when cool air hits your damp core and try to close your legs, but Scaramouche slaps the inside of your thigh. You yelp and rub the tender area with the tip of your fingers. 

Scaramouche tosses your panties behind him and releases your hands from his grip. Scaramouche grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge of the bed until your ass is hanging off the edge of the bed.

“You said you didn’t want me to help you, but you’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” Scaramouche says, swiping his fingers up through the wetness between your folds.

You grumble and cover your face with your hands. “Stop trying to humiliate me!” You grumble.

He rolls his eyes and licks his fingers. “I’m not. Quit whining.” Scaramouche snorts.

You open your mouth to retort but are cut short when Scaramouche latches his mouth onto your dripping wet heat. Your back arches and your legs are spread apart on the bed, giving Scaramouche full access to your dripping core.

Scaramouche has an iron grip on your thighs, leaving finger marks on your thighs. Scaramouche swirls and swipes his tongue on your core while you writhe beneath him. The sound of slurping and your whimpers fill the once-silent air in your room. Scaramouche throws one of your legs over his shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Scaramouche’s teeth scrape against your swollen bundle of nerves, making you gasp and tense in his grasp. 

You reach forward and grab Scaramouche’s indigo hair, tangling your fingers in his soft hair. You grit your teeth, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head the more Scaramouche laps at your throbbing core.

You let out a whine. “Scaramouche! Just fuck me already, dammit!” You pull at his hair.

Scaramouche scowls at you and pulls away, licking your juices off his face before slapping your throbbing core. You hiss and release his hair, feeling your entrance clench over nothing. Scaramouche stands and begins to slowly strip his clothes off in front of you. 

You watch the fabrics and small accessories pool around him on the ground. Scaramouche is left in his boxers before he steps toward the bed. Scaramouche smirks when you give him a questioning look. Scaramouche flips you over on your stomach and forces you to get on all fours.

SMACK!

“Ow! Scaramouche! What was that for!?” You shriek, placing your hand over the area where Scaramouche slapped you.

Scaramouche doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he continues to spank your ass while you’re writing and trying to get away. After what felt like hours, Scaramouche finally stops slapping your ass. You lay on the bed, whimpering and clutching your possibly swollen asscheeks. You’re sure Scaramouche left hand prints on your ass. Dear archons, your ass is stinging so much from the number of slaps Scaramouche had given your butt cheeks. Damn him and that shit-eating grin on his face. 

Scaramouche flips you over on your back, caging you in his arms. Scaramouche crashes his lips against yours. Your and his teeth clash against each other while he tangles his fingers in your hair, pushing your legs apart. You subconsciously spread your legs, intertwining your fingers in his hair. Scaramouche takes the opportunity to slip two fingers into your wet heat, catching you off guard.

You let out a choked gasp and broke the kiss between you and Scaramouche. You grip both of Scaramouche’s biceps, digging your nails into his arms. You groan and tense up the deeper Scaramouche’s fingers go into you. Scaramouche continues to insert his index and middle finger inside of you until he’s knuckles deep inside your entrance.

Your eyebrows are furrowing, your mouth agape in an ‘o,’ eyes bleary with lust. Scaramouche smirks and slowly pulls his fingers out before slamming them back inside. Your entire body tenses up, and a mix of moans and whines escapes from you. Scaramouche uses his thumb and digs the nail into your bundle of nerves. You grit your teeth, gripping your bedsheets with tight fists. 

“Why can’t you just fuck me already instead of tormenting me?” You ask through clenched jaws. 

Scaramouche feigns innocence. “Because it’s fun seeing you writhe beneath me, beg me to fuck your brains out, and cry out my name until you become frustrated,” Scaramouche replies.

“Scaramouche, I swear, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to find someone else to do it instead,” you hiss, attempting to sit up.

Scaramouche clicks his tongue and pulls his fingers out from your core, making you tense up momentarily. Scaramouche shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth, nearly choking you. 

“Suck.”

You narrow your eyes at Scaramouche. As much as you want to bite his fingers out of spite, you just want him to fuck you already until the firey pit in your stomach is gone. So, you complied and began to suck and lick his pointer and middle fingers, tasting your juices that coated his fingers. 

Scaramouche shoves his fingers farther back, the tips of his fingers touching the back of your throat. You gag around his fingers, your eyes watered, and you glare at him through the tears in your eyes. Scaramouche snickers and pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“What? Don’t give me that look! You should be grateful that I’m going to be fucking you until you can barely walk,” Scaramouche says nonchalantly.

You lie on your back and close your eyes, wiping the stray tears that made their way down your cheeks. You hear clothes rustling and falling to the ground. Damn him, and damn him for being the first one to volunteer to help you with your problem. Why couldn’t it be Heizou instead? At least Heizou wouldn’t be teasing the hell out of you until you break. Actually… Heizou would probably do the same, but he would be more gentle, unlike the indigo-haired male standing before you.

You’re pulled out from your thoughts when Scaramouche is now looming over you, one arm propping himself up beside your head. You watch Scaramouche grab his erect cock with the other hand. Scaramouche pumps his cock a few times with his fist and taps the mushroom tip of his cock against your folds after pushing your legs apart with his knees. You bite your lips with anticipation, letting out a pathetic whimper when Scaramouche rubs his cock up and down your spread legs.

You grit your teeth and dig your nails into the palm of your hands, trying your best to be patient when you know your patience is about to snap at any moment. Scaramouche lines the bulbous tip of his cock in front of your entrance and looks at you through his lashes. Scaramouche teases your entrance by rubbing his dick up and down your folds, lightly brushing against your bundle of nerves.

You whine and lightly pound your fist against his chest. “Scaramouche! Please, just fuck me already! I can’t wait any longer!” You whine.

Scaramouche pushes himself off of you and grips your neck with one hand while the other remains on his hardened cock. Without warning, Scaramouche shoves his cock inside of your awaiting, dripping heat. You gasp and feel your entrance tighten around Scaramouche’s cock. You wrap your legs around Scaramouche’s waist, thighs clenching while he slams the rest of his cock inside of your throbbing entrance. 

Scaramouche clenches his jaws. “Relax, will you?” Scaramouche grunts, grabbing the plush of your thighs and shoving them apart before he buries his dick to the hilt.

You whimper and wrap your arms over his shoulders, clawing at his back. “I’m trying! It hurts!” You whine while digging your nails deep into his back.

“It’ll only hurt more if you continue to tense up like this!” Scaramouche growls, pressing his hips against yours and staying still. 

You pant, tilting your head back against your pillow, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your thighs are beginning to feel sore, but it doesn’t hurt as much as your entrance does. You feel so full, so, so full. Scaramouche blindly reaches for your legs and pushes them up against your chest, folding you in half.

You unintentionally let out a loud moan, feeling the tip of his cock touching the deepest part of your insides. Scaramouche lays on top of you, his arms caging you between his body and your bed. Scaramouche grabs your jaws and forces you to open your mouth. You look at Scaramouche through the lustful haze, your mouth wide open. Scaramouche spits into your mouth, catching you off guard.

He closes your mouth and thrusts forward. “Swallow,” Scaramouche demands.

You swallow Scaramouche’s saliva and open your mouth to show him. Scaramouche smirks and tangles his fingers in your hair before pressing his lips against yours. You slide your left hand up his back and to the back of his head, gripping his indigo hair while your right-hand reaches down and grabs him by the ass.

Scaramouche jolts, making his cock prod your cervix. Scaramouche breaks the kiss and looks down at you with an eyebrow raised. You bite your lips and stare at him, not saying anything. You pull him down and kiss his swollen lips again, lightly biting his lips and rolling your hips against his, sending pleasurable jolts down your and Scaramouche’s spine. 

Scaramouche slowly pulls his cock out from your heat, leaving only the tip of his dick inside you. Archons, you’re so wet. Scaramouche watches your juices slowly trail down your ass cheeks, his cock’s wet from your juice. Without warning, Scaramouche slams his cock back inside your hole. Your velvety walls clenched around his cock while you cried out with pleasure. 

You didn’t know why you expected Scaramouche to start thrusting into you slowly and letting you adjust to his size. Scaramouche hammers his cock in and out of you, making sure to hit your cervix over and over with every thrust.

“Slow down!” You squeal, your legs flailing over your head while Scaramouche continues to ram his cock in and out of you. 

Scaramouche ignores your pleas, continuously ramming his dick into your wet heat. The sound of skin slapping, squelching, moans, whimpers, and growls fills your bedroom. You squeeze your eyes shut out of embarrassment and bury your face into Scaramouche’s chest. Scaramouche suddenly pulls his cock out from your entrance. You whine in protest, blindly reaching for his cock. Scaramouche slaps your hand away, flips you over on your stomach, and puts you on all fours. He makes you arch your back and press your head against your pillow before landing a sharp slap on your ass cheeks.

Your squeal was cut short when Scaramouche lined his cock up against your dripping entrance. Scaramouche slams his dick into you, making you choke on your squeals. Scaramouche presses his chest against your back, reaching forward and squeezing your chest with both hands while pressing his hips firmly against your ass. You grab a fistful of your bedsheets while wrapping your right arm around your pillow, biting down on your pillow to muffle your moans.

“Taking my cock so well, like the slut you are,” Scaramouche chuckles, biting down on your shoulder.

You grunt when Scaramouche grinds his hips against yours, coating his pubic hair with your juices. You reach for Scaramouche’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his while your other hand continues to hold the bedsheets with a tight fist. Scaramouche chuckles, releasing your shoulder and burying his face into your neck.

Scaramouche pants against your ears, and his soft grunts and sighs fill your ears. Dear archons, you hate to admit that you love the sound of him sighing and grunting into your ears. Scaramouche latches his lips on your neck, nibbling on them while pistoning his cock in and out at a steady pace. You tilt your head back, resting your head on Scaramouche’s shoulders while he continues to ram his painfully erect cock in and out of you repeatedly. Your hands fly to Scaramouche’s hands and dig your nails into his arms. The sound of Scaramouche’s pants drowns out the sounds of your desperate moans and squeals.

Scaramouche presses his lips against your ears. “Where’s that attitude of yours, huh?” Scaramouche asks, breathing heavily into your ears. “Where.” Thrust. “Is.” Thrust. “It?” 

You scowl and shove him off you, his dick pulling out from your entrance. Scaramouche lands on his elbows and glares at you with lust clouding his vision. You get off your bed and huff, crossing your arms over your chest. You turn around and begin walking to your bedroom door without sparing Scaramouche a second glance.

Scaramouche calls out from behind you, “Where do you think you’re going?!”

You huff loudly and look over your shoulders. “Since you want to act so cocky, I’ll find someone else to satisfy me,” you said.

“Hey! Get your ass back here or else—”

“Or else what? If you want to fuck me so badly, why don’t you beg for it, hm?” You smirk.

Scaramouche growls. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be fucking your brains out and helping you with that problem of yours. You’re the one that inhaled that stupid aphrodisiac, not me!” Scaramouche glowers, getting off your bed and walking toward you.

You chuckle and shake your head, watching the indigo-haired man approach you. You have yet to cum, and yet you’re playing fire with fire. He can ditch you all you want and leave you hanging high and dry, craving for release, but you have plenty of options other than the man standing before you. Scaramouche wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to his chest. You try to act nonchalant, but feeling Scaramouche’s erect cock pressing against your stomach is making you flustered. 

Scaramouche grabs your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. You scoff softly, turn your head to the side and gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Archons, you just want him to fuck the aphrodisiac out of you, but knowing Scaramouche, he’s going to make it hell for you. And he kind of did, even though he fucked you pretty well.

“I don’t know. You’ve been so mean to me this entire time! Why should I let you continue to bury your dick inside me, hm?” You ask, grabbing his red cock and gently squeezing and pumping them firmly. 

Scaramouche clenches his jaws, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head when you squeeze and rub the bulbous tip of his cock. Scaramouche rests his head on your shoulder, burying his face into your neck, breathing in your scent.

“Please,” Scaramouche says through clenched teeth. “Please let me fuck you.”

You hum to yourself, taking your hand off his throbbing member. “Alright, I’ll let you fuck me, only because you said please like a good boy,” you tease, squeezing his cheeks.

Scaramouche huffs and grabs your wrist and pulls you back to your bed. Scaramouche lays on your bed, yanking you on top of him. You straddle his hips and grab his red dick, lining it up to your entrance.

Scaramouche squeezes your hips with anticipation; his cheeks are almost as red as the tip of his cock. You giggle to yourself and slowly sink down on his aching cock. Your jaws drop, letting out a shaky sigh as you continue to sink further down on Scaramouche’s dick. Once Scaramouche is fully sheathed into your entrance, you grab your bed frame and start bouncing on his cock and grinding your swollen bundle of nerves against Scaramouche’s pubic bone. Scaramouche latches his mouth on one of your nipples and begins to suck, lick and lightly bite them while you’re on top of him, riding his cock like a desperate cock hungry whore that you are.

You bite down on your lips to keep your moans to a minimum. The sound of your hole squelching each time your thighs meet Scaramouche’s thighs is all you can hear other than your breathy moans and Scaramouche sucking on your nipples. Scaramouche places both his hands on the globes of your ass, squeezing your butt cheeks, occasionally slapping them while forcing you up and down on his painfully hard cock.

Scaramouche releases your nipple. “You’re a filthy slut, you know that, right?” Scaramouche pants. “Look at you, riding my cock like a cock hungry whore.” He laughs.

You reach for Scaramouche’s hair, grab it and tilt his head back. “You’re a shithead, you know that, right?” You ask, slamming your hips down on his cock. 

You hold back a moan when Scaramouche’s mushroom tip kisses your cervix. Scaramouche smirks at you, his lips quivering from the pleasure. Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort, but you press your lips against his lips to shut him up. Scaramouche releases one ass cheek and reaches in front to pinch and squeeze your throbbing bundle of nerves. You bite down on Scaramouche’s lips, nearly collapsing on him.

He takes that as an opportunity to flip you over on your back, hammering his cock into you in a frenzy. You grunt and wrap your legs tightly around his slim waist, dragging your nails down his back. Scaramouche presses his hips hard against yours that your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when the bulbous tip of his cock slams against your cervix. You roll your hips and ground your hips against his pubic bone. 

Your back arches, your head falls back on your bed, and you let out a string of moans. You feel a familiar tightness in your lower abdomen as he continues to force his cock in and out of your wet heat. You look down to where you and Scaramouche are connected, only to see your stomach bulging every time Scaramouche slams his cock back into your sopping wet heat. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth while Scaramouche continues to shove his cock into you.

Scaramouche snorts. “You look stupid, you know that?” Scaramouche snickers, pressing his hips against yours.

“I’m about to cum,” You whisper breathlessly.

Scaramouche raises his eyebrows at you. “Then cum for me, you filthy slut. Cum all over my cock and scream my name so the others can know who’s the one that’s fucking your brains out,” Scaramouche demands, pulling your hair back and pistoning his cock into you.

While Scaramouche is slamming his hips against yours, you writhe beneath him. Your jaws are agape, letting out silent screams. Scaramouche grabs a handful of your chest and kneads at them, pinching your nipples while squeezing your breast. You close your eyes tightly, feeling the forming knot in your lower abdomen begin to feel even tighter. 

You hiss when Scaramouche grazes your nipple with his nail. You grab his wrist and dig your nails into his wrist, fueling Scaramouche’s thrusts. While pounding into your sopping-wet entrance, Scaramouche feels his impending orgasm. Scaramouche leans over you, grabs the edge of the mattress, and plunges his cock into you in a frenzy, chasing his release.

It happened so fast. You didn’t think the tight knot in your lower abdomen would snap so quickly the more the mushroom tip of Scaramouche’s cock kissed your cervix. The feeling of his cock sliding and rubbing against the walls of your entrance made you quiver and your legs tremble. Scaramouche bites down on your shoulders and shoots thick ropes of cum deep inside your quivering hole when he feels you clamping down hard on his cock and cumming around him.

You go limp on your bed and grunt softly when Scaramouche collapses on top of you. Scaramouche lets out a breathy chuckle before rolling off to the side while keeping his cock inside you, plugging his and your cum inside your sullied hole. You don’t know how long you and Scaramouche had gone at it, but you can still feel the fiery pit raging in the pit of your stomach. You and Scaramouche groan when he pulls his softened cock from inside you. You feel his and your cum oozing out from your hole. 

Scaramouche turns his head to look at you. “You’re quite needy, did you know that?” Scaramouche asks.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, slapping his chest weakly. “Oh, please. As if you weren’t as needy as I was,” you grumble.

Scaramouche gulps a mouthful of air and props himself up. “Is it still in your system?” Scaramouche asks, collapsing back on your bed and closing his eyes.

You stare at him, watching his bare chest rise up and down from the rigorous activity. You pursed your lips, unsure of how to answer. If you were to tell him that the feeling of need and desire is still present, would he continue to assist you on your issue, or would he switch out with one of the other twenty-four men that are left?

You gnaw on your bottom lip and slowly nod. “Yeah, it’s still in my system, unfortunately. I can still feel it, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was before you, well, railed me into oblivion,” you reply.

Scaramouche sighs in defeat and closes his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “Dammit. Not only that, but you inhaled large amounts of that aphrodisiac as well. It’ll be in your system for who knows how long.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter. 

Scaramouche lies beside you and wraps his arms around your bare torso, resting his chin on top of your head and closing his eyes. You reach to grab the blanket at the edge of your bed when you and Scaramouche hear a knock at your door.

“Are you two finished?” Albedo asks behind the closed door.

You huff and pull the blanket over your and Scaramouche’s naked bodies. “Yeah, we’re finished,” you answer.

“Is the aphrodisiac out of your system now? How are you feeling?” Baizhu’s voice is muffled from behind the door.

You shake your head, knowing the others can’t see it. You’re not sure how long aphrodisiacs remain in the human body once it’s ingested or inhaled. All you know is that you’re still horny, probably not as much as you were before Scaramouche railed you, but you’re still horny, and you can feel it. The fiery pit in your lower stomach has yet to be extinguished, and you’re not sure how many rounds you’ll have to go through for the aphrodisiac to wear off. 

You sigh shakily and reply, “It’s still in my system. I don’t know how much longer it’ll remain in my system for, Baizhu. It’s not nearly as bad as it was, and I’m still coherent, but….” you trailed off, closing your eyes.

“But….” Xiao asks.

You can almost hear him raise his eyebrows. Knowing Xiao, he’s standing in front of your closed bedroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for you to reply. You wouldn’t be surprised if the others were also standing in front of your door.

You look at Scaramouche, who sits up and rubs his eyes. “Might as well send in the next person. But let me remind you that none of you will fuck [Y/N] nearly as good as I did,” Scaramouche says proudly. 

Scarmaouhce puts on his clothes while you debate whether you should put your clothes on and clean yourself up or let the next person have their way with you as you are now. You get up from your bed and walk to your bathroom to quickly clean up and use the bathroom. After a few minutes of cleaning yourself up and using the bathroom, you step out of your bathroom. Scaramouche gives you a quick hug and kisses on your forehead before exiting your bedroom. Before the door fully closed behind Scaramouche, a hand grabbed at the wooden door to prevent it from closing. 

Note: I have no idea how to feel about this Scaramouche smut I wrote... let me know what you think because I'm always feeling iffy about every smuts I write and post on Tumblr and AO3. Ready for the second phase for the next route? Since Scaramouche's route has been written and posted, he is no longer part of the future options for Burning Desire. I wonder who's going to be the next route 🤔 Vote for the second route/third "chapter" [HERE]! As for taglist, Burning Desire will have its own taglist! Therefore, if you want to be tagged for the Burning Desire smut fics, click [HERE] for the taglist form! Please make sure to read the instructions carefully, or else I won't be able to tag you in future Burning Desire fics 🥹 Anyway, to my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for Burning Desire: [None currently, will add people once people start submitting their forms ^^]

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Pt. 2 of modern Wolf Hybrid! Katsuki Bakugou X Bunny Hybrid! Reader

This is part 2 of my last Wolf!Katsuki fic, and while not required to understand this one, I highly recommend giving it a read! This is about you, a bunny person, telling your family that you're dating a Wolf man, Katsuki...except they're extremely against dating between wolf and bunny hybrids. Womp womp.

words: 1.5k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of Kat and reader doing the horizontal monster mash, angst? I think? I'm not an angst writer, Pretty sure this is hurt comfort

"Ok, I have my water in case my throat gets dry, my tissues in case I cry too much, cookies in case I stress eat...My phone, where's my phone?! I can't call them without my phone!"

"In you're hand, bun."

"Oh...right..."

"You gotta chill out," Katsuki huffed, standing behind you and gently rubbing your temples with his strong, calloused hands. His tail swayed gently behind him, idly moving as he bent down and planted a kiss on your scalp. Why was he being so lovey, might you ask? Because you were about to make the biggest announcement of your life to your family: You, a bunny-person, were dating Katsuki, a Wolf-person.

Was it that big of a deal? Not to you, a young person living in a liberal area, but to your incredibly old fashioned family, it was like announcing you personally orchestrated the plague.

"But what if they disown me or something," you whine, leaning your head back to look up at him with a nervous pout. He frowned down at you, thumbing at the tips of your plush bunny ears as they pressed against your head. "You'll still have me, 's not like you'll be alone."

Katsuki wasn't the best at all of this, seeing as he was a wolf guy that had moved out at sixteen and hardly spoke to his parents yearly, but he loved you, and therefore was trying his best.

You appreciated that, obviously, but his words did little to comfort you...you were just so nervous!

After a moment of looking into your eyes, seeing the anxiety just behind them, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours. "They're lucky to have you, if they know what's good they'll stick around."

Did he hate your family and wish they'd all fuck off and stay out of it? Yeah. Would that get in the way of how much he loved you? Hell no. So why would they feel any different, why would they shut you out just because you loved a wolf man?

With a heavy sigh, you sat up straight, positioning your phone on the coffee table in front of you so you had a nice, clear angle. "Ok. I'm gonna do it. I'm calling them...get out of the shot, please," you asked of him, to which he begrudgingly obliged with a pout. He plopped down next to you, nearly putting his arm around you out of instinct, before remembering the whole point was to not be seen.

You hesitantly leaned forward, pressing the call button and watching the Video Call register, the music filling your stomach with anxiety. "Relax," he mumbled, taking your hand off camera and holding it.

After a couple rings, your parents picked up, big smiles on their faces. "Hey carrot cake!" Your dad said, using a nickname you've had since you were six, when you ate so much carrot cake you spent the night throwing up.

"How's my favorite firstborn doing in the big, loud, far away, dangerous, city," your mom asked, a twinge of worry in her wide smile. She always liked to bring up how dangerous St. Lupus was, a city densely populated by wolves. "Great! Everything's great," you responded, squeezing Katsuki's hand a little tighter.

"You know, I was talking to Barbra the other day, and I think you and her son would just adore each other," your mom gushed, your phone pinging with a picture sent from her. "Isn't he handsome? Take a look," she prodded.

Katsuki growled a little, a low rumbling coming from him as he scowled, ears flat against his head. You reached over a little and put your hand on his chest, calming him and reminding him why you were here. "A-actually, speaking of that, I've found someone else," you started, pressing your lips together and watching for a reaction.

"Oh! That's wonderful dear! What's his name? Is he from Hoppsfoot? Bunny burrow? Oh, don't tell me he's from Cottonridge."

"Uh, he's definitely not from Cottonridge," you assured, your mother sighing with relief. "Well, tell us about him," your father pressured, smiling gently at you.

"H-he's from St. Lupus..." you stuttered out, squeezing Katsuki's hand a little tighter. You thought they'd connect the dots from there, but...

"I've never heard of a bunny being raised in St. Lupus, not without being turned into Sunday dinner," your dad joked, nudging your mom with a laugh.

Who does this guy think he is, assuming wolves still ate bunnies? What a close minded asshole. Katsuki looked to you, wanting to exchange glances of exasperation, but saw just how scared you were.

You looked like you were on the brink of bursting into tears. His heart ached for you, he just wanted you to feel ok. He leaned forward, just enough to be closer without being in frame, and brought your hand to his scalp. Scratching his ears always made you feel better.

You glanced over for a second, a sweet but rather fake smile on your face, and began to idly scratch around the base of his ears. He quietly groaned into your touch, allowing himself to be a little more open about how good you made him feel so you knew he loved you.

"The thing is, well, uh..." You looked into your parents eyes through the screen, their kind, caring eyes, and then to Katsuki's passionate, loving ones. Fuck.

"I can't," you whispered, frozen in fear, eyes pleading with Katsuki to have sympathy. You wanted to, you just...couldn't break their hearts.

"What's that," your mother asked, getting closer to the camera. Katsuki knew what he had to do, he wanted to help. He grabbed your phone, turning it to himself, your hand still on his head, and stated, "I'm (y/n)'s boyfriend," firmly.

Your parents gasped in unison, jaws dropped. "This can't be!" "Tell me he's lying!"

"It's true," you said, your voice wavering but your tone firm.

Katsuki handed you the phone back, and you held it closer to your face.

"We raised you better than this," your mother shouted.

"He loves me," you mumbled back, tears dripping over your cheeks.

"He wants to use you," she scoffed, venom in her tone.

"Wolves don't eat bunnies anymore," you argued.

"So? That doesn't mean he won't use you for other things," she sniffed.

"Mom!" Tears were pouring down your face, you were definitely worked up. Katsuki brought his arm around your shoulder, holding you a little closer to comfort you. For once, Katsuki kept his mouth shut. You had this. You didn't need his help.

"I can't bear to watch him touch you, I can't imagine what you let him do when we aren't watching!"

"What we do is none of your business," you yelled, your voice shrill from the emotions raging.

"Don't come home until you've rid yourself of that...that...heathen!"

"Fine," you shouted back, not even thinking.

"Fine," she responded, equally as loud. You could hear your dad say "honey," to your mom just before she hung up.

You sat there in silence for a moment, Katsuki's arm around you, staring at your now black phone screen.

"You...Okay," Katsuki asked hesitantly, his voice riddled with worry.

You broke.

You started bawling, Tears gushing from your eyes as you leaned into Katsuki's chest, wailing and lamenting the possible loss of your relationship with, at the very least, your mother. Katsuki leaned back against the armrest of the couch, pulling you with him as you both lay down. He rubbed your back in broad strokes, up and down, his other hand behind his head for support.

"I can't go back," you whimpered between broken sobs, arms brought to be around his sides.

You don't need to. Why go back when I'm right here? Who would want to go back to assholes like them, anyway? All of these thoughts were racing through his head, yet none of them could be voiced, one were what he wanted to think. You didn't need that.

"I know, bun."

That was all he said, planting soft kisses along your hairline and smoothing your ears against your head over and over again, petting you to calm you down.

Your howling died down into sobbing, the sobbing into crying, and the crying into whimpering. After just 10 minutes, you were silent, and after careful examination, Katsuki realized you were dead asleep.

Gently so as not to wake you, he lifted you up as he stood, carrying you to his bedroom and laying you down. He got in with you, pulling up the covers and leaving little kisses on your wet cheek as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist.

He could hear your phone buzzing with text after text after text, phone calls with different ringtones (ergo different people), the dinging of notifications on social media.

He'd have to get up earlier than you so he could delete all the hateful texts and voicemails, but that'd be tomorrow him's problem. Right now, all that mattered was you.

His beautiful bunny.

Me? write A metaphor for the homophobia/racism/general bigotry that still exists today? noooooo, couldn't be. I hope you liked this comfy, angsty(?) little fanfic, please leave a comment with your thoughts!

[victorbutnotreally]

Life Over Death - OT8 x Male Reader

Genre: angst with happy ending

warnings: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mentions of death, minor character death, mentions of neglectful parents, suicide of a past friend, mentions of self harm

A/N: I read Sunbeam by @james-is-here and I had an uncontrollable urge to write angst. Also, if you haven't read Sunbeam, I highly recommend it (make sure to have tissues tho). This fic is pretty angsty, and mentions some really heavy topics (which are in the warnings), so if you're uncomfortable with any of it, I'll see you in the next fic.

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

Mn finds himself on the edge of a bridge. The water sparkled with the city lights of Seoul. The wind in his hair made him look beautiful, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. He let out a ragged breath, his sobs quiet from years of crying to himself and trying not to be heard.

He's always wanted to die young, not finding any appeal in living until he was old and grey. He wouldn't find anyone to spend it with anyway. He's been spending more time with the members lately, not wanting them to regret anything once he's gone. It made him see the beauty of life, but he convinced himself of this a long time ago. He tried not to think of how devastated the members would be.

He thought back to the time where his best friend texted him at 2am when they were both fifteen.

I love you so much. but I can't take it anymore. You're the best thing in my life, my favourite person, but I guess I'm too selfish to stay. I'll miss you.

He remembers rushing to his friend's house, his heart beating out of his chest, running fast to stop him, only to find him dead on the ground outside, having jumped from the roof.. He remembers knocking on that door to tell his friend's parents that their son was dead. He remembers how broken he was, his friend's little sister offering him a cupcake that he made.

But surely his members wouldn't be that affected. Right? He tried telling himself, but he knew it wasn't true. He knew how the members looked at him.

He's always been selfless, but he had the urge to be selfish right now. To not care about anyone else and just jump. What was pulling him back? He didn't know.

He couldn't do this…he shouldn't hurt the members like this. His parents have never cared, and all he had was his best friend. After he died, Mn didn't have a motivation to live. No one would've noticed if he was gone. That was until he joined Stray Kids.

He almost regrets being in Stray Kids. Sure, they gave him a reason to live, but that's exactly why he regretted them now.

He checked the time on his phone.

11:00 pm Saturday

Movie night. He thought of how long it would take for the news of his death to reach his members if he jumped now. The scars on his wrists were fading, and he made no attempt to darken them. Why hurt himself if he was going to die anyway?

Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Jeongin.

He smiled softly, seeing the maknae's contact name lighting up his screen, just like how that smile could light up his world.

"Innie, what's up?"

Mn tried to sound like he wasn't sobbing. He had a cold, he could probably blame his shaky voice on that.

"Hyung, are you going to be late? It's movie night."

Mn could almost hear the pout in the younger's voice, and he could hear Changbin's loud laugh in the background. His heart felt warm, and before he could even stop himself, he spoke.

"I'm on my way."

He was surprised at his own words. That wasn't the plan. But he wanted Jeongin to keep pouting without a care in the world, he never wanted Changbin's laugh to get any less louder.

"I'm near a convenience store, you want something?"

He must've been on speaker, as the person who spoke up was Jisung.

"Banana milk!"

Hyunjin's voice followed.

"Pocky!!"

Mn chuckled, crossing the road to get to the convenience store.

"Alright. I'll be back in a few."

I'll be back in a few. He didn't say that when he left the house. He was determined to end it all. But it's the little things, isn't it? Your friend's laugh, or simply getting a snack for them.

He realized the call hasn't ended yet when Chan's voice was heard.

"Mnie, you want barbecue or pepperoni?"

Mn's smile widened, and more tears rolled down his cheeks. Happy tears. He was stupid, thinking they wouldn't be too sad if he died.

"You know I'm a slut for barbecue."

He could hear Chan's little laugh at that statement. The laugh that could make the stars shine brighter.

"Mhm. Just wanted to make sure."

Mn didn't end the call as he entered the convenience store, knowing he'd go home with more than just banana milk and pocky.

It felt weird though, he was so sure he wouldn't return. But he was glad he would be going home. He was glad he chose to go home.

[zeldaelmo]

Hellooo

I'm looking for good Zelink AU fics. I've already read all of yours, so.

Do you have a rec list or some fic you'd like us to try? Zelink in modern setting, fantasy anything but canon lmao (I've read too much of that)

BTW have you read Hit list by zestycrouton? It's high-school au and pretty old fic from ff.net. One of the best fics, all characters so well developed, it felt like you're watching a movie before your eyes. Yeah, I highly recommend.

Ah, thank you for reaching out and what an honor that you've read all my AUs! 🥰

So, here we go. I try to stick to stories that haven't been recommended over and over.

My friend @deiliamedlini writes a lot of AUs. I'm linking the Pirate AU, but there are tons of others, too. Some get dark, and don't think she won't kill characters off just because they've grown on you. 😂

Speaking of Pirates, my friend @mistresslrigtar also has one. She also has an ongoing rock star AU that I also recommend!

If you're looking for something short, you should check out @ladyhoneydee 's work. She writes a lot of modern AU and everything comes with a manageable word count! This is a sweet coffee shop AU, but she has tons of others, too.

If you're more looking for stories that have that 'game feel' but are based on own ideas, I'll direct you to @nocturnalfandomartist's blog(s). She has several AUs going on, with concept art and all!

I've only started to explore @abbyz-elda 's work but what I read so far I enjoyed greatly. Currently listening to this one with my screen reader when I'm out running, but I recommend the Sci Fi AU 'A Link to the Stars', too.

Next on my read list is @flutefemme's TP 1920th AU. I read enough of Flute's fics and snippets from this one that I'm confident to recommend before reading.

Another friend who loves AUs is @louwhose. Recommending this one because it's the last I read:

I also enjoyed @sparklyhyperbole 's fairy AU and the ongoing fic.

And last but not least, Puppy Love by @liv-andletdie .

I'm very, very sure I've forgotten a ton of authors and stories, so please reblog and add your own recommendations and/or self recs!

More about Hit List under the cut. TW: mentions of school shootings.

I skipped Hit List as one of the few fics when I went through all the zelink fics on ff.net and Ao3. I heard that the characterizations etc are really good, but since it's about a school shooting, I didn't want to read it. I'm not doing well with violence in general, and a story that deals with any aspects of a school shooting is not what I want to read for fun. That being said, that obviously doesn't say anything about the quality of the fic and isn't supposed to discredit the story in any kind. I heard others enjoy it greatly. It's just not for me. 😊

[pandoramyst]

민규 - ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʜɪᴍ

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙮𝙪 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

warning: slight smut but not really, some cursing, drinking, smoking, night club, toxic relationship

note: I would highly recommend listening to Right Here by Chase Atlantic while reading this as this is what I was listening to while writing this! Huge thanks to roomsofangel for inspiring me to write this. Go look at her mingi fic "right here"!! <3

"can you please wait up?" you lean on the rocky wall and balance yourself on one leg while you try to push your foot back into your pointy stiletto. Your friend stood in front of you puffing on a cigarette, wishing you had taken her advice about not wearing such high heels.

"did I not tell you?" she places her elbow on her hip, lazily holding the cigarette in between her fingers. "Uh, shut up Min. Please tell me you have a band-aid?" you rub the bottom of your foot to try and relieve it from the pain while Min is rummaging through her bag.

"Don't got any, babe," she frowns and steps next to me, hooking her arm around me to hold me stable. Your foot finally slips into the heel and you huff in relief. You place your feet on the ground and straighten your posture. Min pats your flyaways down and fixes the smudge from your red lipstick. She flashes her white teeth to you and winks.

"Come on!" she strengthens the hold on your arm and drags you to the entrance of the nightclub. Plastered above the glass door is a sign, ARCANE, flashing brightly in red. Two well-suited men stand in front of the tall glass doors, waiting to check your ID's. Having confirmed your IDs, they open the doors for you and you walk into the main floor.

You walk towards the bar and beckon the bartender towards you. He walks over and puts both of his hands on the bar, leaning towards you to hear you properly. "Two margaritas, please" you tell him with a smile and he walks over to make your drinks.

"shit," Min whispers as she leans back into the counter. You have your back turned to the crowd of dancing bodies so you turn your head around to look at what she's seeing. You turn back around, uninterested in the guy she's drooling over. "look at those muscles.." she says, biting her lip.

"you're disgusting," you give her a stank face and she returns it. The bartender returns with your drinks. "Thank you," you say and take a sip. "ugh you're so pessimistic, you need some dick," she says plainly while gobbling down her drink. You almost choke on your drink at that and push her away from you. "you wanna kill me?" you yell at her.

she puts her drink down, "whatever, I'm going up to him". She pushes her breasts up and puckers her lips. "your boobs look fine, just go" you tell her and she kisses your cheek before walking over to him.

you push your first drink down your throat and rest your elbow on the bar. you enjoy quietude most of the time but you let a night out be a welcome exception. after all, Min is right. Not about the dick part, but it's nice to look at good-looking people once in a while. As shallow as it is, it's refreshing.

But you can't enjoy it when he's always in the back of your mind.

After your recent breakup with Mingyu, the thought of him has not left you. The breakup itself was not toxic, but the on-and-off relationship afterward was. You kept going back to each other. And he wasn't helping either. He called you, texted you, and even emailed once in a while when you wouldn't pick up.

Feb 9, 21:39: "Wherever you go, no matter what you try to do and how far you try to get away from me, I'm all you think about, y/n"

You thought the constant nagging annoyed you until it suddenly stopped. You checked your phone even when it didn't ding. Sorted through your work emails and the newsletters from websites you didn't even subscribe to. It was pathetic, to say the least. You even considered texting him during that time despite Min's desperate pleas. Giving in was so much easier than staying away.

He really is all you think about.

By the time you finish rethinking every thought you had about that man, you are through your fourth drink and onto the fifth when the lights start to dim in the club. The music changes seamlessly, thanks to the DJ, to "All Mine" by Plaza. You think about tipping the guy for such a good choice of a song. And you would have if it weren't for the fact that you had to push through a whole mob of drunk people.

You settle for sitting back down and downing more alcohol instead. You rest your cheek on your palm and look around the bar, curiously. The ones sat down were mostly men alone or with women on their lap, apart from the exception of one guy whose face you couldn't make out. His right arm was resting on the bar and the other one was holding his drink up. You could only see his side profile as he was currently talking to a tall, blonde that was rubbing her manicured hand up and down his bicep.

Who can blame her? He is ripped. He has a black shirt on that fits him almost too tightly, resting perfectly on the curves of his muscles. Your eyes followed his arm all the way down to his hand, where a gold watch was wrapped around his wrist. Not too thick or too cheap, perfect size and quality. You bet he smelled good the way the girl was leaning closer to him to get another whiff of his cologne. He had a polite smile on his face but seemed rather uninterested.

The girl eventually noticed and said bye to him, walking towards another tall man at the entrance of the club who piqued her interest.

Your eyes fell back on the man who seemed completely unbothered by her.

When he turned around, the dim light from the bar shined on his face and you could now clearly make out his features. Black, rather silky, hair and the most familiar pair of black eyes. His lips were perfectly plumb and you paid the most attention to how sharp his jawline was. How when he put the drink up to his lips and swallowed the liquid, you could see how defined his Adam's apple was. When he set the drink back down, his eyes came up to yours and his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

Mingyu.

You can really spot him anywhere. You watched as his face relaxed once again as he kept his eyes on yours. Normally, you would look away in embarrassment but with Mingyu you can't.

you missed it. you missed looking into his eyes whenever you wanted to. you missed his eyes on yours, burning through you even when you're not looking. he was the only one you wanted to look at you.

He rubbed his jaw with his index and middle finger as his eyes traveled down to your prominent breasts. You were dressed quite modestly for a club and although your breasts were not relatively big, the dress you wore did wonders for you. Thanks to how tight it was, it made your breasts look fuller and perkier.

When his eyes came back up to yours, your view of him was blocked by a flimsy Min who had returned from whatever she was doing, with a new guy on her arm. "Hey best friend in the world!!!" she threw her arms around your neck, supporting all of her weight on you. She was clearly drunk...

"can you please please please get an Uber home?" she winked and pointed at the guy behind her who was clearly checking her out. "um, are you sure that's safe..." you were worried she was too drunk to make a somewhat rational decision.

she widened her eyes and said, "Yes! Yes! I promise, now can I leave please?" you sighed and shooed her away. "You're the best! I love you!!!!" She screamed as she dragged the random guy out of the club. You bit the inside of your cheek and your eyes landed back on Mingyu's for a split second before you turned back to face the bar.

Min always did this. It's why you were so reluctant to come out tonight. She always finds some guy to go home with and leaves you on your own. She doesn't even have the decency to leave you the car you came here with. Whatever. You suddenly had a bigger problem to deal with as you felt a hand push your hair to the side. You looked over to where Mingyu was sitting and he was gone which confirmed your suspicion that it was him touching your hair.

"left you again?" he pulls the stool next to you closer to you so that when he takes a seat your knees are almost touching his crotch. He lays his arm flat in front of you on the bar and with his other hand, continues to run his fingers through your blown-out hair. "mmm," you hum and close your eyes, savoring the feeling of his fingers running through your hair.

When Mingyu and you were together, you would always tell him about Min's reckless behavior and carelessness. How it annoyed you that she couldn't care about anybody else more than she cared about herself. It didn't bother you, it's just how she was. But at times it made you feel like shit, and Mingyu would always be there to hear you out.

Suddenly, you could feel the alcohol working on you.

"Why are you here, Mingyu?" you were slightly slurring your words. He smirks and rests his hand on your leg. "could ask you the same thing, baby" he says. His voice had either become noticeably deeper or your memory was failing you.

"you can't call me that anymore," your lips rest to a slight pout as you let your head fall, your chin almost touching your chest.

He chuckles and starts caressing your thigh, "why not?"

"you know, why." you look back up at him and his demeanor has changed. He was looking at you again with those same furrowed eyebrows he gave you before.

But as he bites his lip, all you can think about is how much plumper his lips have gotten. How softer they probably feel. God, you wish you could kiss him.

"How would I know when you haven't answered any of my texts?" He counters, his voice getting a little bit louder now, which due to how loud the area was, you were grateful for.

"We are not together anymore, Mingyu. Get it through your head," you tell him. But he did not want to hear that and truthfully that wasn't what you wanted to say either...

"I don't care y/n, this is never gonna change," he points at you and then back at him, "I can see it in your eyes, why won't you let it happen?"

"cause it's not right, we've moved on" you look away from his dark eyes and gulp down your drink, letting it burn your throat.

He tsks and takes his hand off your thigh, placing it on his. You could tell he was getting upset.

"moved on? you've moved on?" he bent his back so that he could get a clear look at your face. You look him in the eye and swallow harshly as you can see him biting the inside of his cheek.

"yes," you lie. and he can see right through it.

He scoffs and looks around the bar in disbelief, "You're such a fucking liar, you know that baby?"

"I'm not lying," you say before you bite your lip.

"I know when you lie to me, y/n. I know you missed me," he can see through your bullshit. He leans closer to you, letting you get a whiff of his cologne. He always smelled good...

He whispers in my ear, "Why didn't you answer my calls, baby?" he says before pressing a soft kiss under your ear. He's so close you can smell his shampoo. Old Spice. He hasn't changed much.

You softly rest your hands on his shoulders as he leaves more kisses on the back of your neck, "you're smoking again?" you ask. His cologne is strong but the cigarette stench on his clothes is stronger.

He stops kissing your neck and looks up at you through his thick lashes. His lips stretch to a wide smile and his eyes become droopy as if he's high.

"what was I supposed to do without you?" he looks down at your lips and licks his own. You don't hesitate to do the same. He looks amazing. He looks even manlier than the last time you saw him.

You wonder if he let anybody else see him like you did...You felt jealous at the thought of somebody else looking at him naked with all this new muscle on him.

Still looking at him, you let your hands run down his biceps, occasionally softly squeezing the muscle. Ugh, he's big.

"Min says you're bad for me..." you say softly as you continue to caress his biceps.

"Min wasn't always here for you, I was," he says coldly pointing at himself. His brows furrow once again at the mention of Min. You run your hands through his hair to calm him, a habit you still seem to have when it comes to him. He wasn't lying.

He lifts himself up so that he can get closer to your lips.

"No one can take care of you like I can, baby" he whispers on your lips.

You whine, "Mingyu..." You can't help but let him pull you closer. You missed him touching you. The last time you saw him was 9 months ago and he's still familiar with your body.

He presses his hand on your back, making you instinctively arch it. You feel his hand rub up and down your back, landing just above your butt. Your lips are now so close to each other that you can smell the mixed scent of his gum and cigarette on his breath.

"I don't like it when you smoke," you suddenly push him away by the shoulders and reach behind you to grab your purse. He leans back on the chair, legs open, smirking. You pull out a bill from your purse and leave it on the counter for the bartender.

"We leaving?" he rests his hand on the counter and looks at me through his lashes like a lost puppy. You just stare at him frigidly before walking out of the nightclub. At this point, you want to go somewhere to hide. Hide your face so nobody could see the effect he had on you.

He would always make you feel like this. Whenever he would call or text, he would confuse you, and send you into a frenzy that would end in you calling Min to cry about your feelings. Now it was different that you actually saw him because he was right.

No matter what you or anybody tried to tell you to make you forget about him, he was right. He was always there when nobody was. No matter what he was doing, he would drop it if it meant being with you. He is the only one that hasn't walked out on you, and clearly never will.

You frantically look for a tissue to wipe the tears on your face as you speed walk to the parking lot of the nightclub. You rummage through your bag when you suddenly hear footsteps running up to you. You walk in between cars trying to find his, wondering if he maybe got a new one. Going to his car was just instinctual at this point.

"Hey stop," you can hear him yelling repeatedly behind you. Where was this damn tissue? The world was spinning. Whether it was because you were drunk or because of Mingyu you didn't know, but you suddenly felt nauseous.

"God, where is this tissue! And where is your fucking car?" You yell at him and you finally spot his black BMW. Your steps get faster and suddenly you can't hear Mingyu's anymore. But you know he's right behind you when the car opens.

You open the passenger door and hop in, slumping down into the seat. You rest your head on the dashboard and let your tears fall on the leather. He opens the car door and leans down to check on you.

You can hear his audible sigh as he steps into the driver's seat. He turns on the ignition and then turns around to put your seatbelt on for you. When he clicks it into place, he leans back in his seat and drives off.

Midnight

"Why did we break up, Mingyu?" you ask him plainly. You rest your forehead on your palm, patiently waiting for a response.

"Long distance. You said you couldn't do it, you gave up" he cleared his throat and stopped the car in front of the red light, turning to look at you. You frowned at him and he responded by placing his large hand on your inner thigh.

"You know, I always knew I could do it for you but I just felt like - it would be impossible to be away from you," the alcohol starts to kick in when you begin to slur your words.

"yeah? 'nd how it feel now?" he says in a tense tone as the light turns green and he begins to drive off again, hand off your thigh.

"Worse," you say softly and he responds by scoffing.

"Well, what did you want me to do? Everybody was saying it would be for the best." You start to get more tense.

"Fuck everybody else," He spouts. "I was the one with you, why do you care what everybody else said?"

"Cause I was confused," you yell back at him in frustration. He chuckles sarcastically as he pulls up to his place. He parks the car and turns off the ignition. You are taking too long with your seatbelt, clearly still shaken up, so he opens your door and does it for you. Once he's done, he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. Ass completely exposed to him, he makes an effort to not touch you as he opens his front door with the same key he's had for years and somehow never changed.

Without having closed the front door, he walks you over to the couch putting you down aggressively.

"Asshole," you rub your head as you start to feel dizzy and he walks over to lock the door.

"What are you doing?" you ask him.

"I'm gonna fuck the confusion out of you,"

[sgt-tombstone]

CoD Military Realism References

UPDATED 05JUL24

For those of you who want to take your fic writing realism (or general military knowledge) to the next level, here is a compilation of real-world, declassified military documents ranging from field manuals to military academy graduate theses all pulled from the Internet Archive. If you're looking for something specific, I highly recommend browsing through their military collection, as they have handbooks on every military topic imaginable, including specific weapons and military operations.

All of these are incredibly outdated because all of the in-date stuff is still classified. That being said, some of these are more outdated than others. Use them at your own discretion and don’t feel obligated to make every detail of your fic entirely accurate. Fic writing is supposed to be fun for everyone involved. Don’t let the real world intricacies of the military distract you from making those military men kiss sloppy style 🖤

The resources that I personally find most useful are highlighted in blue but all of them have lots of valuable information. Read at your own discretion; the vast majority of these are official military documents and could contain shocking/triggering details.

General:

Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms (DoD, 2001)

Good for looking up military jargon you don't know

Acronyms: pgs 488-606

Dictionary of United States Military Terms for Joint Usage (DoD, 1950)

Basic Training and Care of Military Dogs (US Army, 1972)

Military Working Dogs (US Army, 2005)

Good for any fics including our bestest boy (Riley)

Includes overview of training, administrative details, various jobs, and vet support for military dogs

Infantry Rifle Platoon and Squad (US Army, 1992)

provides doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures on how infantry rifle platoons and squads fight

chapters covering doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures, and includes a tactical standing operating procedure

State, Official, and Special Military Funerals (US Armed Forces, 1965)

Handbook for Next of Kin of Army Prisoners of War / Missing Personnel (US Army, 1972)

designed to provide important information in limited detail to the next of kin of missing and captured members in order to promote a better understanding of Department of the Army policies and procedures

unfortunately relevant for our favorite sudsy sergeant and his family :(

Communication:

Hand Signals

Radio Operator's Handbook (US Marine Corps)

Chock full of jargon and technical details that will unfailingly make you sound like you actually work with radio tech

Not recommended for anyone looking for a general overview

Tactical Single Channel Radio Communications Techniques (US Army, 1987)

See above

Combat Skills:

Combat Skills of the Soldier (US Army, 1984)

tells the soldier how to perform the combat skills needed to survive on the battlefield. These are basic skills that must be learned by soldiers in all military occupational specialties (MOS)

Great overview of camouflage, fighting positions, movement, communications, first aid, etc.

Hand to Hand Combat (US Marine Corps)

A little goofy but hey, hand to hand combat stays relevant, no matter how old the information is

Combat Training with Pistols and Revolvers (US Army, 1988)

Close Combat (US Marine Corps, 1999)

provides the tactics, techniques, and procedures of Marine Corps close combat

provides both the lethal and nonlethal close combat techniques needed to handle the situation responsibly without escalating the violence unnecessarily

Explosives and Demolitions (US Army, 2007)

the reference manual for explosives and demolitions procedures that support combat operations, as well as, peacetime training missions requiring demolition applications

Soap's favorite document (he'd probably know it front to back)

You know it's good when the table of contents is almost 20 pages long...

Camouflage, Concealment, and Decoys (US Army, 1999)

intended to help company-level leaders understand the principles and techniques of camouflage, concealment, and decoys (CCD)

Military Diving (US Army, 1999)

Likely the longest resource on this list

Incredibly in-depth; probably only useful if you're writing an entire mission underwater or involving serious diving

Combat Diving (Canadian National Defense, 2002)

contains the information required for the planning and execution of combat diving operations

A far more accessible resource for diving information than the Army diving manual (the Canadians know how to be succinct lmao)

Night Combat - Historical Study (Center of Military History, US Army, 1986)

Scouting and Patrolling (US Marine Corps, 2000)

provides the doctrinal foundation and the tactics, techniques, and procedures for scouting and patrolling from the fire team to the company level. Although the information focuses on infantry units, much of the information is also applicable to combat support units that are assigned patrolling missions

Officers:

Staff Duties in the Field (Canadian National Defense, 1995)

describes procedures for staff work prepared in support of field training exercises and for the planning and conduct of land force operations

Notes for Officers and NCOs on Methods of Instruction (School of Infantry, 1946)

A really cool teaching manual for officers and NCOs who are in charge of instructing new recruits. Doesn't outline what to teach so much as how to teach it

Army Non Commissioned Officer’s Guide (Us Army, 2002)

provides noncommissioned officers a guide for leading, supervising and caring for soldiers. While not all-inclusive nor intended as a stand-alone document, the guide offers NCOs a ready reference for most situations

people always forget that Soap and Gaz are leaders in their own right, with soldiers of their own to command (or at least they would've before joining the 141). This is an excellent guide for how they would act in a leadership position

Commander’s Tactical Handbook (US Marine Corps, 1988)

contains reference material frequently used to organize, plan, and conduct Marine ground combat operations. Its intent is to assist small unit leaders functioning at the company level and below, but it also serves as a field reference guide for all Marine leaders

Intelligence Officer's Handbook (US Army, 1998)

Probably not really relevant for anyone's fics; the 141 doesn't work in intelligence, and this handbook is for specific units within the US Army. An interesting read, though

Types of Operations:

Terrain:

Mountain Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1976)

Combat in Built-Up Areas (US Army, 1992)

Desert Operations (US Army, 1993)

Jungle Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1978)

Ground Combat Operations (US Marine Corps, 2002)

provides the doctrinal basis for the planning and execution of ground combat operations for ground forces

River Crossing Operations (US Army, US Marine Corps, 1998)

Mountain Operations (US Army, 2000)

Training for Urban Operations (US Army, 2002)

Guerrilla Warfare Tactics in Urban Environments Master's Thesis (US Army, 2003)

Not really an urban environment guide; explores whether or not the US Army needs better guidelines for urban warfare tactics

Other:

Guerrilla Warfare and Special Forces Operations (US Army, 1961)

Kill or Get Killed: Riot Control, Techniques, Manhandling, and Close Combat for Police and the Military (US Marine Corps, 1991)

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Defense Operations (US Marine Corps, 1998)

Doctrine for Special Forces Operations (US Army, 1990)

Raid Operations (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Land Force Information Operations (Canadian National Defense, 1999)

describes a multidimensional concept used by the Army to achieve success across the continuum of operations. Information Operations (lO) is an essential combat function that must be integrated with the remainder of the combat functions to maximize combat power

describes the concept in detail, and outlines how lO relates to other combat functions and contributes to the success of commanders on the battlefield

Scout Platoon (US Army, 1999)

describes how the scout platoon conducts its primary missions, reconnaissance and security

focuses on the principles of platoon operations and on the tactics, techniques, and procedures (TTP) the platoon uses to acquire information and provide security and protection for other units on the battlefield

covers a variety of supporting tasks and operations the platoon must perform or coordinate, either as part of its reconnaissance and security missions or as assigned by the commander

Engineer Reconnaissance (US Army, 1998)

Operations in a Low Intensity Conflict (US Army, 1992)

provides tactical-level guidance to brigade and battalion commanders and staff officers for planning, controlling, and coordinating combined arms operations in a low-intensity environment

focuses on tactical units' tasks and missions across the operational continuum just short of declared war

Counterguerrilla Operations (US Army, 1986)

Counterinsurgency Operations (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Medical/Survival:

Basic Medical Information:

Basic Medical Terminology (US Army)

Special Forces Medical Handbook (US Army, 1982)

Aidmans Medical Guide (US Army, 1973)

Medical Platoon Leaders' Handbook (US Army, 2001)

Basic Human Anatomy (US Army)

Basic Human Physiology (US Army)

Basic Patient Care Procedures (US Army)

Force Health Protection Nutrition and Exercise Manual (US Navy, 1999)

Treating Wounds in the Field (US Army)

Combat Life-Saver Medical Tasks (US Army)

Medical Interoperability Handbook (ABCA Armies, 2000)

Combat Stress (US Marine Corps, 2000)

Combat Stress Control in a Theater of Operations (US Army, 1992)

Self Aid and Buddy Aid (US Army, 2000)

Taking Vital Signs (US Army)

Preventive Medical Services (US Army, 2000)

Food Service: Army Rations, Food Packets and Supplements (US Army, 1968)

Treatment of Biological Warfare Agent Casualties (US Armed Forces, 2000)

Physical Readiness Training for Combat (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Specific Scenario Survival:

Summer Survival Course Handbook (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Winter Survival Course Handbook (US Marine Corps, 2002)

Basic Cold Weather Training (Canadian National Defense, 1974)

Soldier's Handbook for Individual Operations and Survival in Cold Weather Areas (US Army, 1986)

Basic Cold Weather Manual (US Army, 1968)

Combat Water Survival (US Marine Corps, 2003)

Ordnance Materiel in Extreme Cold Weather 0 to -65 F (US Army, US Air Force, 1959)

Map Reading and Land Navigation (US Army, 2001)

Survival, Evasion, and Recovery (US Armed Forces, 1999)

A really cool survival guide; recommended read for anyone

chock full of fun and useful acronyms

What to Expect if You Get Shot

Finding Your Direction When Lost

Medical Aspects of Chemical and Biological Warfare (US Army, 1997)

Medical Evacuation in a Theater of Operations (US Army, 2000)

provides the philosophy of and doctrine for medical evacuation in a theater of operations (TO)

Tactics, techniques, and procedures for accomplishing the medical evacuation of sick, injured, or wounded soldiers are included

Environmental Injuries: Snakebite, Arthropod Bite/Sting, Plant Contact, Heat/Cold Injury (US Army)

Snipers:

Sniper Training (US Army, 1994)

The best sniper reference on the list

Not necessarily up-to-date but provides an excellent overview of every aspect of sniping, including equipment, ammunition, marksmanship, the effects of weather, field techniques, sniper positions, observation, mission prep, communications, tracking, etc

Sniper Training Program (US Navy SEALs)

Modern Snipers (2016)

Counter Sniper Guide (US Army)

Regardless of what we may call him, the individual who is shooting at police, firemen, soldiers or citizens is certainly dangerous. In order to counteract, we must employ a trained individual whose knowledge and skill fall within the dictionary description of a sniper, whom we shall refer to throughout the manual as a COUNTERSNIPER

Super badass ngl

Sniping (US Marine Corps, 2004)

Good explanation of sniper teams, equipment, training, skills, etc with helpful tables at the end

Special Operations Sniper Training and Employment (US Army)

Useful appendices at the end

Scouting, Patrolling, and Sniping (War Department, 1944)

Terrorism, Counter-Terrorism, and Intelligence:

Understanding and Surviving Terrorism (US Marine Corps, 2001)

Counterterrorism Handbook (2002)

Emergency Response to Terrorism (USDoJ, 1999)

Aptitude for Destruction: Organizational Learning in Terrorist Groups and Its Implications for Combating Terrorism (RAND, 2005)

Countermobility (US Army, 1985)

Counterintelligence (US Army, 1995)

Intelligence Preparation of a Battlefield (US Army, 1994)

[eowynstwin]

Do you have any recommendations for longer cod fics with plot?

Yeah, plenty!

A few from @391780 (and their ao3) (if you decide to explore their other fics PLEASE read the tags first, early writes some very dark work that may not suit you):

The Arrangement

The ad reads "Looking for a woman (25-45) to enter a discreet and unusual arrangement, with monetary compensation. Must fill out application and send photo.", and for some reason that you can't even fathom yourself, you apply. AKA John Price, who knows better than anyone what a liability having a spouse or partner is, decides that the only way he's going to find a beautiful soft woman to put up with his absurd schedule and dangerous job is to simply hire them.

the space in between

a shortcut through a construction site at night leads you to a run-in with john price, leader of the local crime family. (or, mafia Price romance with a desk jockey who didn't sign up to be a crime boss' obsession or sole confidant)

Into Your Veins

Ghost is a vampire during a zombie apocalypse, sent on a mission from Price to recruit you to join the little gated community of survivors that he's rounding up. You're a survivor who just wants to be left in peace to tend your garden and occasionally clear out your moat and booby traps of the undead. Neither of you gets what you'd planned on.

Then we have milk0 on ao3

Incompetent People

You share a group chat with your team and you sometimes wish you didn’t. (or, a very fun fic that started as a group chat piece and has evolved into a poly 141 romance. Otherwise known as my favorite fucking trope ever. The reader character has such a fun voice, I adore this fic.)

Next of course is @ceilidho (emphemeron on ao3) (same deal as with early—read their tags if you explore more of their fic, they also write darker work)

take me home, country road

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au

Following up with @alittleposhtoad (smoggyfogbottom on ao3)

"it's gonna get me by the end of the night"

A year after the attack on the Urzikstan embassy, Stacy Davidson struggles to move on. Whumptober Prompt: No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” Note: I picked Gaz x OC because this ship doesn't exist on ao3, and I wasn't sure how to classify it for searching purposes. Stacy has a minor role in the game!

oh bury me not on the lone prairie

You are a doctor on the frontier, recently widowed and left to fend for yourself. You cope by keeping a strict routine, one that is threatened by the arrival of four strangers one hazy summer night. (141 western AU)

a handsome stranger on a cold autumn day

You work at a small-town library doing the same thing day in and day out, until a handsome captain approaches your desk.

rounding out this list is @lunarvicar who is on hiatus but still fully worth reading. (you can find them here on ao3)

exit row

ghost is that hot guy at the airport you wish you could talk to. good thing your seats are next to each other on the plane and you can fantasize alllll you want. (or, you hook up with Ghost in an airport and meet, months later, after you join the 141. he is not happy about it. or is he?)

to the flame

Moth has barely escaped her first captors, but tumbles headfirst into the care of the 141. She has to decide whether to trust them and their prickly leader, Captain Price - who also happens to be the sexiest motherfucker she's ever met.

a stranger at the table

tudor era AU. John Price is an old friend of your new husband's, come to help on the farm for a season. Your vows are tested in ways you could never have imagined.

All of these I've listed are multichapter fics, but every single author's one-shots are just as good. I highly recommend reading those too!

Now I'm just going to list a few writers who you really should just take the time to go through their masterlists, because you can't go wrong with anything they write.

@yeyinde

@peachesofteal

@moondirti

@charliemwrites (dark fiction, be aware)

@ohbo-ohno (also dark fiction)

honorary mention of @guyfieriii who has removed most of her cod fiction from tumblr due to a frankly disgusting amount of harassment, but I'm sure if you ask her very very nicely she'll send you where you need to go. (seriously. be nice. or you'll see me in your bedroom holding a knife at midnight)

P.S. if you're reading this, and i've expressed love for your work in the past, but you are not on this list, it is NOT intentional exclusion. It is my absolutely horrible memory. I love you and please link your own work if you'd like!

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec 36

welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

People Will Say (You're In Love) by @azapofinspiration

For some reason, people keep on mistaking Keith and Lance as a couple. Lance has some ideas as to why that is, but Keith has some too. Really, whose fault is it?

this fic is so ROMANTIC it makes me swoony. this is also an excellent trope. we are so in love and so good for each other that everyone thinks we are in love because we are too close to see it but no one else is. we are our own bubble. idc how cliche it is i love it

2. With Flying Colours by @azapofinspiration

They say that the Lion chooses the Paladin. The Blue Lion chose Lance to be her Paladin. And then all the other Lions seemed pretty okay with him piloting them as well.

the funny thing about this one is that my bookmark is all hoo boo the lion change is so bad but this is good but now im like the lion change truther lol. but if u are hesitant about the lion change i highly recommend this! it makes PERFECT sense that lance would be the one to pilot them all, u know? the fluid one

3. Aim by @azapofinspiration

There's something that's been bugging Shiro about Lance. He finally asks about it. He feels like he should have expected that answer.

I LOVE THIS ONE ITS SO FUNNY. i also have incorporated this entire ficc into my belief system. if ur looking for a good shiro & lance fic and also a fic that will make u GIGGLE then head over.

4. In Stitches by @azapofinspiration

With every stitch, a bigger picture can be seen. And each one is made with love. In which everyone on Team Voltron learns more about Lance as he knits the day away. And maybe he learns something too.

knitter lance is so important actually. shame the show only mentioned it once and never again bc if lance is one thing its crafty. luckily azap is the reigning monarch of found family in missing vld moments

5. The (Not-So) Necessary Rescue by @azapofinspiration

Lance has been captured by the Galra, and Shiro and the rest of the team rush to save him. Due to a bit of luck, they manage to get there to rescue him but... Well, it turns out that it may not have been as necessary as Shiro thought. In which Shiro learns that he has severely underestimated Lance and Lance is freaking awesome.

i LOVE this fic. nothing is more funny to me than the idea of the team rushing to try to find and save lance and discover him w his foot halfway out the door already lol. i have read this fic like ninety times. also i swear ive already recced this one but whatever double rec bc this fic rocks

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[jayden-killer]

DREAMS ARE MY REALITY.

what would happen if your favourite fictional character appeared in your bed..?

Part 2

A/N: finally came back! Exams period is almost done, so I can mainly focus on writing fan fics and replying to your comments. Thanks to everyone who never stopped giving me support during these months.~ For this story I was heavily inspired by the "Reality" song by Richard Sanderson. Last night I watched "La Boum" and something clicked in my mind the moment the movie titles came by. I highly recommend that movie (and its main song!).

☆

Fantastic. Another day gone bad. Not only I lost my notes taken at university with great effort (who knows where they flew thanks to the wind...), but it had rained until the end of the afternoon and a careless car passed by at great speed, soiling me with rain and migo mixed together.

«Ugh! You fucker!» My feet stomped hard on the dirt, realizing that what had just happened was just the beginning of a long evening. I'll just open the front door, walk into the kitchen, and throw my comfort on the sofa that I look forward to.

It seemed like an eternity would pass on the way back, and my body barely even managed to walk, almost like a dead weight. Don't walk on the ground. That would have been the last straw.

«Shit,» I thought aloud, the moment my eyes saw my house from afar, «Finally home». Taking the keys out of the backpack was also, a real pain in the ass: a real tangle of wires and metal had formed there since my headphones had not been folded properly. A sigh escaped from my lips the moment I walked through the front door, searching with difficulty for the light switch. I didn't waste any more time removing the ruined clothes (and placing them in a water bath) and letting a hot shower melt my nerves. It was just what I needed.

I knew I had a smile as I lathered my body thoroughly. Now the scent of lavender was something calming.

``I should make some tea too``.

~

«Oh, now that's what I am talking about! ». My smile didn't leave my face, as I excitedly opened the book I had left hanging a few days ago, due to my exam period. Being under stress didn't help me find the concertation and desire to identify myself with the main character of the book. ``That's enough``. This thought flooded my mind. ``Now you can rest, because you deserve it, so enjoy your reading``.

``Thanks, other me, maybe you're right`` I replied to the little inner voice that I assumed had a satisfied grin on her face.

Yet my eyes fell on the mega poster that took up most of my bedroom wall: Miguel O'Hara. This man was going to be the death of me one of these days. I remembered the day when my heart wanted him only for me: in the new Spiderman, starring Miles Morales, many would have said that he was the perfect villain, even if I kept countering, claiming the opposite. Of course, his anger issues didn't help get people on his side. He was perfect in every aspect: tall, muscular, intelligent, thoughtful. My god, where do I have to sign to have him next to me?

«Too good to be true». I sighed aloud again as I pulled my attention away from the poster and back into my book. I think it wasn't long after I started reading and my eyes started to get heavy. I might have let go of the book, and fallen asleep with it on my chest. It had been a bad day in every way. Perhaps that is the reason I imagined hugging Miguel more than once. Maybe that's why I also felt my mattress getting heavier under my back.

~

I was awakened by the sun's rays penetrating through the curtains of my room. I loudly grunted at the thought of getting up early to do my daily cleaning chores around the house. But what harm would it have been to stay in my warm bed for at least an hour longer? Turning over, I had the feeling that my bed had gotten much heavier. Or was I still dreaming of hugging Miguel?

Slowly my eyes opened and focused on an unfamiliar figure lying next to me. I had a moment of confusion. Why...was there a person in my bed?

Only when I fully focused on who was in front of me I almost fainted on the spot.

"AAAAHH!" I grabbed the first pillow nearby, slapping the stranger hard several times, and leapt out of bed, the pillow still in my hands. The man, taken aback, tripped on the ground, and a great thud resounded in the bedroom. I hugged the pillow tightly to my chest. Oh, holy god. What was happening at that moment? I was so confused I could have sworn my face was as just as confused.

The man grunted aloud and scrambled to his feet, throwing his hands in surrender.

«What the fuck did I do?!» he yelled, in sheer confusion too. Maybe at that moment, I could have passed out, I swear to whoever you want! Because whoever I had in front of me was a real dream.

«Holy shit...»

«What?!»

I swallowed hard. «You are Miguel O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara was in my room, in my bed!»

[mbirnsings-71]

again! another piece for the @batfam-big-bang this year!!

This is for @cornflowerbluewrites's very wonderfully written fic that you can now read here! Like woo if you're a Dick Grayson fan I highly recommend you guys read it, because it'll somehow hurt and heal you with everything that happens in it!!

Also check out @essiestarr's drawing for this fic here!! because it's also very stunning and I think you all need to see it!!

I'm very happy to have been able to draw for this fic, so I really do hope you guys enjoy it! Plus the team was very friendly and nice to work with so make sure to check them out!!!

Image ID underneath the keep reading because again, it got very long, but it's thorough at the very least!

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, and a young Dick Grayson gathered around Mary Grayson, flat on her back, in the middle of Haly's Circus. Both Dick and Mary are wearing the Flying Grayson costumes of red leotards with yellow in the middle, green braces on their arms, and Mary is wearing green flats. Mary is trying to look at her son with tears in her eyes, Dick and Talia are knelt next to Mary, with Dick holding his mother's hand while crying, and Bruce is standing behind Dick with a hand on the young boy's back. Bruce is wearing a plain buttoned up dark grey suit with a black tie, grey socks, and black shoes. His face has an upset expression on it as he watches the scene. Talia is wearing a open shoulder mock neck white dress that fades to green at the end of it, the sleeves stop at her elbows, a light green sash is tied around her waist, and there is a triangle cut in it at her chest. She also has gold jewelry on such as gold bracelets, a gold beaded necklace, and gold stud earrings. She is looking at this scene somberly. The background of the piece is the inside of a circus tent with abandoned wooden stands in the background for people to sit on. There are also red and white triangle banners overhead hung on metal poles, but are behind a red and white divider that separates the stands from the actual circus performances. the floor of the performance area is a gravel texture. At the bottom of the drawing is a black gradient upwards with text of Dick and Mary speaking, the words being said are "Mom, please." and "I love you, my little Robin, I, I love, you."]

[deathbyoctopi]

Another year, another rec list with some of the best xuexiao I've read these last 12 months!! >w<

And like last year's rec list, this isn't either exhaustive or limited to fics posted in 2023. It's just the things I have found, which I liked, and want to spread the love about ^-^

Here's, in no particular order, my favourite xuexiao (and occasional songxuexiao) fics. Also, take a look down below for other mxtx or danmei pairings!

You're mine by twilightshards. This is a phenomenal oneshot where Xue Yang does not wait patiently to take revenge on Baixue temple, but rather follows the annoying daoshi out of Jinlintai as soon as he gets off the hook. He catches up with them a couple of nights later, only to find Xiao Xingchen in a... compromised position. While moaning Xue Yang's name.

The tamed by @fieri-sentio-et-excrucior. Last year I recommended the wonderful The Prisoner of Jinlintai fic, and now we got a sequel to that!!! Exciting stuff, very exciting... Xiao Xingchen saves Xue Yang from his botched execution and Song Lan is there raging at what he thinks is a psycho taking full advantage of his friend's kindness. Absolutely loved it!

蛇 - shé by shoujorei. A spectacular oviposition fic with blind snake hybrid Xiao Xingchen and enemy-posing-as-housemate Xue Yang, who really didn't know what he was volunteering for when he offered to "help" daozhang with his next heat. An absolute delight!

good lies go bad by istilfearkanna One of the Yi City what-if's I like so much, showing what would happen if Song Lan is successful in killing Xue Yang and, as per canon, vows not to tell his friend anything. So naturally you have Xiao Xingchen happy about his rekindled friendship, but also deeply worried about his missing friend... breaks my heart every time T-T (thx lionfish13 for the rec!!!)

Down in the black sea by @10holmes. A mermaid AU which has to be the sweetest Xue Yang /Xiao Xingchen tale I've seen in a while, with xxc being a revered merman saving the life of a handsome pirate... without realizing that is the infamous Xue Yang, mermaid hunter and slayer of plenty of his kinsmen!! But of course, they fall in love. It's downright adorable (and deliciously angst-inducing!) Also, the worldbuilding in this one is marvelous!

promises, promises by an anonymous author. Time travel fic!!! This one follows Song Lan trying to right the wrongs of his life in the easiest way possible: that is, to eliminate Xue Yang before he has the chance to hurt anyone else. Except... he gets distracted saving the life of a poor child with a mangled left hand. Still ongoing, and XXC isn't in the picture yet, but the new chapters are highly anticipated and the writing style is so, so, so good.

the non-con opition by the same anonymous author. How do I know? None of your business!! But the awesome writing style continues here, as well as the song lan/xue yang being brought together by fate is just as awesome. It promises to be songxuexiao eventually, for now it's a delightful soulmates/omegaverse with alpha!Song Lan in rut nonconning the hell out of a mysterious omega with a foul mouth.

Sant Xingchen i el drac by @ergbolli45 A little sweet adorable spin of a traditional legend very dear to my heart. It's winter, the Yi City crew are bored around their campfire, and A-Qing wants a story. So, Xue Yang offers to tell a tale from some exotic land on the west about a little princess, a brave knight and a fearsome dragon.

sticking their dick in crazy by Sectionladvivi. I'm not generally one for modern AUs, but this one is such a stupid and shameless pwp that it skyrocketed through my rankings XD SongXueXiao, and oddly enough, the crazy one alluded in the title isn't Xue Yang!! Delicious and filthy. No thoughts, just horn.

Priceless by @fieri-sentio-et-excrucior. Another modern AU!! but how can I resist, when this is Xue Yang breaking and entering happily married songxiao's domicile, who were getting ready for a very sexy night... and end up, Song Lan tied up and forced to watch the criminal fuck Xiao Xingchen senseless (and unaware it's not his husband the one in bed with him!). Evil and sexy, another wonderful fic by such a wonderful author <3

hands, reaching out by @neriine. A retelling of Yi City but with mutation-like special powers, making it especially interesting when it comes to xuexiao's backstory (song lan is also there, in the background) and the night hunts. It's sweet, sweet, Xue Yang as always a murder gremlin who thinks he has it all under control when the first thing that he doesn't know half-way about is his own feelings... Very well-written, and creative in its worldbuilding!

THIS lovely picture is not from a fic (well, not yet, unless I manage to do something cute with it >w<) but serves as an example of all the wonderful pic manips @wangxianswuji has made, which maybe it's cheating a bit for a fanfic rec post, but. They're just so good. Go check their profile and drool with me ^-^

and speaking of art, I can't not mention @wrathyforest's art done for the fic Now that I see you, particularly one of my favourite moments with Xiao Xingchen defending Xue Yang from an undesirable... this fic was in last year's rec list, and very deservingly so!

ANd now for the other ships!

Love of my life, don't hurt me by @foreheadkissesforzewu-jun This is a delightful and spectacularly cruel tale of unrequired love by a gallant cultivator spiriting his soulmate away. At least, that's what Wen Zhuliu sees it, when in fact this fic is him kidnapping and brutally assaulting Lan Xichen, while following the events of the Wen war and the sunshot campaign. Loved it, but PLEASE read the tags.

Jade pillar, bending like reed by awkwardrecline. dark jades (and dark!Lan Xichen in particular) are so so sooo very dear to my heart... this fic has it all, a tyrannical Lan clan leader who will abuse his power left right and center, a jealous didi who wants nothing but possessive love, so much smut everywhere... Cloud Recesses is never as sexy as when the jades are so unrestrained, I love it! ^-^

My future mommy's mistake by tenwudzvrs. Is this fic pretty much what many people consider nono kinks? mpreg, noncon, xue yang being an utter dick? and do I love it precisely because of it? XD pregnant Wei Wuxian goes home one evening but comes across a ruffian in a back alley, who does everything to him up to and including speaking with his husband through the phone while nailing him to the wall. Lan Zhan isn't happy. I am delighted.

What brother needs, brother gets by @foreheadkissesforzewu-jun. a modern AU jadecest pwp which... to be honest, it's pure oral fixation Lan Xichen going to his didi after he got dumped by some idiot and Lan Wangji doing the best he can to comfort him. It's ridiculously shameless and incredibly enjoyable, just to see these two come to the conclusion that the best course of action is to fuck each other!! XD Wei Ying will find a surprise when he gets back home from his travels and finds his husband has collected another husband...

furious love by @alipeeps. From Till the end of the moon, a very nasty and wonderfully in-canon insight on the disastrous marriage between Ye Xiwu (the original) and Tantai Jin. Let's just say she decides to take her marital rights to the extreme, and using the very same lust potion that originally landed her in that marriage to begin with! Tantai Jin is one of those characters that truly suffer beautifully, and suffer he does here!

a fire, made high and wild by @judiwench. A fic for Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, which is a series that wormed its way into my soul. Sui Zhou desperately searches Tang Fan (him, please, him, not his corpse) only to find him... less than good. I was seriously debating between this one and is the festering that kills a man by the same author, but... Agh, they are both amazing snippets at their obvious mutual love, and the trauma that brings it to light. Highly recommend the series and these fics!

a long sleepless night by @dying-redshirt-noises. This one is from Mysterious Lotus Casebook, a wonderful three-way pwp in the Girls' Mansion where Fang Duobing gets doused with sex pollen... of course, Li Lianhua wants to help, but there is not much he can do with his yang disfunction. How handy to have someone like a-Fei nearby to rail the young master, then!! It is sexy and wonderfully in-canon, and I'm all for it.

And I'm probably still forgetting a few fics, there is nowhere near enough jadecest here compared to what I know I have read and enjoyed... Shame on me again for forgetting to bookmark more often than not.

I'm a bit sad that I barely found any of this year's authors on tumblr (don't know if they don't have accounts here, or do under different usernames) so if anyone knows about them, repost bc I'd like to engage and give them my most sincere praise.

Also, I will say I purposefully avoided tgcf fics for fear of spoilers until I read the whole book, so... next year I'm surely filling this with hualian and such!! >w<

Finally, since we're at it, I just will get a bit of self-promotion with the 5 fics I liked most of what I wrote on this year. I'm IMMENSELY PROUD to have produced 36 fics in this year of our lord 2023 (3 per month!!! omfg!!) and while I can't claim favourites, these might be the ones I'm most proud of:

Some kind of dream. Xuexiao roleplaying after a night hunt, with some nice power dynamics, very mutually enthusiastic consensual non-con, and Xue Yang all but confessing that he is Xiao Xingchen's worse enemy... Smut and fluff, all in one. I do love the 3 year bliss in Yi City, and all the in-canon opportunities it offers!!!

Incensed nights. An INSANE endeavor for kinktober, with WangXian dreaming each night a different cozy, cruel, smutty or simply crack-y scenario. 31 fics for the price of one!! multiple pairings, I can't stress how much Lan Zhan dreams of his brother, or wei wuxian's mind follows other ships... Extremely happy with this one, and I nearly went crazy, seriously.

Shards of morning nights and forbidden kisses. My attempt at jadecest, niecest and omegaverse, all in one. ANd quite successful, might I say! Both clan leaders Lan and Nie want to find a way to claim and marry their respective omega didis, but something something clan rules forces them to play a delicate and sexy political game. It ends in a very nice orgy XD

A Comedy of Yi City Errors. This one, I'm particularly happy with the sheer amount of planning and interlocking plotpoints it has, with Song Lan coming across Xiao Xingchen, a-Qing and Xue Yang without even realizing. I'm told it is quite funny... And I like it very much >w<

...what did you call it again? the only one not mdzs in the list, this is for Till the end of the moon and it's yet again Tantai Jin suffering in his so beautiful way! It was done for an exchange, following the premise: take a canon even and make it worse. Do you think ttj had it bad in the series, with the servants mistreating him in Ye Manor? Ya have seen nuffin!!!

Once again, thanks for reading, thanks to all authors for writing, and let's have a wonderful 2024 full of fics and love!!!

[rocketbirdie]

fic recs pls zakkura legend?

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD

recs below the cut, in no particular order:

and things never change by andrewwtca

My personal favorite fic of all time. This one's a little less zakkura and a LOT more doomed post-AC Cloud+Tifa. Cloud mourns Zack, Tifa mourns Aerith, they try so hard to find comfort in one another, but things never change. This fic unlocked new sensations in me that I didn't even know existed, like guttural heartbreak so brutal that it makes you dry heave. If that sounds like your idea of a fun evening, give it a try!

skadii

Literally everything from skadii. This author right here is the true legend of zakkura fics. I can't really summarize it because they're all SO GOOD. Just. *chef's kiss* *EXPLODES, BADLY*

Mako-Soaked Kintsugi Bathed in Brutal Daylight by FeralSunshine22

While on the run from Shinra, Zack and Cloud take a tumble through spacetime and wind up in the FF15 universe, where they reunite with Kunsel. Now that they're safe, Zack has a LOT to process mentally about the shit they've been through in the past few years. This fic is the most realistic depiction of PTSD and recovery from a coma that I've ever read. Even if you know next to nothing about the FF15 universe (like me!), the writer does a fantastic job of easing you into this unfamiliar world.

the only one for me (Light of the Universe) by anonymous

Craving something wildly out of character? Desperately need a dose of dark!Zack? This one's an acquired taste, but if you're looking for some jaw-dropping plot twists and morally objectionable behavior, then I can absolutely recommend this 4-part fic in which an obsessed stalker Cloud gets a teeensy bit more than he bargained for. This author has several other lovingly crafted zakkura fics as well!

Hello Once Again by hrelics9

An interpretation of the consequences of Remake's ending, a Zack lives AU that follows many of the plot points of the OG, while exploring Aerith's powers as an ancient, and Jenova's powers as an eldritch monstrosity. Zakkura mind-melding content! Sadly, this fic was never completed, but the almost 300,000 words that we do have are awe-inspiring.

not the same as loneliness by crookedspoon

Cloud is in a coma. Zack is trying to hold it together for both of their sakes. But as time goes, it gets more and more difficult for Zack to cope with the isolation. Short and sweet, very dubious consent. Highly recommended.

This is by no means a complete list, just a couple favs off the top of my head. Happy reading!!

[wangxianficrecs]

The Winner Takes It All by YilingSani

The Winner Takes It All

by YilingSani (@yiling-sani)

M, 46k, Wangxian

Summary: "Wei Ying doesn't know why he ended up on this exact island. All he knows is that he's scared, alone and hungry. And with a child." ----- 18 years later Wei Yuan has grown into a proper young man, helping his Baba to run the hotel on the island. On the week of his wedding, Wei Yuan comes across Wei Ying's diary and decides to invite the man mentioned in it to the island, unaware of the consequences it will bring. Kay's comments: I never knew that I needed a MDZS Mamma Mia AU until I started reading this story. I have never even watched Mamma Mia (I know, shame on me, what kind of gay even am I), but I was so hooked on this story. So hooked in fact, that I read it first as it was published as a thread fic and then once again once it updated on AO3 and I could still hardly wait for the updates. The drama, the heartbreak, the angst, the found family! All of it was such a delight. The angst hit especially hard in this story and for the longest time, as a reader, you're wondering whether you even want Wei Ying and Lan Zhan to get back together again, but it all works out in the end without being a magical fix-it. Highly recommended. Excerpt: Granny Wen extends a hand to brush away a strand from the young man's face, but the moment her fingers touch his forehead, she feels the heat coming from the boy. He's running a fever. It would be inhuman to leave the boy to fate, so Granny Wen nudges him awake. Once the silver eyes open, they immediately fill with fear, and the boy draws deep into the corner, looking like a frightened deer. "It's alright," the woman speaks softly. "I won't hurt you." The silver eyes are puffy and red-rimmed - it's clear that the young man has cried himself to sleep. "It's alright," Granny Wen repeats. "You’re safe. I’m Granny Wen. What's your name?" "W-Wei Ying," the boy's voice is hoarse, his throat dry as a dessert. "Are you from the mainland?" she asks the next question, and the boy nods. She notices how the boy's hands are placed protectively on his belly and she frowns. "How old are you?" "Seventeen." Seventeen.

pov alternating, modern setting, modern no powers, mpreg, single parent wei wuxian, inspired by mamma mia!, one night stands, first time, unplanned pregnancy, traumatic childbirth, post-traumatic stress disorder, ptsd, illnesses, chronic illness, teen pregnancy, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, families of choice, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, background character death

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)