#it’s one of those rare times when my memories don’t fail me

[azrielsdove]

Best Friend’s Brother: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Kinda Mean Az?

***

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Cassian teased you, peering over his glass as he drank. You rolled your eyes, throwing back the rest of your own drink.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, adding more liquor to your cup. Cassian laughed, shaking his head at you.

“You’re blind if you don’t notice the way he looks at you, anyway.” You stilled at his words, eyes glaring daggers into him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” You wouldn’t allow yourself the naivety to imagine Azriel felt the same way you did. You had only become a part of the Inner Circle a few years ago, after you accidentally took Rhys down thinking he was a danger. He had been so impressed with you that he immediately offered you a security position and set you up to train under his General and Spymaster. Cassian and you were fast friends, but Azriel left you confused. He rarely spoke to you and passed most of the training off to Cass. Everything he did screamed that he couldn’t care less about you.

Unfortunately, you were enthralled by him.

The few times he did train you were treasured memories, the feel of his hands on your waist as he corrected your position, the way his eyes looked over your body to ensure proper hold. At one of your recent sessions he had tackled you to the ground, hips pinning yours to the sand underneath you. You had allowed him to think your lack of speech was due to shock that he had taken you down so easily, and not because you were going delirious with desire. You had taken a rather long bath after that morning.

“Oh sure, yea, why would I know the male i’ve spent 500 years with? You’re right, you must know him better than I. I apologize, O Great One, for daring to assume.” Cassian mock bowed to you, smirking at your glare. “I know a way to prove it to you.” You hated how he piqued your interest.

“Pray tell, dear friend,” you said, carefully filling your rapidly emptying glass again. You enjoyed the way the drink made your mind fuzzy, the endless thoughts of why Azriel could barely stand you numbed. Cassian leaned closer towards you, a wicked smile on his face.

“Come to training extra early tomorrow. Wear your tightest leathers, the ones from when you first got here.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Those stick to my body like a second skin. I’ll look like a pleasure hall whore wearing them.” You didn’t appreciate the way Cassian looked at you, eyes shining proudly.

“That’s what I intend. I’d never lead you astray, would I?” He raised his hand in surrender immediately after he spoke, shaking his head. “Not about anything like this, I promise.” You knew it was a bad idea to agree to whatever plan he was making, but you found yourself nodding and hoping you weren’t going to regret this in the morning.

***

A low whistle met you as you walked into the training ring early the next morning. “Damn, you look even better than I imagined. If this weren’t to get the attention of my brother i’d try to convince you down to my room.” Cassian looked approvingly over you as you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

“If your plan fails, I may as well take you up on that. Gods know it’s been too long.” You often played into Cassian’s endless flirting, a key reason as to why your friendship developed so fast. He was right, the leathers were tighter than you had expected as well. You weren’t as toned when you began training. They are already made to fight directly to your body, so pulling on ones from a size ago was almost impossible. Still, you managed to buckle them around you, admiring yourself in the mirror. The leather truly hugged your skin, enhancing your strong thighs and body. “What is your plan, by the way?” You asked, looking suspiciously at Cassian.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Your jaw dropped at his statement as his laughter floated over the training ring. “Don’t look at me like that! Imagine it, Az comes up here and sees you like that, with me? He’s going to be so jealous I won’t be surprised if he has his way with you right here.” You felt your face heat at his vulgarity, shaking your head quickly.

“No way. No way. What if he instead thinks, oh I dunno, that we are together?” You point out, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Trust me when I tell you that he won’t.” Cassian took a step closer to you, holding out his hand. “I am not as dumb as you may think.” You sighed, reluctantly placing your hand in his and letting him lead you over to the side of the ring. You may as well attempt his plan, however ridiculous you think it is. He places a hand on your waist as he pulls you close to him, the other coming up to cup your face. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

You shook your head, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. “What do I have to lose? If it doesn’t work, at least I got to spend my morning with a handsome male,” you quipped, winking dramatically at him. You felt his laugh under your hands, the nerves of what you were about to do calming down. This was Cassian, your best friend. You could trust him.

He dipped his head down towards you, eyes locking onto yours once more to ensure you were okay with this. You pushed up on your toes and connected your lips, using the last little bit of confidence you had. Cassian’s hand slid to the back of your head, tangling itself in your hair as he angled you up into him. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, enjoying how he so clearly knew what he was doing. You moved your arms up to lock around his neck, arching your body into his touch. He nipped at your bottom lip and you gladly opened your mouth to him, almost forgetting why you were doing this.

Almost.

Anticipation slithered up your spine and you forced your eyes to stay shut, even though you wanted to peek and see if Azriel had arrived yet. Cassian’s hand flattened across your back, pulling you tighter against him. You lost yourself in his kiss, allowing your body to relax into his hold.

Something cold and weightless tightened around your calf, pulling your attention away from Cassian as you looked down. Your heart was racing as you took in one of Azriel’s shadows, swirling anxiously around your ankles. Cass didn’t allow the little thing to distract from your plan, bringing his lips up and down the side of your neck. You tilted your head back to allow him more access, an embarrassingly needy noise slipping from your mouth when he nipped at your skin. The shadow spun faster around you, another one coming to wrap around your waist and tug you from Cassian’s grip. You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over more shadows behind you. “Wha-“ you began, cut off by a shadow wrapping around your throat. Cassian’s eyes widened and he glanced behind you, true fear on his face. That was certainly not comforting.

An arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against a strong chest. You forced your breathing to stay steady, realizing it was Azriel behind you. “Cassian,” he said slowly, “what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was quiet, but threat laced his words. Cassian paled, raising his hands in surrender.

“Now Az, let me just explain-“ You shook your head as best you could against the shadows hold, not wanting Cassian to embarrass you further. As if this could get any worse. You were going to murder him for this.

“Leave us. Now,” Azriel commanded Cassian, voice still dangerously calm. You couldn’t help but be a little worried as you watched your friend practically run out of the training area. If Cassian didn’t think he could deal with Azriel right now, what chance did you have?

The shadows disappeared from your body, but the arm around your waist only tightened. You repressed a shudder as you felt Azriel’s lips brush the tip of your ear, leaning down to whisper to you. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing?” You sucked in a breath, all confidence gone now that you were alone.

“I-I’m not playing a game,” you stuttered out, cursing Cassian in your head.

“Mhm,” Azriel said, his other hand coming to trace up and down your thigh. “You just happen to be dressed in these delightful things,” his hand slid between your legs, squeezing your inner thigh. “You show up extra early to practice, and I find you with my brother’s lips on your pretty little neck?” He ghosted his own over the same stretch of skin Cassian had kissed, a shiver running down your spine. “And to make it worse, I have to listen as you make that delicious noise for him?” He nipped your neck in the same spot as Cassian, causing you to gasp in surprise. “Hm, not quite.” His hand between your legs moved up, fingers finding you easily over the tight fabric. You bit your lip and tipped your head back as he circled your clit, the teasing pressure not nearly enough with your leathers in the way. “Look at you, already so reactive for me.” He pressed slow, hot kisses along your throat, his fingers continuing their almost perfect teasing.

“Az-“ You breathed out, arching into his touch. “It wasn’t, ah, it wasn’t real.” He chuckled darkly against your skin, his fingers pressing harder onto you.

“Oh, I know. I don’t take Cassian’s sloppy seconds.” His words were punctuated with a sharp bite under your ear, his teeth sucking in the skin there. You knew he was undoubtedly leaving a bruise, marking you as his. A rather embarrassing whimper left your lips, his fingers still punishing you over your leathers. “That’s more like it,” he groaned, biting a second spot on your neck. You have another helpless noise, enjoying the way it clearly affected him. “I’m going to make you cum, just like this. Do you understand?” He moved his fingers tight against you, playing you like an instrument he had trained for. His lips brushed against your ear again, sucking the lobe of it into his mouth. “I’m going to make you cry out my name, without ever truly touching you.” Heat rose in your cheeks at the humiliation of it. He was going to ruin you without any effort.

And you were going to let him.

You moaned his name as you felt the pleasure build in your core, pushing yourself harder against his hand. “I always knew you’d be so good for me,” he growled, a shadow angling your face towards him. You almost finished at the look in his eyes, his pupils blown wide as he worked you. “I want to look at you when you come undone for me.” You moaned again, trying desperately to lift your head up to kiss him. The shadow kept you in place, a slow smile spreading over Azriel’s face. “Not yet.” He leaned down enough that your lips were a breath away from his, but not any closer. You shook in his hold as the pleasure his fingers were bringing intensified, the teasing too much to bear.

“Azriel, please,” you gasped out, fighting against the shadow. You could feel yourself about to snap, legs quivering as you climbed that peak. He said nothing, only watching you with those stunning eyes of his as his fingers pushed you over the edge. You went rigid against him, mouth open in a silent scream as your orgasm took over. He kept working you through it, prolonging your pleasure as long as he could. He stopped when you collapsed in his arms, chest heaving as you sucked in air, trying desperately to come back down. He released you then, watching as you stumbled before turning to face him. His eyes drifted down your body, stopping on the wet spot he had made between your legs.

“I’d say you’re ready for training now.”

***

Here is a short little smutty piece for Azriel Baby <3. I might make this into a mini series 👀. I am still working on Pt.2 of Longing, I just hit a bit of a block and needed to get something else out!! I hope you enjoyed 🩷

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

A/n: A little bit late for Valentine, but here ya go! Idk when I'll continue this, but this has been stuck in my brain for a long time.

Goldwing

Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

You’ve heard about the story tales from your Mother Sera. How Lucifer has fallen because of his bizarre dreams.  To give humans a free will, which cost chaos to the world. 

As a punishment he was forced out of heaven with his Love Lilith. Sera claims that she wanted you to be safe, so there is one top rule she set up: Don’t Question heaven. 

You keep on holding tight to this one rule, not like your sister Emily. She gets into a lot of trouble when you’re not watching, which gets you also in trouble. 

Big Sister, Big responsibility, that’s what your mother always says. 

Sitting on the couch looking down at the apple sign on your wrist. It was a small apple with a snake surrounding it. It’s a Soulmate mark.

Every Angel gets a soulmate, so they get the perfect heir, some angels describe It as a heart pull and ache. You don’t really enjoy that you’re forced to love someone. It’s somewhere unfair that humans can marry someone they choose to love and trust. Meanwhile when Angels reject their bond, it will kill the two Soulmates in a span of time. 

Even when they’re too long apart it will show in a disturbing way. Aggression, Not eating, no sleep, the list goes on and on.

Putting your sleeve above your mark, not wanting anyone to see it. You got once because of it in trouble. Not a pleasant memory that you want to re live.

It does remind people of Lucifer, but he got Lilith, his soulmate. So that possibility is shrunk to zero. Why else sacrifice living in heaven for a woman?

Today was the meeting with Charlie the daughter of Lucifer. She wanted to talk about a hotel named Hazbin Hotel. 

…Time Skip…

The court room was all a mess, chaos has broken out whispering and hushes echoed through the pearly white halls. 

Emma broke the Silence with her soft singing voice “But she was right, Sera. She Showed us the soul can Improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would.” You Interrupted Emily and for the first-time in your live, you disobeyed the one set rule. 

“Prove a person deserve a second chance, now we turn our Backs, no second glance?” Sera looked towards you slightly disappointed but also guilty. 

Then the bomb was thrown in the room, extermination. It left you speechless. Why hide something like this and say it was for protection? 

It all went down so quick and with one move you started to doubt everything in heaven. Sera was scared, scared shitless that she’d loose Emily and you, but mostly you. 

You started to Ignore her and rarely left your room. The betrayal was harsh for you. You trusted your mother dearly and now you find out that your mother kills souls because she feels threatened. Threatened because of Lucifers dreams she said was once foolish. 

You started to break rules after Rules, causing a havoc in heaven when you leaked the Information about an extermination in hell. And in less than a week you were in chains in the courtroom. 

“Do you have any Idea what damage you’ve done Y/n?” Sera’s voice echoed through those now soulless halls. The seats now all almost empty. “What damage I’ve done? You call me the Imposter, but have you ever thought what you’ve done? You lied to your people AND your Family Sera.” 

Ouch, you never called her Sera just Mom. “Just do it already, I’m tired of hanging in here and watching my failure of a mother trying to push this longer.” You spat on the cold floor. The coldness reminds you how the last few days felt in heaven. Cold and lonely. “As you wish, do it.” her voice cracked, it was barely audible, but you could hear it. 

You shut your eyes tight and with a swift Moment you felt how your wings were cut off, your scream filled these cool, lonely court room. Sera was already gone, not wanting to see how she failed in one of her children.

The rest of your wings were ripped out of your back, making gold blood squirting all over the white floor painting it in a unique color. And then you fell, too exhausted to let out a desperate call for the comfort of your own mother.  

She didn’t even stay. 

Tears pooled lightly out of your eye. Even though heaven didn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll still miss heaven. 

The wind gushed on your Injured back making it only hurt more than it already does, you fell so fast, this is something you never really experienced you never fell as an Angel. But you fell, you fell deep and Landed on the ground. 

It the worst you’ve felt in these last hundred years of living. The bone that was connecting your wings with your body broke more into splinters at the impact. It had dirt sticking on your bones making you hiss as you tried to stand up making them move slightly in the dust. No success. 

You tried a couple more times, but you feel your stamina running out fast, so you just gave up. You laid there for a couple of seconds before you eventually pass out. 

Lucifer sat in his magic room, where his magical creations came from. The only thing besides Charlie what kept him happy. He took final glances at his old façade. 

It’s time to move on and move into the Hazbin hotel, even though he hates that radio guy, he does everything for his little Charlie. He walked out of his mansion closing it with a key. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and was ready to go. 

Something crashed loud in front of him, swirling all the dirt into Lucifers face. He coughed and waved the dust away. “What the fuck?” He looked at the cause for this early tumult, only to see a very beautiful woman in front of him. It didn’t take him a while to see that she was pretty bad Injured. His eyes dropped at the golden blood. “Oh no.”

The figure tried to stand up but fall multiple times and passed out after a while. No, no, no, no. Turning her around to see the damage, and it is bad. 

Three main bones ripped and broken apart, making him note down that she wasn’t just any Angel, she is a seraph. “Let me help you.” He carried her body very carefully, so he couldn’t do more damage towards her back. Teleporting himself and his other stuff in the hotel apartment, he laid you on his bed with your belly pressed on the mattress. 

He started to heal your back slowly and washed off the dirt from your face and the injury. He knew he couldn’t fully heal her wings back. But she could survive this with his help. And in an odd reason he couldn’t let her die. Some kind of pull on his heart making him already slightly attach towards the sleeping beauty. 

And this routine was repeated every day and when he realized her back was fully healed, he turned her on her back again. Seeing her now in all her beauty. 

“How can someone be this pretty?” he moved a hair strand out of your face and held your cheek. Stroking it a couple of times, it is as if he’s hypnotized. 

Shaking his head, he let go of her very quickly, “Lucifer you can’t just touch someone, she doesn’t even know you nor who you are.” He bit his long-clawed hand, debating whether he should go or not. 

In the end he left the room with heavy displeasure. Somehow not being near you made him angry. You were hurt and needed every protection he could offer. 

His mind screamed at him to go back to you, but he didn’t. This feeling confused the king of hell but, His mind and body were almost like two separate people.

 He pulled up his sleeve looking down at the red apple mark with a golden blue snake on it, like his halo. It was his Soulmate mark, he loves or loved Lilith dearly, but she wasn’t his mate. 

They both thought it may didn’t showed because Lilith is after all a human. Even when he had a soulmate, after landing in hell, he knew he’d never see his soulmate ever. 

He pulled his white sleeve again over the mark, not wanting to think about the what ifs. Maybe helping his daughter would keep his mind from you. “Let’s help Charlie.” 

After a while Lucifer still caught himself worried about you. 

You were laying on his bed for weeks, he healed you every morning and every evening hoping that you’d finally wake up. 

The arch angel Lucifer, and now king of hell, was worried about a seraph, what sarcasm. 

Getting ready for bed, Lucifer started to dress himself in his night gown and went to the couch. Since you’re sleeping on his bed, Lucifer decided to sleep on the couch. He didn’t want to disturb your healing progress

…

Hugging yourself into this blanket was heaven, and the smell of sweet apple and an alluring scent of musk. You never want to leave this place, for the first time since months you felt in peace. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you stretched you arms and legs, but one thing was missing. Your wings. And then reality came crushing down on you. You fell, from heaven. Your mother let you fall down the drain. She lied and didn’t even try to explain it to you. 

It was hard to breath as if you’d re-live the horror of falling from heaven down to hell.

You shacked uncontrollable making you Fall out of the bed. Out of habit you tried to fly those few centimeters. 

With a shallow thumb you fell on the floor. 

You winced from the Impact, and you tried to push yourself up with the next high object with shivering hands. 

This was a different gravity situation. 

Without your wings you slumped forwards, nothing to weigh your back. 

You pushed yourself upwards with the help of the shelf above you. The shelf lets out a creak from your weight and you fall back down with the shelf. 

The whole content on the shelf fell and crashed into pieces and you fell right into them. 

The ceramic pieces digged into your freshly healed wounds, you know that when you move, you’ll re-open the back wound. 

Out of panic your body began to move on autopilot.

With low groans and muffled screams, you leaned on the bed, golden blood smearing around the broken shelf and the white mattress. 

You started to sob at the pain. 

It was dark and all you wanted was to bathe yourself in the scent of that blanket. 

You searched for it. 

In the darkness you couldn’t quite figure it out where the blanket was but after a while you found it.

Holding the piece of cloth on your nose just to smell the comforting scent. You yelped when the light flicker on. A figure standing in the light. The figure was about 5’10 tall. 

You hid behind the blanket not wanting to look at the sudden appearance at the front door. 

…

Lucifer shot up at the sound of breaking ceramic. His mind told him to run towards the sound that came out of your room making him high alert. 

An Intruder? 

But who’d dare to come into the king of hells chamber?

Then he remembered that you were in his room, and without second thought he rushed towards your bedroom turning on the lights.

“You’re awake!”

[qvrcll]

nsfw, fem reader + borderline phone sex

teasing coriolanus snow through a line whilst he’s out parading himself as a peacekeeper with new responsibilities and goals? absolutely.

the ordeal is messy at first. you’re not sure if this is a good idea in the first place (considering the whole good man act he’s piecing together to get back to the capitol, so fragile already) but what is there to lose? you miss him terribly and on the off-chance, you get to catch him off guard, much to his dismay.

so, it starts.

“snow, there’s a caller out for you,” a stone faced peacekeeper yells, voice like gravel. really, not a mouth for conversation, so snow goes as much as to nod before reaching the relevant station. his hands are clammy, oddly, and he wishes the call were from back home. tigris, grand’maam… you.

you, who has kept his faith in this place with just images in his mind. memories.

but to hope is to lose and to lose is beneath him - so, snow keeps his wits about him. he finds a seat and sticks to it like glue, spreading his back and finding space for his feet as the machine ahead whirrs gently. there’s no one here at this point of time - calls are short and rare, which reminds him to not bide his time too much, to not panic and, admittedly, he’s never felt his heart in his throat until now.

“hello?” his voice is crisp, weak in its echo.

there’s cracking on the other end, before a face blends within the static, a smile already tinged in the viewer’s feedback. teeth he recognises by sight alone, smile he recognises by warmth alone.

it’s you.

“coryo? god, is this thing working?” you gasp, and he would laugh if the urge to have you wasn’t overwhelming his senses. his nose was already twitching, reddening with an onslaught of emotions as he could hear your words transmitting clearly over the machine’s whirr, “oh my god! coryo!”

the two of you break into smiles and he can sense you on the cusp of tears - not that strange, knowing he’s been away from you for far longer than he ever has. the remedy is always sweet: he coos at you, reassures you.

“have you been crying? what, you missed me?” he asks, clutching the receiver tighter and then loosening his grip a little. there’s a smile in his voice, but you can already see it.

you shift, curling the telephone cord around your finger and nodding, “of course i’ve missed you, coryo. have been missing you so much,” your voice is dripping with the spell of his absence, to which snow sadly smiles at. of course you’d been missing him.

but then, something slips up. time, his breath or the strap of the slip you’re wearing - pretty pink, a rememberable flush of salmon that hugs your body firmly, from what he can see. he almost misses it, almost chooses to focus on the wall nearby instead, out of courtesy. because it was surely a mistake, a little slip up (ironically). but when you fail to pull it up, instead staring at him like he was the loon here, he clears his throat.

“w… well, how have you been?”

“good.” (did you just scoot closer or did he imagine that?)

“how’d tigris… (cough) been?”

“she’s great.” (okay, your thigh definitely hitched up on purpose.)

two questions and he’s already losing his mind. he knows there are no others in the room, but he feels wholly lost, a string of yarn being pushed against nimble fingers - and when he finally looks at you, a warning painted in those azure eyes, he can finally see what you’re getting at. your face is prettily composed, like he remembers, but there’s heat in your shoulders. an ache that he wants to get beneath, curl against his fingers.

he steels himself, gripping the receiver harder and feeling his jaw tighten under the effort of staying calm, “what are you doing?”

you act dumb, of course. there’s that smile - same as before. sickly sweet and barely squashed off of your face as you stare at him, “doing what, coryo?”

“you don’t think i’m dumb, do you? i can see what you’re trying and it’s-“ he casts a wary look behind his shoulder, and spots no one, not a soul, “it’s unfair.”

“unfair?”

“precisely.”

“is this unfair too?”

before he can even squint at that, ask you what exactly you mean, you do your worst: drop the slip and reveal what’s beneath. the skin of your chest is as he remembers, your fingers skirting against your nipples. it all makes his leg jump, his heart clinch uncomfortably under all those bones and all that blood. he’s already hissing, moving closer.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asks, though there’s no malice in his voice. no reprimand. just a small fear and a large amount of desire that spills into a small whimper when you lean back and have the decency to lower your fingers past your belly and beneath.

“i missed you coryo,” you practically eat the words, moaning softly into the receiver as you work yourself open until it’s quite enough. but it never is - you know this and so does snow. one of his many faults, his dexterity that is - pretty, nimble fingers that reach parts of you that need teasing, pushing. fingers that go farther and don’t come back until you’ve had your fill. but you’re making do with what you have and that’s partly why he grits his teeth.

he knows he can do it better.

“talk to me,” he licks a stripe against his lips, eyes zoning in on you. he can’t see below for certain, but with the soft sounds that leave you, he’s plenty satisfied. besides, the thought of those stone faced peace-keepers stepping in and taking an eyeful of you gets him angrier than he would like to be, “how does it feel? good? better than mine?”

“no, no, never-“ you gasp, craning your head backwards and angling your body so you’re resting your weight on your free elbow, “never, coryo - ah - you’re better. need your fingers.”

he feels a strain in his pants. a pain is forming in his dick and the blood is rushing soon down, and he knows this is unruly. unadjustable. he could lose his position. but maybe that’s the thrill in it, isn’t it? closing an eye to his duties is rather easy, and as he palms his dick through the svelte material, the groan that leaves him is inarticulate and roughly pushed out of his throat.

“poor thing needs me all the time, don’t you?” he gasps, palm catching on that sensitive area down below, “have you been doing this - fuck - since i’ve been away?”

he spreads his legs, palming harder and somehow, messier. though the static betrays him, the feedback in the device in front of him does him wonders: your face, contorted just the way he loves it, your fingers inventing some thick, loud sound the more you work your way into your cunt, the weight of your release hung above the two of you like a threat.

“just my fingers - ah - been using ‘em” you cry out, voice high suddenly, “miss you so much. i can’t do this. i need you here - ngh - coryo!”

the noise that leaves you is heavy and it hits him so hard his dick throbs in his pants, so he presses harder onto the muscle and moans painfully slow.

“shit - miss you so much, sweetheart,” he picks up his ordinary pace, “when i’m back home, i’ll give it to you good.”

“promise?”

“fuck - i promise.”

the seconds of orgasm are embarrassing. he clutches the screen and stares open-mouthed at you. wishes he could kiss every bend and curve, every dot and line, but as soon as he feels himself about to spill into his pants, the line cuts. there’s a darkness washing over the screen and he can no longer hear your voice through the wasted receiver.

it clicks - those stupid call times. he’d probably used all his minutes.

he clenches his fist and loosens it up, tossing the receiver back into its apt position. and as much as he is exasperated as he is disconcerted, he composes himself.

several minutes later, a peace-keeper enters. stone faced and dull, just as he remembers them.

“time’s up, snow. get back to your room.”

snow nods, pinching one look at the dark screen of the feed before walking out. as he steers clear of the room, a thought occurs: he better get back home quick so he can fill you up the way you both like best.

(requests for snow / tbosas are open!)

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[scarasbaefy]

linger

chars; scaramouche/wanderer

; fem reader, angst

note; I AM NEW TO THIS !! i neefd more angst i love angst so im doing it myself. emoly if u see this, HI !!!

Ⰶ

sitting on the bed you shared with your “husband” is all you seemed to do these past few months. scaramouche is rarely ever home. when he is, he doesn’t even bother to greet you. not a smile on his face, and no word is exchanged between you. there hasn’t been any intimacy either. no kisses, no loving touches.

“why don't you just leave him? it’s obvious you’re miserable.” tartaglia said as he seen you walk out the infirmary. he had no idea what he was talking about. he doesn't even know the feeling of loving someone so much that you don’t want to let go. “i love him.” you stated, no emotion present in your voice. who can blame you? you were in a loveless relationship. tartaglia felt bad for you but didn’t say anything more. you stared at his back, watching him as he continued to walk down the hall. everyone was worried sick at your depressed state, except of course scaramouche.

tartaglias words lingered in your mind. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask scaramouche why he was acting this way towards you. was it the girl everyone had been talking about? you’d occasionally hear other harbingers talk about a mysterious traveler ruining their plans. 

you walked back to your room with the mystery girl in your mind. sometimes you would read reports from scaramouches missions that had been mailed in for filing. the way he wrote about her and complimented her skills made you slightly jealous. ‘it’s okay,” you told yourself, “soon, she’ll be the furthest thing from his mind!”

before him becoming distant, he would talk to you with the happiest look on his face. he would bring you gifts and strike down anyone who dared to look at you the wrong way, never failing to bring butterflies to your stomach. the memories of the past made you tear up. “i miss my husband.” you whispered as you rubbed your stomach, trying to soothe the sudden cramp you had been getting for a while now.

“i’m right here. stop crying. it’s making you look pathetic.” scaramouche said as he slammed the door shut. “do you know how embarrassing it is having a crybaby wife like you? lumine would never do this. everyone looks at us with pity and i hate it, and it’s all your fault,” his words dripped with venom. 

you felt your heart drop. you didn’t know he was coming home today. the plan to tell him the news you found out from the infirmary suddenly slipped out of your mind, fear of what he’d do to you replacing its spot. 

“i-i.. when did you arrive? i thought you wouldn’t be coming home for another week or so,” you said as you wiped the tears from your eyes. 

scaramouche walked in front of you, grabbing ur face with one hand while rubbing the tears away rather harshly. you immediately tried prying yourself away from him. “stop! you’re hurting me!” you shouted, grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands off your face. “oh give me a break,” he started, “now i can’t even wipe your tears away without you acting dramatic? isn’t this what you want anyways? god, how much more useless can you get? if i knew you were going to become like this, i wouldn’t have married you. id rather walk this land alone a thousand times and witness my friends get killed, than to be seen with a person like you.” your heart dropped for a second time. this time, the aching pain lingered longer. 

you slowly smiled at him. one of those smiles you give when you’ve had enough. months without him talking to you and this is how he treats you? scaramouche furrowed his eyebrows at your reaction. no one should be happy after being insulted. 

“okay.” you said, the smile turning into a bitter expression. you stood up and shoved him away from you. “take your lousy ring,” you took the ring off your finger and threw it towards his feet, “i’m sick of this, and you, and everything you haven’t done. i haven’t done anything to you to deserve this,” scaramouche stood there with a surprised face. he stumbled as he reached to catch your ring, regret immediately washing over him. never in a million years did he think you’d be capable of talking back. you’re a sweet person with no room for hate. “don’t look for me,” you continued, “don’t follow me. don’t even bother mentioning my name,” you made your way towards the door, hand reaching for the doorknob, “and by the way, don’t be surprised when one of your subordinates reports back to you telling you they spotted me with an infant that resembles you.” the electro vision on your back flickered before the sound of thunder roared and lightning replacing where your body once stood, teleporting you out of the building.

[acozysoulwrites]

His new favorite color | Astarion x Fem!Tav

Description | Tav and Astarion are laying together one night when she tells him what she thinks the color of his eyes were before being turned

Contains | fluff fluff fluff!! Gentle Tav, soft Astarion, Astarion getting the love he deserves :(

Rain taps atop Astarion’s tent and slides down, corrupting other droplets and dragging them down as new ones form. The wind is sharp and cool, the smell of rain lingers in the air and a chill runs through the camp.

She and Astarion lie together, their faces just inches apart. Their lips quivering like magnets fighting to remain apart. Their eyes trail over one another’s face. She had her arm draped over his side, as if it ensured that he were forever hers, that tomorrow wouldn’t come and sweep this moment under the rug like so many before it. Their legs were tangled, the warmth radiating from her body and into his, slowly warming his cool skin.

Astarion had forgotten what warmth felt like before she’d come along. He didn’t have a single memory of his body ever touching someone else’s without there being strings attached.

She brings her hand up to his face, gently her fingers make contact with his cheekbone and she runs them along his jaw, feeling the structure of his bones, studying them, like he were priceless art aching to be admired.

Astarion breathes in at her touch and his heart flutters, but his mind races and he frowns at her.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice only a whisper.

Her eyes flick across his face as she takes him in. “I was just thinking” She murmurs, she finally returns his gaze, red meets hazel, and time stills.

Confusion rises in his chest. She was always like this, poetic and mysterious. Rarely ever was a straight answer given to him. He sometimes wondered why she chose him instead of Gale... These damned poets.

“Spit it out then, my love” He quips. He was visibly growing impatient; slightly uncomfortable with all this gawking.

She lowers her hand, resting it back at his side. “I was just recalling a conversation we had just months ago, and I couldn’t help but start to wonder what color your eyes were... you know, before” She says.

Astarion’s lips part, his eyes shifting to a look of offense. “You know I-“

“I know you don’t remember, Star” She calms him, her thumb rubbing gently at his hip. “I was picturing you- well your face, with many colors. I even thought of a few colorful ones” She smiles, chuckling through her nose softly, his hair flutters in her exhale.

Astarion stays silent, his frustrated look now softened slightly. He arches an eyebrow and listens.

“However...” She continues to rub unimportant shapes into him gently. He got so offended sometimes, and every time she stayed calm, every time she didn’t return the attitude like so many before... It healed him just a little.

“I think I’ve figured it out, I bet you they were green”

Astarion’s eyes flick away from hers in thought. He supposes green doesn’t sound so bad.

“Perhaps... but why green?” He asks.

“Because, well...”

Astarion scoffs, “Are you going to get all poetic and sad on me, Darling?”

“You know you love it” She smiles.

A small smile draws onto his face, mimicking hers. It is nearly hidden in the flickering light.

“I think they were green because when I look you, it just makes sense. It doesn’t

matter how you looked before. Green eyes would still fit you now, like they always had so long ago. You are now, who you were then. Before Cazador, before being bitten... Deep down, my sweet, sweet Astarion, your soul still remains”.

Astarion’s face had fallen from curious to blank at some point while she spoke those words to him. In the corner of his eyes, lay tears that threatened to pour down his pale cheeks.

“Well then... that tops your most poetic moment yet” He grins, his weak attempt at hiding the quiver in his voice fails.

“Oh- Star... I’m sorry” She brings her hand up to cup his face, her thumb wiping at the corner of his eyes. Astarion reaches up and holds her hand against his face, lean- ing in, a small smile forms. He closes his eyes, and a single tear manages to squeeze out.

“Dammed you poets” He croaks.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry” She frowns, her heart breaking at the sight. She’d never seen him cry, and she truly thought she might never live to see the day.

Astarion pulls her hand from his face and kisses it, one of his fangs poke her gently. “You need not be sorry... If I’m being honest, that was the nicest thing anyone has... ever said to me” He says, his words as genuine as they’d ever been.

“I meant it”

Astarion nods, “I know” There’s sincerity in his tone and it makes her feel safe. “Hells, c’mere my sweet” He sniffs, reaching around her waist he tugs her close until their chests are flush against each other.

Shortly, they had fallen into a deep rest. Their breathing became slow and synced.

They stayed together, awaiting a new morning, slightly less scared of what tomorrow held. And soon, Astarion would find that green was his new favorite color.

[manjiroscum]

pregnancy diaries: teddy bear

summary: the journey of motherhood is never easy from the first morning sickness to when the water suddenly breaks. such precious yet arduous nine months deserve to be recorded for memories.

character/s: bonten!sanzu haruchiyo

warnings: f!reader, mature language, pregnant sex, attempts of sexual assault (not by sanzu), light angst, reader gets anxious a lot, pregnancy, mentions of murder, blood, canon typical violence, mentions of past drug use, sanzu keeps weapons in his house, sanzu tries to be a good husband and father, ooc sanzu (?), lots of fluff, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

masterlist

wc: 4.9k

note: this entry is dedicated to bby cat @sanzucide 😚💖

MONTH 0: WEEK 2

My dear baby peanut,

A kind old lady I met at a bakery told me to write down my thoughts about you as you grow in my tummy. She said that you might like to read my journey with you one day and I couldn't help but feel happy at the idea of it. No words can describe how excited your father and I are to see you. I was quite surprised when I found out that you’re here—our precious miracle. I swear by the stars that shine that I’ll protect you as fiercely as I can, even if it is against those who I love for you deserve everything good life has to offer. Please, please stay healthy and well inside there. I’ll do anything for it to stay that way.

I love you, my precious starlight.

Strong arms were wrapped around your trembling body. The same arms that you missed sleeping in last night for your husband went missing once you broke the news to him about your pregnancy. Sanzu Haruchiyo was—still is—a very closed-off individual since you met him. Rarely does he indulge you with his troubled thoughts or those scenarios that bother him enough to stay awake during the late hours. You figured, as his wife, he wouldn’t be so shy about sharing his fears with you.

But when it came to special and sensitive matters, like how you wanted a baby and failed multiple times, your beloved husband was sometimes a lost cause. You couldn’t really blame him for it either, having isolated himself from his own family due to his own personal reasons he dare not say aloud. Still, you couldn’t bare the responsibility alone, scared to death that he might leave you with the baby and decide not to be a part of raising it.

Yet, Haruchiyo wasn’t that cruel to do that to you—his love and the only piece of heaven in a land that reeks of death and betrayal. To do so would be akin to dying.

“Please… Don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry,” Sanzu sighed into your hair, eyes closed in exhaustion and sorrow for the stress he has caused you in the last few hours. He knows he should do more than console you through words. Beg or kneel for your forgiveness. “I’m sorry. Sorry I did that… I’m sorry I made you worry, baby. It won’t happen again. I, uh… I got so overwhelmed at the thought of becoming a father and needed fresh air—”

An angel you were. No one else could compare to your bountiful mercy and love. Normally, anyone in your situation would ask him to go. You were content to cry, two of your clenched fists banged against his chest. It never dealt much damage, unlike the tears that streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed. Haruchiyo really messed up this time. “I-Idiot! Idiot Haru! All you had to do was tell me that! Not disappear on me like that… I was so worried sick—”

“I know, baby. I know.” His arms pulled you close once again, embracing your trembling form as try and steady yourself. Your husband couldn’t help but feel anger towards his actions. He should do better—never make you cry like this again. “I’m sorry… I love you, yeah? Do you know that I love you, mhm? Baby stop crying, what will peanut think if he hears you?” At the cute nickname he gave the baby, you blinked back the tears and glanced up at him in surprise.

“Peanut?”

MONTH 1: WEEK 5

Hello, baby peanut,

Your papa is such a sweet man. You might say it is impossible to see or disagree once you’re older, but he truly is. Today, we went to check how you are and we’re so happy you’re making yourself comfortable inside. Whatever you want to eat, I’ll make sure you can taste it, yeah? Even if it is weird. Plus, your uncle Takeomi asked about you when I visited your papa at work. He might seem like an aloof man but he is good. Your papa says he is better than your uncle at everything but I can’t testify to that. What I do know is that your papa is a hard-working man. He tried to assemble your crib today and it was a funny sight. Don’t tell him that though, okay?

I love you, peanut. Keep growing!

“Are you even sure it’s gonna be a boy?”

Rindou’s question stayed hanging in the air due to Haruchiyo not listening to his colleague. The walls were recently painted in the hue of baby blue by your husband, leading the visitor to question why. Tongue stuck in between his lips, your husband was too caught up in reading the steps written on the flimsy paper about assembling the crib you two bought the other day to pay the younger Haitani any attention. Rindou must’ve realized this and sighed, shaking his head before diverting his gaze at you. You merely laughed at his curious stare.

“It might be. Haruchiyo is quite sure, though. Says he can ‘sense’ it.”

The younger Haitani couldn’t stop the strange expression twisting his handsome face at what that implied. “He… can ‘sense’ it? What the fuck does that even mean? And why name your baby after a nut?” Those purple irises threw your husband a suspicious look, slightly tilting his head to the side. “Are you… on drugs again?”

Concentration snapped into two, Haruchiyo glared at Rindou at the accusing tone. “Hey, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? I’ve been clean for two years. My mind is perfectly working.” His finger reached up to pull down his eyelid and stuck out his tongue. “You’re just jealous I can sense that my baby is gonna be a boy. What’s the matter, Rinny? Having a hard time conceiving boys like Ran? Perhaps you should fuckin’ check if your balls are broken or if it runs in the family.”

You ignored the banter occurring in front of you, content at sitting by the side. Whatever his reasons were for being able to tell his child would be a boy, it is still endearing to hear. And somewhere, deep in your heart, you wished Haruchiyo’s intuition would come true. Your hand reached down to caress your belly, mouth parting as you lightly scold Haruchiyo not to antagonize Ran’s brother any further.

MONTH 2: WEEK 7

My lil’ peanut,

I tried to convince your papa the other day to write an entry in this journal for you. He refused because he was afraid he’d mess it up which I don't think will happen. Your papa has been extra careful lately that sometimes I wonder if he is the one carrying you or me. I can’t blame him, though. You are our miracle baby.

Can you hear him humming at night? I don’t know if listening to Mozart will make you smarter and where your papa heard that tidbit from, but I just hope you like the music if you do hear it. It calms my nerves and fears of what has yet to come.

I can’t wait to have you in my arms, darling.

Tonight's dinner was flushed down the drain while you brushed your teeth. Whether it was because of what you ate or how you have been going around the house nonstop to clean the apartment that made you dizzy, your nausea got too much. Haruchiyo’s tall frame was leaning against the bathroom door’s frame, worry etched on his equally tired features after a whole day of running to and fro for another grand scheme of Bonten. You couldn’t help but furrow your brows slightly. As much as you wanted him to stay and be here with you all the time, it would be quite selfish. And yet, the thought of going into labor without him by your side would be an absolute nightmare. The crime organization didn't really have some sort of paternity leave and you were sure your husband would rather shoot himself than ask Mikey for it.

“You okay?”

Nodding at Haruchiyo’s reflection in the mirror, you then shot him a weak smile. “I’m alright. Just… tired of puking.” In hopes of lifting the solemn mood, you poked your tongue out. “I guess little peanut didn’t like the pasta.” You took an empty cup and filled it with water, about to gargle the last bit of your vomit’s aftertaste until you felt arms wrapping around your torso and a warm chest pressed against your back. Your eyes glanced up to meet Haruchiyo’s gaze through the mirror.

“Peanut should learn not to be picky about his food.”

“I was only kidding, Haru,” you whispered, leaning back on him. “The pregnancy is making me nauseous.”

Nuzzling his chin on your shoulder, your husband laughed softly, the puff of air released was ticklish on your neck. “I know, baby. I know. I just don’t like seeing you vomit since you just ate. I’m worried that you’re gonna get sick or something. Do you wanna order something? That favorite cafe of yours is still open at this hour. How about some cupcakes, mhm? Or maybe you wanna get cheesecake?”

At the mention of sweet desserts, your eyes perked up and a smile spread across your lips. “Sure, not gonna say no to cupcakes. Let me finish gargling then we can order, okay?”

MONTH 3: WEEK 9

My dear peanut,

I have to be honest… I’ve been afraid of what kind of world you’ll be growing up in. It is no secret what your papa does and I am fully aware of the possibilities that may happen in the near future. Your papa has been nothing but kind to me. He may have his ups and downs, yet that is part of being human. The people he has to deal with, on the other hand, are not so good…

Still, I swear that I’ll keep you safe. Your papa and I will keep you away from harm's way as best as we could. It may sound pointless, but as long as I live and you cannot defend yourself, I will always protect you.

I love you so much, my sweet peanut.

Iron. The smell of blood wasn’t overpowering yet it somehow invaded and assaulted your nostrils. But the scent akin to rust was not the most overwhelming thing to experience at this very moment. Fists meeting the pervert’s face with a sickening crack and the crimson liquid dripping from the man’s lips were nothing compared to the murderous look painted across your husband’s face. His heart that was hammering earlier out of worry and fear was not beating to the thunderous tune of rage and vengeance. He can’t believe someone really tried to touch his pregnant wife on his own turf, much less a nobody who was only thinking with his dick. All you could do was heave a heavy sigh and continue to look away as the man’s limp body was dragged out of the room.

The new recruit, whatever possessed him to try and touch a Bonten member’s wife, was surely regretting it now—wherever his pathetic soul is. Frankly, neither you nor Sanzu cared.

Haruchiyo never noticed your form shivering until he embraced you, his lips in a grim line while he inhaled your familiar scent he got so used to waking up that it would be torture to never be able to smell it again. Any bastard who tries to harm you and his son should be prepared to receive his undiluted wrath. That man was just an example of what he can do and a glimpse of what he can do more if anyone would be stupid enough to mess with him.

“You’re okay, baby. I’m here. No one will try to fuckin’ touch you again.”

“T-that fucker…”

You supposed you were as insane as him at this point—any mother would probably result to the same way of thinking after going through this. Images of the man burning and wailing in agony filled your mind while you clung to Haruchiyo. The unwanted touching and disgusting words that were thrown at you weren’t the horrifying part of this whole ordeal. Compared to that, the insults he hurled at you the second he saw you were pregnant made you sick. The ride to your husband’s office for a simple desire to eat lunch with Haruchiyo with that creep was a long one that was filled with suffering until those metal doors opened. The heavens definitely answered your prayers when Haruchiyo was waiting for you by the elevator, hoping to welcome you with arms open only to see you trying to push away the sicko. The rest was history.

“H-Haru, it happened so fast and I was so scared—”

“Shh, I got you. He won’t hurt you anymore,” he whispered into your hair. “Remember? I’ll always keep you and peanut safe. Nothing will harm you or the baby, okay? I’m sorry you had to experience that, baby… I’ll cut off those filthy hands and burn them. Would you like to see that, babe?”

MONTH 4: WEEK 15

My darlin’ peanut,

Your papa is ecstatic. I supposed anyone will be once the baby’s gender is revealed but your papa is beyond that. He has been busy buzzing around buying you baby clothes and toys. And yet, when I asked him if he wanted to reveal the gender to his friends… I guess I can’t go into detail about what he actually said to me. However, it goes along the lines of wanting to keep it to himself for now.

The doctor was smiling weakly the entire time we listened to your heartbeat because your papa was glaring at him until the sound of your beating heart echoed around the room. I admit I shed a few tears. Some mothers had the idea of keeping the sonogram pictures of their babies in their wallets for good luck. I’ve asked yours to be printed a lot because I know I’ll be placing them all over the house. You’ve grown quite big, peanut.

I can’t wait to see you soon, love.

Haruchiyo couldn’t stop grinning. Even when he was in the same room as Mikey and the other members of Bonten, he had to hide the curl of his lips with his hand so Ran or Rindou wouldn’t tease him. However, he can’t help it. Soon, his good mood was news to the entire staff in the building. Those who knew him well were aware of your pregnancy and weren’t all that surprised. The people who didn’t, on the other hand, were living in total fear that Bonten’s number two may have lost his mind and could go on a killing spree when provoked.

“Are you gonna tell them tomorrow?” you questioned softly. Upon hearing no reply from your husband, you glanced in the direction of pink and stifled a giggle at the sight. Sanzu Haruchiyo, the fierce second in command of Bonten who has slitted far more throats and is known for being the most ruthless one, was giggling softly at the photo of his baby’s sonogram. To say Haruchiyo was ecstatic over the confirmation that his baby was a boy isn’t enough to be a description.

He’s fucking over the moon.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?” Haruchiyo still couldn’t put down the photo, his eyes clear as day while staring at the black and white photo. He can’t take his eyes off of it. Did he and you really make such a cute baby? Haruchiyo couldn’t believe he was going to be a dad in a few more months. Will the baby look like you? Or him? Your husband’s lips stretched even more at the thought. “What is it?”

Adoring the scene, you turned back to the sizzling meal you were making for two. It will be for three in a couple of months. You couldn’t wait for that day, smiling at what that meant.

“Nothing, babe.”

MONTH 5: WEEK 18

My baby peanut,

Your room is ready and filled to the brim with things you might need. It’s almost as if you’re already here. Your papa said that if you’re not a good boy, he’ll take away all your toys and exchange them for boring posters compelling nutrition posters to encourage you to eat vegetables. He’s very funny.

The other day, we were looking to buy strollers and your very own car seat. I’m too embarrassed to go back to the store after weeping at the sight of those cute items. Your papa merely laughed so I hit him on the back for doing so. Peanut, whenever a lady cries or feels sad, comfort her. Okay?

Love you!

“Are you still mad?” Haruchiyo slightly winced at the cold expression you shot at him, instantly regretting his actions earlier. Silly as it may be, he knew your irritation was amplified due to the hormones and shouldn’t be messed with. You normally would have laughed when he teased you, but today wasn’t like those days. His hand reaching out to you was ignored when you brushed past him in the direction of the bathroom. Scratching his chin, your husband tailed behind you akin to a lost puppy while a stream of apologies ran out of his mouth. To shut the door on his face would be too harsh so you spun to face him before entering, surprising him a bit. To tease your husband, however, was another story.

“Haru, I have to be frank,” you muttered, putting on the best face you can that could be the epitome of disappointment. “I may take this as good fun, but for you to merely laugh at me earlier… it hurt my feelings.” Hands reaching up to cover your eyes that were void of tears, you could tell Haruchiyo was starting to panic. He did vow he will never make you cry again or be the reason for the waterworks. Especially now that you were experiencing mood swings due to the pregnancy. For him to see you start showing signs of weeping had your husband at the tip of his toes, hoping for you to forgive him. The last thing he wanted was to sleep on the cold couch tonight.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would make you feel sad—look, if it makes you feel better, I can buy you anything. Or maybe a massage? Do you want a massage? I’ll massage your feet and back, plus do all the dishes this month. Please—” he paused in his ramble the second the first laugh slipped past your lips. It wasn’t soon before Haruchiyo figured out you were messing with him, crossing his arms across his chest while observing you laugh with your arms around your tummy. He couldn’t believe he fell for your tricks. You didn’t even notice him leaving until you heard the door to your bedroom closed shut.

“Haru? Come on, I was just kiddin’! You were laughing at me earlier and I couldn’t help but tease you. I love you, okay?”

MONTH 6: WEEK 23

Darling peanut,

You are growing bigger and stronger inside that I can’t help but cry. The doctor said I might feel you kicking soon and your papa is looking forward to it. It still amazes me that you’ll be coming out soon and I’ll be meeting you.

I saw a shooting star the other day. Your papa was already snoring on the couch to see it while we were in the middle of watching an old film and I was slightly bored. I wished for you to come out healthy. That is all I want.

Haruchiyo took a clean towel from the nightstand to wipe off the sweat dripping down your forehead, unable to take his eyes off of your belly and the undeniable glow your face had. His free hand even refused to move from its spot on the obvious bump, rubbing on it softly. His cock twitched at the idea of getting you pregnant again, which did not go unnoticed by you since he was still inside your creamed pussy after sex. Gentle and slightly afraid he’ll hurt the baby, your husband has been nothing but the sweetest. Even after marriage, Haruchiyo was still doting. Fears of him leaving you for another woman and giving up on the relationship did haunt you all those years where nothing significant happened. Perhaps it’s human to think that way.

Your husband did not understand why you had such thoughts, kissing every worry away from your face so soothingly as if he didn’t just paint your gummy walls white that it oozed out the moment his flaccid cock slipped out of your pussy with a small pop. He was mesmerized at the lewd sight that his cock was twitching, growing hard once again. You felt it too, groaning at how eager he is. Haruchiyo was sheepish.

“Sorry, I can’t get enough of you, baby.”

“Haru, I’m tired…”

“You sure you’re not up for another round?” he mumbled into your ear, slowly grinding his cock now half-mast against your thigh. “You tend to get needy whenever I’m just about to fall asleep.” When you shook your head, he pouted. “I’m not gonna offer the same thing once we’re finished bathing even if you ask me nicely, pretty.”

Playfully glaring at him, you lightly scoffed. “Really? How sure are you?” Not waiting for a response, you got up and sauntered over to the bathroom while making sure not to hide the way his semen ran down your legs. You gave your entranced husband a glance and cheekily gestured for him to follow you. Damn your depleted energy, teasing him is always a fun challenge. “You’re not opposed to washing my back without touching me down there, right?”

MONTH 7: WEEK 26

My adorable peanut,

I hope you are well. Sometimes I get surprised whenever I feel you kick, especially when I eat. Your papa said it is silly to worry that you might be kicking a lot during meals because you didn’t like the taste of them. I can’t help but wonder about it.

Whenever you kick, your adorable papa comes running to check. He’s like a puppy, but don’t tell him that. He might worry his colleagues will think the same way. I’m just confident in writing it down here ‘cause I know he doesn’t read what I write here. Something about privacy and that this journal should be read by you. He really cares about you, peanut.

We both love you so much, baby.

“Do you think we should babyproof that room?”

Haruchiyo glanced up from polishing his katana, his eyes following your line of gaze to the one room where he kept all his guns and other dangerous things. At your suggestion, your husband couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Come on, babe. There’s no way an infant could even enter there. I keep it locked at all times, ‘ya know? Besides, once he does grow older, we’ll move to a bigger place. I’d want one with three bathrooms.”

The talks of moving once you had a kid were not strange to this household. Even back then when you were still struggling with conceiving, Haruchiyo was already open to moving out of the apartment once the kid was big enough. There wasn’t anything wrong with the current apartment, but you do wish to have more space for the child and that it was nearby a school. However, there was his job at Bonten to consider. Moving out meant he would be further away from headquarters and that might not suit well with him.

“You sure? I mean, about moving.”

Haruchiyo was back to polishing the blade, nodding at your words. “Yeah, it’s totally fine, babe. We can’t stay in this apartment forever, plus there are better apartments or penthouses out there where peanut can run around freely. If you don’t wanna live in a building, we can always get a house. It’s no big deal.” Hearing no response from you, his attention shifted to your form, and raised a brow. “What? Did… I say something wrong?”

“No, nothing wrong. Do you think peanut is gonna be such an active kid?” The grin on your face never faltered as you listened to Haruchiyo ramble away on how his son would probably be a menace if he had too much sugar.

MONTH 8: WEEK 30

Hi sweet peanut,

You’re definitely not as small as a peanut now, that’s for sure. You’ve grown so much that it is making me a bit emotional. I often hear mothers saying that children grow so fast that if you don’t look hard enough, you’ll never notice it. I’m a bit terrified that I might do something wrong, specifically in raising you. Reading books and watching videos on motherhood sometimes call me down, but experience always varies.

I don’t know about your papa and his fears. All I do know is that he might be sharing the same thoughts as I am. We both have never tried raising a kid before and taking care of someone else’s is a different thing. I just hope the two of us manage to pull it off and be the best parents we can be for you.

I love you so, so much.

Haruchiyo sighed. This was the fifth time this week that you couldn’t stop fussing around. He knew it was because the due date is dawning nearer and nearer as the weeks go by, but he was worried you might burn a hole on the carpet with your pacing. Ever since you started experiencing Braxton Hicks, you couldn’t help but grow anxious. No matter how many times he had consoled you, that these were normal as the doctor said, you can’t help but feel scared. Scared that something will go wrong.

“Baby, please sit down. It’ll be much better for you to just relax, yeah?” he said, reaching up to stop you in your tracks before pulling you down to sit next to him. Thankfully, you complied but the concern for your son was still swirling in your mind. “Hey, look at me, babe. Babe.”

“Y-yeah?” you mumbled, meeting his eyes immediately. The television playing in the background white noise in your march of apprehension that lasted much longer than the previous ones. Your gaze was then blocked by a shock of pink, your husband hugging you. “Haru, what—”

“I hate seeing you like this. Makes me feel fucking weak, to be honest.” Haruchiyo whispered, his hand running soothing circles on your back while the other was on your huge belly. Just as you were about to ask him why when he beat you to it. “I don’t know how to make you feel better. I’m not the pregnant one here, yet I understand why you’re so worried. Still, we should have fate on little peanut, yeah? And you should listen to your doctor. You should be relaxing—no, you should be resting a lot. I’ll do everything now, okay? I’m sure Mikey won’t mind me being absent. Let me do this, okay? Let me take care of you and tell me about your problems. I won’t laugh at you.”

“Haru…” As if his words were some spell, you relaxed into his chest. Eyes shut, you took in deep breaths before nodding. “Alright, yeah… I’m sorry for worrying you. Didn’t mean to make you feel this way…”

“Don’t apologize, baby. We did promise to do this together.”

MONTH 9: WEEK 39

My peanut,

This is your papa. You will probably notice due to the change of font. Your mama wanted me to write something here. I don’t know why but writing something in this journal seems… weird. Don’t get your papa wrong, but I’m used to reading the entries than writing on them. My curiosity gets the better of me so don’t tell your mama I’ve read most of what she wrote her. Ugh, it’s probably pointless ‘cause I’m sure she’ll see this. Anyway, it has been a long journey of keeping you and your mama safe. I won’t trade those days, good or bad, for anything. Your uncle and cousins are looking forward to seeing you, too. Don’t let them intimidate you.

Very excited to see you, little man. Come out soon, but not too soon, okay? Be kind to your mama.

Takeomi left the room, giving you and Haruchiyo privacy after saying hello to your bouncing baby boy now sleeping soundly in his father’s arms. The solemnity of the space lifted the moment Haruchiyo entered the room, sweat evident in his temples at the long hours he waited outside during your delivery. Hearing your muffled screams brought him on edge, wondering what was happening behind closed doors and whether peanut was alright. When the wait was over, he immediately rushed to where you and his son were. Takeomi followed behind with a small smile. It was a miracle his younger brother agreed to see the new addition to the family, although he was suspecting it was because of you.

“He’s so tiny,” your husband whispered, gently rocking the baby. “Look at his cute fucking nose and those cheeks—we should make more babies. I wanna give peanut a sister.” Ignoring the way you let out a sigh and mutter that giving birth wasn’t easy, Haruchiyo continued to coo at the baby. The smile on his face matched yours, happier than the first day you discovered you were having his baby. The teddy bear Takeomi bought as a gift sat on top of the hospital’s bedside cabinet, mirroring the unexplainable joy on both of your faces.

taglist: @bunnyjiros @chronic-claire-universe @wakaslut @ranilingus @eroscastle @tobidabio @zuuki @chloee0x0 @leavemealonebutinpink @kamisoria @keijisprettygirl @httphaitani @marism @stffychn @riszu @tokyometronetwork @festive

[munacy]

uncertainty

Cross-posted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44490136

Remus pours out two fingers of whiskey. He holds the glass out to Sirius for his inspection, to which Sirius raises one disapproving brow. Remus smiles wryly, adds a third finger, and then Sirius takes the glass without complaint.

“He’s certainly growing up, our little Prongslet. Blimey, a girlfriend?” murmurs Sirius wonderingly, resuming their discussion of Harry’s rumored outing with a one Cho Chang. 

“Yes, quite. Although, from what I’ve heard, it appears that the poor girl left in tears.” Remus fails to fight a twitch of the lips. “I mean, that’s James, in one.” 

They both chortle indecently, clink their glasses in memory of the deceased, and throw back a healthy measure of spirit. Sirius becomes fascinated by a droplet of whiskey resting on Remus’ bottom lip. He’s just become very familiar with the flavor of the bottle they’re sharing, but thinks his greatest desire in the whole wide world is to know what that specific droplet tastes like.

“Ah, Padfoot,” Remus sighs wistfully, “to be young and in love again.”

“You miss being young?” he asks.

He knows the answer to that, but he wants Remus to ask him.

And he doesn’t disappoint, looking back at Sirius incredulously. “Don’t you?”

“Some parts. I miss when my knees didn’t creak getting out of bed. I miss having a cool taste in music; now, I don’t understand half of it. I miss turning heads when I walk into a room.”

“You still turn heads, you vain, daft thing,” Remus mutters bashfully, faintly pink and looking down into his whiskey.

Sirius holds back a snort, knowing that no one—present company possibly, hopefully excluded—thought him an exceptional beauty these days. “And I miss the days when I really thought everything would go whatever way I wanted it to, because, by God, I was Sirius Black.”

Remus smiles indulgently at him. “But?”

Sirius steels himself. He’s been waiting a long time for this. He’s been waiting for Remus to be ready to hear it, but mostly, he’s been waiting for himself to be ready to say it.

“But I don’t miss being young,” he starts haltingly. “I don’t miss the uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty?” Remus’ wide ochre eyes are fixed on him. Remus’ sole attention on him, even at 15 years old, has always made him feel as though he’s done a dead drop on his broom. Some things never change.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Uncertainty. When I was young, I didn’t know who I was…Didn’t want to even try to figure it out. And in those rare instances when I was introspective enough to catch a true glimpse of myself…I was frightened by what I saw. I was frightened of what…of what others would think of me, if they knew what I really was.”

Remus stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his face is otherwise placid.

Sirius sighs heavily. “I turned away from it, denied my true self. And I think no one suffered more for it than I, and…and perhaps you. I was the worst sort of coward. I was brave in all things, except for the things that mattered.”

Remus’ eyes have unfocused slightly.

“Remus, I wouldn’t trade knowing and accepting who I am, not for all of the youth in the world,” he finishes quietly.

His expression does something complicated. He looks almost angry, confused, and his long, thin fingers reach up to cover his mouth.

Don’t hide yourself from me, please, Sirius begs mentally, knowing how insane that would sound if he said it aloud.

I’ve spent entirely too much time not looking at every single part of you.

As if hearing his thoughts, he removes his hand from his face, steadies himself on the coffee table as he leans forward. His eyes are a bright, hard and intense amber. Remus’ words come out in a quick, reluctant whisper, as if he cannot stop himself from speaking: “And who are you, Sirius?”

He’s thought of a hundred ways to come out to Remus, imaginary conversations with James in the chill of his cell, during which his memory of his brother mostly just took the piss and called him an emotional ponce. It was a fairly accurate caricature of the real life James F. Potter.

In the end, he doesn’t think at all: “I am a man who is violently in love with you.” He pauses, a little surprised. “I always have been. I always will be.”

Remus wastes no time in standing up and striding out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Sirius had expected, but he had also known better than to expect a happy ending for himself.

Remus bursts back into the room like an angry gale: “God dammit, Padfoot!”

He storms out the door on the opposite wall. This time, he’s gone for a little bit longer, but when he appears again, just about kicking down a third door, he looks just as furious as before.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

He’s left the room again, without even the courtesy of allowing Sirius to make the obligatory, if tired, joke for old time’s sake.

By the time Remus comes back, Sirius is halfway through a second glass of whiskey and has worked up a decent sulk. He sits up straight in the leather armchair, trying to shake away his increasing tipsiness. Remus is standing at the threshold, panting a little, a feral, wild look about him that Sirius has never quite seen before. 

Sirius begins, “Moony, I—“

And Remus crosses the room in three long paces, looking for all the world like he’s going to punch him, but no, he kisses Sirius on the forehead with hard, bruising pressure, tightly fisting the back of his hair in one hand and clutching the side of his throat in the other.

And Sirius wasn’t expecting that either.

Remus crawls desperately into his lap, hands patting him erratically as if to make sure all of Sirius’ body parts are there.

“I’d thought I’d got rid of you,” he moans exasperatedly. Sirius feels the vibration of Remus’ muffled sob, buried in his neck.

“I don’t think you can,” he replies weakly, sheepishly. “I’m like a particularly tenacious tick.”

When Remus finally kisses him on the mouth, like he’s been wanting desperately for decades—and it’s not until hours later, after they’ve talked for hours—the most unexpected thing is that it is gentle. It is so heartbreakingly soft, so sweet and slow, just like the way Remus smiles or speaks. He realizes in a detached way that he’s crying a bit. He’s never been handled delicately before. He didn’t know love could be gentle. “Why are you crying, you silly boy?” Remus is smiling down at him now, fondly, like Sirius is daft and precious, and so, so breakable. He removes Sirius’ belt and lowers his trousers and underwear with deft hands, holding Sirius in his hand with that intense attention that makes him feel as though he’s dead dropping on his broom. “Don’t you know there’s nothing to be sad about?”

———————————————————————————————————

“Why are you crying, old boy?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Remus sniffles sheepishly. “Being silly.”

Sirius watches Remus watch the happy couple walk back up the aisle together, tears pooling in the gentle crow’s feet by his eyes.

“No, go on, tell me,” he nudges.

“Alright, alright, it’s just…from the back, you know, they could be Lily and James.”

“Yeah…” sighs Sirius wistfully. “Harry, though, much better with women than James ever was.”

“Oh, indubitably,” Remus agrees immediately.

“Little Prongslet grew up. I wish, oh, I wish they could have seen it. Just-just the finest lad you e-ever—“

“Shh, Pads, s’alright,” Remus soothes. He squeezes his hand and it steadies him.

“Christ, things have changed so much between then and now. We grew up too, Remus, you realize?” He wipes away an errant tear impatiently. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Imagine that.”

@wolfstarmicrofic

[wolfofansbach]

Personal thoughts and meditations upon the occasion of the Riverdale series finale. 

Probably like four people are going to read this but I feel compelled to write it out anyway. This show has genuinely been a massive part of my life. I watched the first episode because some high school friends encouraged me to (IRONICALLY, BRO). I was in high school when I started this show. Those friends of course long ago fell away, unable to continue, unable to wacth anymore, but I have kept the faith. All seven seasons. Every. Single. Episode.

I’m not even entirely sure what captivated me so much about the show. I loved the atmosphere of season 1. I genuinely wanted to find out who killed Jason Blossom. Was genuinely fucked up by episode 1 x 12 and the first season finale.

I have such fond memories of watching the first season. I distinctly remember a road-trip I Tok with my friends the summer of 2017, and joking about  maple syrup drug empires and the “weirdo” line back when that was the wildest scene on the show. Joking about how sick of the song ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons (2017) we were. 

And then I decided to get involved in a fandom for the first time in a couple of years, and so I revived my old Tumblr, and I began Posting. And reading posts.  

That was my last summer after high school and I was so nervous about college but this show and this fandom helped me get through it. My freshman year I lived in a dorm, and if you wanted to watch TV you had to go down to this common room, so every Thursday I would go down there like an hour ahead of time and occupy the place to make sure the remote was in my hands by 7 PM. A few times I failed, and I missed an episode because of it. But rarely! 

I remember that slowly dawning feeling as season 2 progressed. Scrolling my Tumblr feed and slowly seeing people come to the realization: “wait…is it just me or does this show actually suck.” Was kind of frustrating at the time, realizing that the writers just like…were bad, but in retrospect? Beautiful. Incredible. Legendary. 

And you could even say that’s where the fun really began. Yes, there’s plenty to hate, but also Riverdale is brilliant. The show of all time. For real. No other show has done it like Riverdale. They just haven't, and they never will. The age of the cable television teen drama is ending, and what a hell of a last hurrah Riverdale has been.

The Red Circle. Jingle Jangle. The Gargoyle King. Edgar Evernever and his fantastic rocket. Bret Weston Wallis and Donna Sweett (genuinely cannot say their names without giggling). Jughead getting hit in the head with a rock and faking his death for like…some reason? I genuinely can’t remember, something to do with the Hardy Brothers idk. Tabitha sprinkling the devil with the tears of the Virgin Mary. The normies can laugh all they want about “epic highs and lows” but do they remember the even funnier lines like “if there’s no wedding, that means the gargoyle king has won” or “word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance…” THEY NEVER WILL. ONLY THE TRUE FAITHFUL UNDERSTAND. 

And is silly as it all was, I have genuine affection for these characters. Like Betty, Veronica, Jughead, Archie, Cheryl, Toni, actually mean a lot to me. YES they’re fake but I want the best for them (and for Beronica to be canon but you know we can’t win them all). I’m genuinely grateful that this show has existed and been a part of my life for the past six years. 

Moreover, I credit this show for seriously getting into writing. I’ve actually written almost a million words of Riverdale fanfiction. Much of it will never see the light of day, but it exists. Maybe I even have one or two left in me, I don’t know. At the very least I’d like to finish a few uncompleted fics. But I’ve also branched out. Since I started seriously writing in 2017, I’ve also finished several original manuscripts, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll get one published. Stranger things have happened. 

So, thanks Roberto.

And thanks to all of the very cool people I’ve run into in this fandom. I honestly wish I’d gotten to know most of you better, but them’s the breaks. Hopefully this isn’t weird but I’m going to tag a few people in particular. 

@village-skeptic. I know you’re not in the fandom anymore (lucky you), but thank you for, once upon a time, reading every one of the 200,000+ words of a 17-year-old kid’s turgid, indulgent, Riverdale Spanish Civil War fan fiction. I never, ever would have finished that story without you, and I credit it with giving me the confidence to keep writing, and in fact to write everything I’ve written since then. You’re brilliant and awesome. 

@satelliteinasupernova. Thank you for also reading Interbellum (are we noticing a pattern), and more importantly for all of your wonderful drawings. INCLUDING fanart of some of my fics. You have no idea how happy that Strange Death of Elizabeth Cooper piece made me. You rule. 

@sullypants. You were a perennial presence on my feed. Always wonderful to see. I love your taste in art, and I love those ‘penguin classics’ covers you made for a few of my fics. Thank you also for beta reading a few fics for me back in the glory days. And thank you for chatting with me a couple times over the years, including a few times when I was in quite unhappy places. 

@stillhidden. I’m not sure if we’ve ever actually talked, but you like or reblog everything I post and it makes me feel like I’m not just shouting into the void. Same goes for @frauleinfunf Thank God for dutiful mutuals. 

@sonyascomet. I can’t remember when I started following you but you have a really good sense of humor. And I’ll always remember when you kept posting about “Greg” for Succession and I, not knowing anything about Succession, kept imagining Greg Heffley. 

@stillhidden thank you for your world-weary Riverdale posts. You truly understand fandom like few others.

@halcooper. Your devotion to the neglected parents of Riverdale is truly admirable. Every time I see Lochlyn Munro in some weird low budget horror movie I’ll think of you.

I hope I didn’t forget anyone who would be offended by my forgetting, but I doubt it. 

All this to say this show has been a genuinely huge part of my life for six years. SIX YEARS. I graduated college, my God. I wish I could say I became a millionaire or a successful author in that time, but nah. Maybe one day, but for now I’m just kind of vibing. And unfortunately, I’ll have to vibe without Riverdale from now on. 

But as I sit myself down to watch the very last episode of this show, I remind myself that we’ll always have the memories. And I’ll always be an unapologetic Riverdale enjoyer. As a great man once said, snakes don’t shed their skins so easily. 

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Earth & Fire

Chapter VIII - The awakening of earth and fire

02/20/2024

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 8,664

Warnings: language, fluff, plotting and scheming, abduction, blood (ichor), violence, cruelty, attempted rape, memories of past sexy times, nudity, blackmail, angst, so much angst, and Zeus (the God of Red Flags needs a warning of his own)

Summary: When the King of the Gods at last finds a way to lure Anthea from the Underworld, nothing will ever be the same again. 

A/N: Nothing to say, just grateful you're still here.

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Picture found on Pinterest

Divider by @firefly-graphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

His lover’s naked body gleamed enticingly in the golden hues of the fire light and he could not help himself from reaching out for the prominent curve at the far end of the young man’s back. He knew it would be silky as a freshly bloomed petal even before his fingers found the smooth skin. Hermes had never felt anything—or anyone—even remotely comparable to the touch of his beloved mortal, Krokos, and not a single day went by that he did not thank the Fates for the fortunate day their paths had crossed. 

The god basked in the pureness of this moment, free from prying eyes, free to give himself to his lover completely and shower him with all the affection he deserved. He was not usually this sappy, he could not afford to be since, even though he was a god, he was well aware that there were far more powerful amongst the Olympians, who would only be too happy to use his enamoured state against him. They were vultures, all of them. Well, maybe there were a few exceptions, but he surely was not one of them. And he chuckled as he recalled the moment he had done to poor Hades what Hermes himself so desperately tried to avoid by meeting his lover in secret. 

“Care to share your thoughts with me, my love? You know how dearly I like to laugh.”

Krokos’ words were muffled by the pillows, but he could not hide the drowsy slur they held. Hermes had tired him out thoroughly with their passionate lovemaking, a fact that sparked the sweetest of warmths to spread inside his chest. That alone would have been enough to sway him, but it was the anticipation of Krokos’ beautiful smile that ultimately set Hermes’ tongue loose.

“I just thought about Hades.”

“While caressing my behind? Is there any reason for me to be jealous?”

There was not. And Krokos knew that all too well. It was more than obvious that he was just teasing him as his mortal did not even stir underneath his lover’s tender caress.

“Krokos, please! He’s my uncle.”

“As if that were reason enough to stop you, or any of you immortal beings.”

He was right of course. Gods rarely cared about the degree of kinship when the heat of desire befell them, still Krokos’ remark earned him a pinch to his pliable flesh.

“And besides that,” Hermes went on pointedly, “he is still Hades, the most boring god the cosmos has ever had the audacity to create.”

“And yet the thought of him made you chuckle.”

“The thought of what I did to him today sure did.”

That statement finally made the young man sit up straight. “Oh?”

Hermes was silent for a moment as the full beauty of his love rendered him speechless. Those sparkly blue eyes never failed to pull him in, and he would have all too gladly let himself drown in them, but he was far more eager to see them burst with pride after hearing the story of his triumph over one of the great three. 

“You remember how I told you of the greatest weakness a god can suffer, don’t you, my sweet?”

Hermes cupped the young man’s cheek as he sank deeper into the two pools of blue.

“Love,” Krokos’ whispered as his eyes briefly fell to his immortal lover’s lips.

“Exactly! It makes us vulnerable, even more so if our beloved is a mortal, an easy target for the other gods.”

Krokos’ eyes went wide. “No! You’re not telling me that Hades, of all creatures, fell in love with a mortal?” He chuckled before his eyes suddenly softened. “But then again it is only logical for death to fall in love with life, isn’t it? And so poetic.”

“Hush, don’t spoil it now. I was so proud of myself for playing them both, but if you put it like that, I almost feel bad for meddling with them.”

“Ah, no, my love,” now it was Krokos who reached for his lover and cupped his face gently. “If their love is as true as ours, I am sure it can’t be meddled with, not even by a powerful being like you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Hermes grinned wickedly. “For Hades is not the only one of the great three whose heart this mortal has bewitched.” The warmth of Krokos’ hands fell away, his sparkling eyes suddenly clouding over.

“I hope you know what you are getting yourself into, Kharidôtês. To do your mischief at the expense of the God of the Dead is one thing, to offend Poseidon or—Fates forbid—your own father—”

“Is something not even the Messenger God would be dumb enough to risk,” a boisterous voice broke the strained silence. “Or would you, son? And don’t disappoint me now, it was me after all who made you the God of Wit, amongst many other things you owe to me.”

No, it could not be. He had been so careful in choosing this place, and yet despite all the precautionary measures he had taken, the figure that stepped out of the shadows left no room for the hope of illusion. It was him. Unmistakably. And he did not blame Krokos for clutching his arm before freezing in place beside him. 

The All-father was a fearsome sight to behold, and despite the calm facade he carried himself with, Hermes could feel his fury rage behind those azure eyes. Slowly he came closer and Hermes' own heart froze in his chest as he watched his father reach out for the defenceless youth.

“Aww, are you scared of me, puny mortal?” he scoffed before leaning in closer. “You very well should be. I could end you in an instant, you know. And I will not hesitate a single moment to do just that if my son won’t do exactly as I tell him.”

“I will, father,” Hermes was quick to comply. “Anything you ask of me, but please don’t—”

As long as he could remember, Zeus had never shown even the slightest bit of compassion. He did not know why he had hoped to find it in his father’s heart now. And the All-father’s haughty laughter seemed to prove once more that Hermes had been right not to expect anything different today. But at least he had let go of Krokos.

“Very well then,” Zeus did not waste another moment to state the true nature of his visit as he began to circle the bed. “First, I have a question for you, son, and I need you to answer me truthfully. As simple as that. Understood?”

“Yes, father.”

“So, I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation and I fear it left me wondering who this mortal woman is that seems to have turned my broody brother’s head.”

Hermes had feared this day would come. He had feared it from the moment Hades had made him swear that oath, knowing that, faced with the impossible, it might very well cost him his life. And he had sworn it anyway in the face of being confined to the Underworld for an unforeseeable amount of time, separated from his lover. How ironic that it might very likely cost him far more than his freedom now.

“I…please, father,” he stammered, “you have to believe me! I would tell you if I could, but I can’t. I swore the divine oath.”

Hermes shifted on the bed, panic leading his body to move to keep his lover shielded from the All-father as best as he could. It would not make much of a difference, he thought as he awaited his father’s godly wrath. But to his great surprise, it never came. And when Zeus spoke again, his voice was completely levelled.

“I see. In that case, I suppose my brother made you swear not to tell anyone the mortal’s name.”

“Yes, he did. I am so sorry, father. Please…please…”

“Well,” Zeus continued, unmoved by his son’s desperate pleading, “did he also make you swear not to confirm should anyone—by pure chance—guess her name?”

It took Hermes a moment to realise what his father had just said, but his mind had understood already, a wave of relief washing over him instantly.

“He…he did not.”

“I thought so.” Zeus had stopped his pacing and was licking his lips in anticipation now. “And is that mortal woman’s name by any chance Anthea, daughter of Hephaestus?”

“It is.”

Hermes could see the spark of triumph igniting his father’s untameable desire anew. Nothing would stop him now, his prey finally within reach once more.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The Messenger God shook his head, his tongue suddenly too heavy to move as he realised his father was not done with him yet.

“Then there is only one more thing I need you to do for me.” 

Hermes swallowed thickly.

“Bring her to me.”

“But father, I…that’s impossible. Hades will rather kill me than let me take her from the Underworld.”

Without a single word, Zeus flicked his fingers and Hermes could feel the warmth of Krokos’ body vanish from his side. In horror he peered down at the spot where he had just been sitting, but instead of the sweet sight of his lover, all he found was a tiny, violet flower. It could not be. It could not. On their own, his fingers reached out, still hoping to feel warm flesh instead of silky petals, but then he hesitated, afraid to damage the delicate flower and cause even more harm than he already had with his unguarded tongue. At least his eyes showed some mercy as tears began to cloud the cruel sight in front of him.

“A mere insurance, you do understand, my dear Hermes, and some motivation for you as well. Bring me what I want and he’ll be back to normal before you can even blink.” Zeus voice had been unnaturally balmy, designed to lull him into a sense of false security, but now his tone changed, piercing him to the very core with its icy touch. “However, should you fail, I will crush him underneath my foot and take comfort in the thought that if I am denied what I desire most, so will you.”

The horror of the thought was enough to make Hermes scream as if Zeus had already made do on his words. “No! Noooooooooo!” 

But the All-father was gone, leaving his distraught son on his own. Still Hermes kept on wailing, even though there were no ears left to pick up the utter despair in his cries, no heart to be stirred by his woeful sounds but his own, not even a set of violet petals to shake in the air that left his lungs or tremble under the weight of the teardrops that fell from his eyes freely. It was only him now. Nothing less than a god, but also nothing more. Crumbling in the face of the impossible.

Darkness surrounded her. The eerie kind. The one that made the tiny hairs all over her body stand up straight. And the strange silence did not do anything to calm her growing sense of fear. 

A sudden noise made her turn around. And even though it seemed to come from far away, the metallic sound made her shiver. 

Anthea thought her mind was playing tricks on her when in the distance her eyes finally caught onto a dim sheen of light. But it was certainly there and the closer she came, the clearer it was to her that she was heading towards the dancing lights of a fire that fell through the entrance to a cave.

She was almost there, ready to face whatever was waiting for her, when a deep, familiar groan made her stop in her tracks. Ready to face whatever was waiting for her, but not this, please, not this. And as she finally stepped through the rounded hole in the stone, her eyes found him immediately.

He was chained to the wall across from her, the solid links leaving angry red marks all over his arms, legs and exposed chest. He was barely holding on to consciousness, his eyes already closed as he released another heavy breath. Besides the marks from the chain, he was covered in dark bruises and his face was drenched in the golden shimmer of fresh ichor. It still kept oozing from two deep cuts, one on his forehead, the other following the line of his cheekbone. She had never seen him like this and nothing could have prepared her for the dreadful sight, the panic that befell her and clutched her racing heart in an icy grip.

She wanted to run to him, free him from his shackles and take him home where she could tend to his wounds and see that he would find the rest he needed to recover. He would. She was sure of it. After all, he was a god and it would not take long until the ichor stopped flowing and his wounds would close. Soon there would not even be a single hint of them left, in fact, she was beginning to wonder why they had not already begun to heal. Unless…

“Anthea!” his blue eyes had opened and must have caught on to her sight. And the resignation she found there broke her heart all over again. 

“Father!” 

Her feet had started to run even before her mind had caught up with her actions and she crossed the distance in a heartbeat. 

“Father,” she whispered again as she sank down beside him, trembling hands cupping his cheeks. “What happened? Who did this to you?” 

She could see that he wanted to talk, but his tongue was too heavy to move. And so she got to work without an answer. Feverishly her fingers clawed at the heavy chains, using the full weight of her body as she tried to pull them out of their attachment to the wall. But however much she tried, they did not budge. With the realisation came the tears, making it even harder to focus on her task, still she was not ready to give up. She was groaning and grunting, pulling harder than she had ever pulled in her entire life, when the sudden touch of Hephaestus’ hand made her stop. 

It was gentle but firm, and when her eyes found his, even through the salty veil of her tears she could see what he wanted her to do. And with the last strength that remained in his body, he spoke only one word.

“Run!”

Anthea’s eyes flew open and she was surrounded by darkness once again. Surrounded by darkness and him. He was everywhere, his scent invading her nose, his steady breathing breaking the silence and his arm draped around her middle, securing her against his chest. And it was his very presence that brought her to her senses again.

It was just a dream, she reassured herself as she stirred in his embrace to turn around and face him. Sore limbs and the slight ache between her thighs reminded her of the night before and she dreaded the darkness even more for veiling his beloved features from her.

He had been so gentle, so soft spoken, whispering words of desire and affection to her all through their tender lovemaking. Anthea could not hide the placid smile from curving her lips as her hand found the softness of his bearded cheek. Careful fingertips began to trace the prominent line of his cheekbone as he pulled her closer. 

Even in his slumber he seemed to know exactly what she needed and so she stopped the exploration of his face and let her head sink against his fuzzy chest instead. His breaths came evenly, creating an enchanting rhythm as they mixed with the slow drum of his heartbeat. 

She felt safe here in his arms, a safety she had only ever known in one other place: her home. But that lay abandoned now at the foot of Mount Mosychlos, while her father was at some place only the Fates knew to lead Zeus astray. If only he was well, and her dream nothing more than just a nightmare, one of Morpheus’ cruel tricks. 

She could feel the panic begin to rise once more as the images resurfaced. What if he had found him? What if her dream had not simply been a nightmare but a vision? She had heard of that before, people seeing things in their sleep before they actually happened to them. What if Zeus—

Anthea jolted as a dull sound broke through the silence. It must have come from the balcony. On instinct she dove deeper into Aidon’s embrace. She would have to wake him because whatever it was that was moving about the balcony, it should not be here.

But then there was something else, a high pitched noise, like a bird’s chirp, and she suddenly knew what had landed right outside the room. Under any other circumstances, this could have waited until morning, but with the horrible images of her nightmare still fresh on her mind, she needed to know that he was safe. And so she wormed her way out of Aidon’s arms, careful not to wake him. She would be back in no time, calmed by the knowledge that her father was alive and well, ready to fall into blissful sleep once again. 

It was not easy to find her way around in the dark and unfamiliar room, and it felt like an eternity until she had finally managed to make out her peplos on the ground and was ready to follow the blue sheen of light that fell through the tiny slit between the door and the ground. 

Without the comfortable warmth of Aidon’s body next to her own, the air felt unusually cold as she stepped onto the balcony. Anthea needed to be quick. Find the mechanic messenger, read the news it brought from her father, and then hurry back to the source of heat she missed as dearly as if she had been separated from Aidon for days, not mere moments.

Step by step she moved forward, her eyes scanning the ground for the metallic sheen of the robin, but it was only when she had reached the doorway to her own bedroom that she finally made out the tiny bird—or what remained of it. Its formerly smooth and shiny wings were now crumbled and crushed, like the rest of its body. Trembling hands scooped it up from the ground as it tried to flap its broken wings. Once more it released that high-pitched noise she had heard before, a shrill tweet, and if she had not known better, she would have said it was in utter pain. Then it went limp and Anthea was left in the silence once more.

She did not even dare to allow herself the thought, and still she knew it was true. This could only mean one thing: her dream had been more than just a dream. A nightmare come true. And her father—

“I’m sorry.”

In an instant she stood, her eyes trying to blink through the tears, but when she finally spotted the dark figure leaned against the railing, she did not need to see clearly to identify the god.

“I should have known it is you. Is this your doing?”

Accusatory hands held out the crushed robin towards the intruder.

“No, it is not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I am merely doing my job, Anthea. I am here to deliver a message.”

“A message? From my father?”

For a brief second a flicker of hope washed over her face, but it died away as quickly as it had come as Hermes shook his head in negation.

“I’m afraid not.”

He could see that her mind was still fighting the thought, but it did not take long before the former hope was replaced by realisation.

“No. No, this cannot be. I have been so careful,” she stammered as she had to lean against the palace wall for support.

“Not careful enough as it seems.”

A dark glare hit him. He had known it would come, and still it cut deep, allowing him a taste of the anger and despair she surely felt. He knew it all too well.

“Anyways, I am here to tell you that he wants to see you. And I was asked to make it abundantly clear to you that, should you refuse, your father’s death will be on your hands.”

Hermes could almost hear the thoughts racing behind her turmoiled eyes, and then it came, the reaction he had been waiting for. It was almost imperceptible, the slightest turn of her head in the direction of her sleeping lover.

“Oh, I wouldn’t even think about it. You’re on your own this time. No sweet Aidon to protect you. Or the deal is off.”

She glared at him again.

“What? Don’t kill the messenger!”

“Ah, shut up, Hermes, you little fuck. Everything that comes out of that mouth of yours is nothing but a lie. You are far more than the messenger in this game. Or how would Zeus ever have found out about this?”

Once again she held out the damaged bird to him and even though Hermes did not rise to her provocation, his silence probably spoke louder to her than any answer could have.

“You know very well Hades made me swear that oath. I could not possibly have—”

“Do you take me for a fool? As if you of all gods would not have found a way around this oath.”

Why? Why was it always him who had to take the blame? Why did she not see that he was merely a pawn in this game, just as much as she was? 

“I am flattered, but I fear you take me for more than I am. And besides, what reason would I have to rat you out to the boss?”

She huffed. “I could think of a few. Do you want me to deliver them in chronological or alphabetical order?”

This was taking way too long. Any more of this agitated talk and Hades would surely wake and his whole plan would come to naught. He did not even want to think about what this would mean for poor Krokos. He needed to act quickly, force her to come with him if necessary. And so, in a gesture of utter despair, he closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm firmly. 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed and before he knew what was happening, she had shaken off his hand with ease. 

This…this was impossible. She was nothing but a mortal. How could she…? But Hermes was careful not to let his surprise show as in her rage she did not seem to notice what she had just done.

“You better cut out that bullshit and loose the attitude before meeting my father or you will regret it.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” she hissed.

“No, just a heads-up. And now let’s get moving. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“And I don’t like being raped. Tough luck for both of us it seems.”

Hermes seemed to be completely unimpressed by her words. And why would he be? She probably was not the first he had approached like this on behalf of his father. And like the others, he knew that she had no chice but to accept her fate and let him take her away. To believe she could somehow escape the All-father had been nothing but an illusion from the very beginning.

She just wished she could have said goodbye, not for her own sake, but for Aidon’s. Because even if she should find a way back to him, she would not be the same woman he had fallen in love with anymore.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Hermes move, and this time, she did not resist again as his fingers wrapped around her arm in a tight grip. He dragged her along a few steps before he pushed himself off the ground and even though she felt her feet loosing the ground too, it seemed as if part of her stayed behind to watch herself fly off to finally meet her fate.

Anthea had never felt time the way she did now. Not when she had passed these tunnels for the first time, after she had left the mortal realm behind to hide away in the Underworld, not even in the mere moments she had been alone with Zeus before her father had arrived to prevent the All-father from occupying her body. Because back then, she had still had hope.

After everything he had taken from her, her safety, her home, her freedom, at least hope had remained. But now even that was lost. Or maybe not all of it. If they could make it in time, if she would be complicit, there might still be hope for her father’s life.

“Can we not go any faster?”

“What now? Suddenly so eager to please the All-father?”

Anthea could not see his face in the pitch dark, and she did not need to. All it took was the malicious tone of his voice to picture the haughty smile on his lips.

“Oh, right. How could I ever believe that you of all gods would know what it feels like to have a loved one’s life threatened by Zeus?”

She had never anticipated her words might have any kind of effect on him, and it was more than possible that she was merely mistaken, but all of a sudden the whooshing noises of the passing rocks and cave walls seemed to speed up. It was not the first time that Anthea wondered how Hermes managed to glide through the gloomy caves this expertly, but just like before she would not find an answer to her question. She squinted, just to be sure, and soon the warming of the air around them confirmed what her eyes had not been able to tell without doubt: they were almost there.

Anthea had imagined this moment in her mind over and over again, up to a point that she had been convinced she could already feel the warming rays of the first sunlight on her face, but as they finally left the labyrinth to the Underworld now, she dreaded the golden light that hit her face. The rich crimson of the sky was much more to her liking. She had also anticipated Zeus to be waiting somewhere near by, eager to finally seize what he had been denied for weeks. And yet again, she was proven wrong as Hermes kept on travelling. Further and further he took her away, and when she turned around, the entrance to the cave was nowhere to be seen anymore. 

Instead, in front of them the faint shapes of a number of buildings slowly appeared in the morning mist. It was a large site, a sanctuary that held not only one but many temples, and also the destination of their journey as Hermes steps became continuously slower until their feet touched the ground in front of the largest temple in sight.

“Where are we?” Anthea demanded to know.

“Olympia.”

Of course. What other place would he choose to force himself upon her than the very symbol of his power? Every child knew that sacrifices to the gods were best made inside the very heart of their own place of worship. And so she did not even blink as Hermes allowed her no time to marvel at the impressive columns that lined the entrance to the temple and merely dragged her inside without ceremony.

The strong smell of frankincense pushed itself upon her and she could feel herself starting to get dizzy when her eyes fell upon the vast centrepiece of the sanctuary and washed away any other sensation from her system.

Anthea was sure she had never seen anything even remotely comparable to the ostentation right in front of her in her entire life. Its magnitude was ridiculous, despite the shocking resemblance to the original it indisputably held. She had heard of the statue before, everyone knew of it, and still she could not quite believe her eyes.

The body was built from the finest ivory and clad in a gilded robe that was splayed out across his lap and cascaded down the legs, leaving his chiseled chest on full display. They had crowned the King of the Gods with a wreath of olive sprays and made him take a seat on a beautifully ornamented throne. Anthea guessed he was almost ten times her size and if he were able to rise from his throne, his head would easily break through the roof and enable him to take a good look around. Around his feet, a massive pool collected the liquid—probably oil—that covered his whole body in an unearthly shine, his reflection doubling the effect of his divine height. 

In his right hand he held another deity which Anthea without difficulty identified as Nike, the Goddess of Victory, to symbolise his triumph in the Titanomachy and the beginning of his reign as the All-father. The meaty fingers of his left hand clutched a huge sceptre, topped off by an eagle which was flapping its massive wings. The sight caused a shiver to run down Anthea’s spine, so massive that she could feel small bumps begin to spread all over her skin.

“Do you like what you see?”

His voice was close and so heavily laced with arousal that Anthea’s heart stopped beating for a second. And when she spun around to face him, he was there, right in front of her, grinning down on her petrified form. For a moment, she could do nothing but glare at him with all her might, and still his eyes kept on shining with the full confidence of his victory. 

“I didn’t think you would have your henchman drag me here just to hear my expertise on your temple.”

As a god, and the king of his kind at that, Zeus was not used to anyone talking back at him, but it could not have been more obvious than in this very moment how much it vexed him to be denied his rightful reverence. And the punishment for that was always the same. It was just her luck she was no use to him dead and so he opted for grabbing her chin instead of her throat.

“Humor me.”

“Very well then. I think the likeness is quite true to the original. Whoever is responsible for this has done a fine job, especially the display of megalomania is excellent.”

A rush of satisfaction ran through her as Zeus could not hide the twitch in the corners of his, until now, unwavering grin. His grip on her also tightened just the tiniest bit, but apart from that he stayed excruciatingly calm, no fit of rage she had counted on.

“I see you have lost nothing of your belligerence,” he said calmly before he leaned in. His lips brushed along her cheek and ear in the process, and Anthea could not tell whether it was his scorching breath that crawled along her neck or the ferocious excitement in his voice that caused her to shudder as he whispered, “I can’t wait to see what it takes to drive the disobedience out of you.”

Sharp teeth dug into the soft flesh of her earlobe and Anthea could not suppress the whimper that forced its way out of her throat. It was followed by a guttural chuckle, a mere foretaste of what was yet to come, and still it made her stomach twist violently. It would not need his gloating and amusement upon her pain to make this the most harrowing experience of her life, and even though she knew hardly anything about the All-father, it was enough to predict that there was no need to hope for mercy once he would be alone with her.

And it seemed the King of the Gods could not wait to begin his ravage as he forced his attention away from his trophy to talk to the one who had lured her here. 

“I have to admit, you did well, son. I did not expect your return so soon. And successful at that.”

He did not wait for a reply before he reached inside his robes to pull a tiny flower to light. Anthea had never seen a plant like that before, she was sure she would have remembered those delicate, violet petals. But there had to be more to it if it was the reward Hermes was about to receive for delivering her to his father. And once again Anthea was proven right as Zeus placed it in his son’s hands with a rare display of carefulness. Hermes’ eyes flickered treacherously in the light of the young morning as he stared up at his father with such hope that it made Anthea’s heart clench for him. It did not take more than a flick of Zeus’ fingers to finally release him from his anguish and instead of the flower, the Messenger of the Gods held a young man in his arms. Immediately he clutched him to his chest, the tears he had fought so hard to push back now flowing freely.

“Krokos, my Krokos,” he sniffled as he pressed his face into the crook of the other man’s neck and as much as Anthea wanted to keep on hating him, she could not. 

“Leave now! I don’t have time for your sentimentalities.”

Zeus did not watch as the lovers did as he had ordered and hurried towards the columns that led them outside. But Anthea did, her eyes glued to Hermes and Krokos as they made their way towards safety. Oh, how she wished with all her might she could follow them, to run as far as her feet would carry her and find a way back into the Underworld, even if she had to give her life to be granted access. But the pity she found in Hermes gaze as he turned one last time before vanishing from view, reminded her more than sufficiently that the Fates had other plans with her. 

“Finally alone.” 

His teeth were bared in a grin so jubilant that it made her hand clench into a fist, ready to punch it out of his nauseating face should the opportunity present itself. But it did not. Instead she found herself dodging his advance as he reached out for her while taking a step forward. 

“Where is my father?” she snarled. There would be no reward without a bargain first.

“Your father?” Anthea had hoped that the change of topic might be just as effective as a punch to the face, but instead of wiping the haughty grin from his mug, her question only seemed to make it grow an impossible inch wider. “We both know the cripple you are talking about is not your father.”

“Hephaestus is my father in every way.” The father you should have been for him instead of getting rid of him by throwing a helpless baby off a fucking mountain, she wanted to add, but bit her tongue instead.

“In every way but one, you meant to say.”

“In every way that matters.” Her voice echoed from the high walls of the temple and Anthea used the short moment of silence that followed to make it abundantly clear that she had nothing more to say on that matter. “And now tell me where he is.”

Now it was Zeus’ turn to fall silent for a while and the longer it took him to answer her, the more she felt her heart sink. But it was only when the first grunt of amusement had wormed its way from his chest that she realised what was really going on. A trick, it had taken nothing more than a measly illusion to lure her from the one safe space in the whole cosmos, and she truly deserved the mocking fit of laughter he spat at her now. All their efforts in vain. The agony she could have prevented by simply giving herself to him on the day he had first demanded to have her. What a waste. 

“Did you really think you could run from me, kasalbas? You and your father, you must be rather delusional if you ever truly believed that you could hide yourself away from me in the Underworld forever. Or did you hope for my brother’s help? Is that why you became his whore?”

Aidon’s whore. The thought made her huff. If only the god in front of her knew that she would rather be nothing more but Aidon’s whore forever than be so much as looked upon by this…this creature.

“What is it you want, Zeus?” she hissed at him with all the venom she could muster. “Do you want me to submit to you? To surrender so you can finally do as you please? Feast your sick and twisted understanding of passion and desire on me? If it will free me of you, I will do as you wish.” She took a step closer, arms spread wide so he could help himself to what she had promised. “I will give myself to you. My body. Because that is all you can have. The rest of me will never belong to you and there is nothing you can do about it. Imprison my father? Kill him? Take everything I love from me? Do it. But know that it will only make me hate you more. I will never belong to someone who calls himself the Ruler of the Cosmos, the All-father and yet acts only to his own benefit. The god of moral conduct? Of law and order? Of justice? You’re a fraud Zeus. It couldn’t be any clearer, yet you expect my devoted worship. And you dare call me delusional.” 

“Enough!” 

He surged forward in pure rage, and Anthea did not know what had happened. All she felt was the violent ache in her back and head where they had hit the column behind her. And the vibration of his booming voice that still shook the building. The rest of the world had gone dark for a moment, tiny stars dancing before her eyes as the heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her peplos. He would conquer her body now, the plundering and pillaging had already begun, one eager hand helping itself to her flesh while the other pinned her own hands in place above her head. He was more than ready, his arousal pressing into her stomach hard and heavy and everything that remained was the urgent wish that she had fallen unconscious the second her head had hit the column in his brutal attack.

“I’m going to make you mine now, Anthea,” he grunted before his tongue darted out to leave a sticky path all the way up her neck, “consent or not. You will be mine.”

He was still far gone when he first felt it. 

In the beginning there was only warmth. Slowly it invaded his peacefully slumbering form, gently caressing the surface before it sank deeper, and then deeper still, until it settled in his very core, the warmth now pumping through him with every steady beat of his heart. 

Next came the colours. Hues of gold and rust, dancing across closed lids, creating shapes and patterns that had been long forgotten. He had banned them from his memory, the images too painful to ever think of them again. Memories from a past life that he had left behind the moment he had become the God of the Underworld. 

It was strange, the time they had chosen to resurface, but not entirely implausible. With the first spark of light that had befallen his heart in centuries, it seemed only natural that more light wanted to follow, even if it was only a faint memory. 

“Anthea.”

Her name left his lips in a whisper, the hoarse tone of his voice not able to veil all the feelings that surged through him as the memories of last night came rushing back to him. The warmth within her touch. Her scent, floral and intoxicating, making him crave more—more of her kisses, her caress, her sweet song of desire that she had sang for him so ardently.

But it was more than passion that had bound them last night. What he felt for her, words could never do justice. He could hardly believe himself that feelings like these were meant for someone like him, a creature of darkness. And yet loving her was easy. Everything was easy with her by his side, it came naturally, like the first light of morning, soft and hazy, just to burst into all colours imaginable at once. It had altered him completely, had gifted him with a hope he had buried centuries ago, as if the sun was truly shining on him for the first time. 

Would it always be like this? Every new day beginning with the thought of her? 

Hades stretched his long, sleep-drugged form, yearning arms reaching out for his beloved mortal, but all they found were ruffled sheets, the other half of the bed cold and deserted. His lids flew open, just to close again as the golden sunlight burned brutally in a pair of eyes so inured to darkness.

What in the name of the Fates? He tried again, this time carefully squinting against the brightness. One hand lifted to protect him from the blinding light, he sat up. This was impossible. And still it was real. The God of the Underworld could not recall when he had last seen the golden disc rise from the ground, but it was a sight too imposing, too elemental to ever forget. But most importantly, it was a sight exclusive to the mortal realm, never to be enjoyed on the Underworld. In his bewildered state he took a quick look around. Relief washed over him for the tiniest moment when he immediately identified the familiar features of his bedroom, but it was easily drowned out by another heavy wave of unease. 

He was up in an instant, hurriedly wrapping his form in the chiton he found at his feet. He needed to see for himself, needed to make sure he was not just delusional, and still, what he found when he finally reached the railing of the balcony, made him question his sanity all over again.

Where he had expected to find the usual rocky wasteland of his realm, there were meadows, woodlands and golden streams everywhere. Beds of flowers grew wherever his eyes went, some already beginning to climb the palace walls, their bloom seeming even more colourful in front of the dark stone.

He could have stared and marvelled at this miracle for the rest of his life, but his ears had picked up the soft patter of bare feet on the marble ground. Anthea. It must be her. His heart beating heavily inside its cage, as if it was about to jump out from all the joy it felt, he turned and in an instant it fell silent.

“Minthe?”

“My lord.” The naiad bowed lowly, eyes respectfully cast to the ground.

“What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear last time we spoke.”

“You did, my lord. You told me not to set foot into the palace again as long as the mortal was still around, and I didn’t.” 

She lifted her head, a pair of watery blue eyes gazing up at him, and the hope he found there made his heart freeze in his chest.

“What do you mean?” he pressed out between gritted teeth and when her only answer was a wry smile, he could feel something snap inside of him. He moved quickly, leaving her no chance for retreat. Furious hands grabbed her in a tight hold, shaking the gleeful nymph until her eyes went wide and her insolent grin had faded from her lips. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!”

If she knew anything—or worse—if she had done anything to harm the woman he loved, not even the Fates would be able to help her. And Minthe knew, he could tell from the way she crumbled in his hands, from the way her eyes clouded over, the fire of hope they had held extinguished at once. She was just about to open her mouth and confess, when someone else beat her to it.

“My lord.”

He knew that voice. Dark and soothing. It made him want to set the nymph down, crawl back into his bed to forget about the all-consuming panic that had befallen his heart and sleep, just sleep.

“Hypnos, this is not a good time.”

Hades refused to face the intruder, instead he kept on glaring at the naiad, whose feet had slowly made contact with the ground again.

“I know, old friend. But you will want to hear this.”

The God of the Dead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm himself down. There was no use in enraging the God of Sleep. He was too good a friend and ally, and still he needed him to understand that they would have to postpone their conversation. And so he turned to face the god. Covered as always in a grey cloak, it was hard to make out his face in the shadows of its hood. The only thing he could make out clearly was the pair of gleaming white eyes, and his matching hair that fell down his chest. The huge set of white wings that sprang from his back was crossed in front of him, an unusual sight, but Hades had no time to pay it any mind.

“Right now, all I want to know is that the woman I vowed to protect is safe.”

Hypnos sighed, and before he even opened his mouth to speak, Hades felt the last bit of hope dying inside him.

“I’m afraid she is not, my lord. Quite the opposite.” 

And with that he opened his wings to reveal another winged figure. He looked very much like his father, the only difference being, that his hair, eyes and wings were tinted in the darkest of black. Gloomy shadows engulfed him, floating around his body, veiling him and revealing his true nature all the same: Morpheus, God of Dreams and Nightmares.

“Tell him, son. Tell him what you did and hope that it won’t be too late.”

There was no time to lose. If it was true what Morpheus had so ruefully reported to him, it might as well be too late already. The thought almost too much to bare, his heart clenched violently and he had to pause his steps for a moment. Just long enough until he had mustered the strength to push it aside. But unfortunately it had provided her with the opportunity to catch up with him.

“Please, Aidon, I beg of you. Don’t risk your life! Not for her.”

He stopped in his tracks, white heat rushing through him as he turned to face her.

“Don’t you ever dare call me by that name again, Minthe, or I swear I will make do on my promise and turn you into a bloody plant. And just to be very clear about this, I will risk my life for whomever I please, without needing approval from you or anyone for that matter.”

He was about to turn again, mere steps away from the two things the needed before he could leave, when she grabbed his arm.

“But she does not love you,” Minthe almost screamed, yet under his fuming gaze her voice became nothing more than a feeble whisper, “not the way I do.” 

Hades huffed. This was ridiculous. They had already discussed this at length and now was not the time to—

“I love you, Hades, I do. I know everything about you, every little detail. I know that figs and goat cheese are your favourite food, and that darkness brings you unease. I know when you are upset, angry or happy from the way your eyes slightly change colour. I know that you sometimes sneak away to the Upperworld just to take a look at the moon, that you love the smell of soil freshly soaked with rain and the feel of Cerberus’ dark fur between your fingers. I know you, Hades. Every little thing about you.”

Minthe had fallen to her knees during her passionate speech, still holding onto him, and he could not help but see her as the dead weight she was to him in this very moment. But he knew that he was not being fair. Then again, neither was love, or life.

“It’s true. You know all these things about me, Minthe.” He found himself crouching down by her side, her chin held up by his fingers to make her face him. “But Anthea, she is the one I want to know all of these things about me. And everything else there is to know, even the darkest parts of my soul. She will know them one day, and if she still doesn’t run, then that, Minthe, that will be love.”

There was realisation in her eyes, and still, Minthe was not ready to admit her defeat. 

“How can you be so certain that she won’t runl!? How do you know she does not only see the God of the Underworld and the power he harvests? Even a lovelorn fool like you cannot deny that it is quite convenient in her situation to have a strong protector wrapped around her finger. Although this power of yours might still not be enough to defeat your brother and save her.”

Hades stood, a feeble smile on his face as he took a step back. “Maybe not. But I vowed to protect her and I intend to keep my word.”

“Even it will cost you your life?” Minthe spat, unable to hold back the tears that had threatened to fall this entire time. He knew that his honesty was cruel, but she needed to understand, once and for all, no matter how badly it hurt.

“Even it it would send me right to Tartarus for all eternity.” Minthe gasped. “I love her. There is nothing more to say on that matter.” 

He left her there, on the cold floor, silently weeping as he was finally able to grab what he had come here for. His fingers wrapping around the bident, the very symbol of his divine strength, he felt the power he wielded surge through him stronger than he usually did. He would need every last bit of it in the hours to come. But power alone would not suffice. He needed cunning as well, needed the element of surprise to stand even the slightest chance against his brother. And so he reached for the other item, a dark helmet, forged by the Uranian Cyclopses to help win the war against Kronos. Never had he believed he would ever need to use it against one of his siblings, one of the gods who had fought by his side, but times changed. And so, with a heavy sigh, Hades donned his helmet and disappeared from view. 

“Goodbye, Minthe,” he whispered, as the ether opened before him with a flick of his hand and the God of the Underworld let the waiting darkness swallow him once more.

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[mimilind]

A Magical Classmate - Part 7

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 3000

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

You are gradually coming to terms with the shocking information when you realize that Drake has the power to remove your memories of what he told you. You beg him not to.

7. Draco the Death Eater

Drake didn’t move away as you tried to soothe him, but he didn’t look any happier either. Touching him had a calming effect on yourself, however; it made him feel real and solid, a person of flesh and blood who just happened to be able to do supernatural things. 

He was still fidgeting with his wand and despite your agitated state you became curious.

“Can I try?” You poked it lightly with your fingertip, expecting a buzz or sparks, but you didn’t feel anything.

“Go ahead.”

It was made of smooth wood, and lighter than you had expected. Nothing happened when you waved it. “What were those words you said?”

“The words won’t do anything without the correct gestures – and you’d need magical ability.” He enveloped your hand with his own, guiding you through the movement. “Wingardium Leviosa.” 

Now you felt it. Your skin prickled lightly as power flared from within the wand, passing through your fingers and joining a force from Drake’s hand. The lilac rose, resuming its impossible position.

You shivered, but this time it wasn’t from fear. The magic affected you, filling you with a strange excitement. Goosebumps appeared on your arms.

He helped you cast a new spell. “Accio dragon figure.” More power flowed through your joint hands and the toy escaped his pocket. With a third spell he made it do little pirouettes around the flower. 

You could not hold back a laugh. “That is so cute.”

He did more tricks. The dragon grew and flapped its wings, and even breathed fire on the lawn. When he returned it to its normal size the burned patch of grass remained.

You looked at him as he worked. He did it so naturally and gracefully, yet in every motion he was still him. He had the same focused expression as when working through a chemistry lab or writing a report.

This was still Drake, your friend – or, much more than a friend, actually – and you couldn’t stand the thought of having to let him go. You didn’t see the reason for it, either.

“I don’t care that we are from different worlds.” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He had been smiling as he cast spells, now the clouds returned to his features. “You should; I told you I’m not a good person.”

“Stop saying that! Everything I know about you proves you wrong. You’re the nicest guy I know and I like you.”

“That’s because you only saw one side of me. Like I said, my father was a criminal… and so was I.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t believe that.”

He tensed and shrugged you off, creating a distance again. “Then let me describe it to you. Who I am. What I am.” His eyes had become angry and his mouth a hard, thin line. “There was a great war in my world, started by a wizard called Tom Riddle, though he preferred a pseudonym which I will not utter. His followers were called Death Eaters. Riddle’s basic idea was that wizards ought to rule the world and enslave all muggles – non magical people like you. Thing is, he was rather charismatic and his ideas sounded… I don’t know, I kind of fell for them. My parents had always taught me that pureblood wizards like us were above others, and I had no reason to question that. I had rarely met a muggle, but at school there were a few muggle-born wizards and witches and I looked down on them. I found them inferior. So, when I discovered my parents were Death Eaters it made me proud. But then one day my father failed a mission and ended up in prison. A horrible prison; hardly anyone survives in there.” He swallowed thickly, and when he continued his voice was toneless. “Riddle then tasked me to kill his greatest enemy – the Headmaster of my school. If I succeeded he would free my father. So I took the dark mark and joined the Death Eaters.” He rolled up his sleeve, showing you a faded tattoo on his inner forearm, a long snake slithering out of a skull.

It gave you a strange feeling of déjà vu. As if you had seen it before, though you knew you hadn’t.

“I was flattered in a way, first; I felt singled out and important.” He made a disgusted grimace. “That was before I knew what Riddle and his followers were really like. How cruel he was – and how completely mental and unhinged.” 

You traced the contours of the snake with your finger. Unlike a real tattoo, the skin was puckered along the edge of the mark.

He shivered at your touch but didn’t pull away.

“I refuse to believe you could kill anyone,” you said stubbornly.

He laughed mirthlessly. “As it were, I couldn’t, actually. I failed…”

“I knew it!”

“My failure is not an excuse; I still did horrible things. I joined Riddle knowing full well it meant I would commit murder, and though I didn't cast the killing curse, I did try to kill my headmaster indirectly with poison and a cursed necklace, but they got in the wrong hands. Two innocent students nearly died–” His voice broke and you could feel he was trembling. “And later, I was ordered to… hurt people. Torture them. I didn’t want to but I was afraid and weak so I obeyed. I probably would have been a Death Eater to this day if Riddle hadn’t been killed and we lost the war. I’m a bad person and you should stay the hell away from me.” He wiped his eyes angrily. 

Your mind was whirring with thoughts. Murder and torture… Trying to imagine Drake hurting someone was even more surreal than witnessing him casting spells.

But he had said he was ordered to; that he did it to save his father. And because he was afraid. That, you could believe. People would do the most awful things to survive, you knew that. 

You hated to see him look so miserable and began to stroke his arm again, sliding your finger over the faded mark. It struck you it must have been branded into his skin. As if he were cattle.

You didn’t want to think about how much that must have hurt.

“How long ago did you get this?” 

“A few years back.”

“Then you can’t have been old at all? Unless wizards are like vampires or elves and you’re super old but in a young man’s body…?” By now, anything seemed possible.

He smiled briefly. “No, I was sixteen.”

“You were just a boy! And had to do all those things?”

“I was almost an adult; for us the age of majority is seventeen.”

“You were a child,” you insisted. “A child soldier. Whatever you had to do was not your fault.”

“Stop. I was old enough to know better. It was my fault – and my parents’. If anyone, I blame them for spoiling me rotten and teaching me I was above everyone… Especially Father. And I also blame him for joining that maniac. Had he not been so stupid I wouldn’t have had to join either, and I won’t ever forgive him for that. Not that I can, now.” He made another bitter, joyless laugh.

“Were your mother and you sent to prison too?”

“No, only Father,” he said tonelessly. “Mum was not as active a Death Eater as him and I, and hadn’t committed any actual crimes. And at the end of the war our family switched sides; another mitigating circumstance.” Then he added, almost reluctantly. “I would still have been sentenced with Father, but they thought I had been too young to understand what I signed up for when I took the mark. So I was let off.”

You didn’t say ‘I told you so’, but thought it. 

“Father didn’t last long in that prison for a second time. When he was gone, Mum inherited the estate and as far as I know she still lives there. I have no contact with her.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t stand staying in our world when everyone knew what I had done. Everywhere I went, I’d get hateful looks. Hearing people whispering behind my back… saying I should have been punished.” He sighed. “It would perhaps have been better if I had been sent to prison. If I took my punishment and paid the price for my crimes, they would think better of me.”

“I’m so sorry.” You put your arms around him. “No wonder you are lonely.”

“Don’t be!” He sounded exasperated. “How many times must I tell you I’m no good? I don’t deserve anyone’s pity.”

Despite his outburst he wasn’t pushing you away. Rather, you felt him hugging you back. Clinging to you.

“It doesn’t matter how many times because I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true! Even when little, I was a nasty little shit. A bully at school, teasing other kids just because. Bragging about my wealth. And I despised muggles and muggle-born. Didn’t you listen to what I said about Riddle’s worldview? I would have made you a slave, unless I killed you first. If bad things happen to me, that's justified!”

It didn’t make sense. He repeatedly insisted he was a bad person, and said he had hated non-magical people, yet he went to a university in your world, and spent lots of time helping you and his other classmates. He had taken you to the opera and a ball, and earlier he even said he liked you. Somehow his words didn’t match his behavior. 

It was as if he deep down wanted you to keep making excuses for his former crimes. To convince him he was wrong about being a bad person.

You snuggled closer, pressing your face against his neck, comforting yourself as much as him. “Many children are nasty and selfish. If you realize yourself you were a bully, it means you’re sorry for what you did. It means you’ve changed. You did bad things in the past but decided to be a better person – that’s worth something.”

He didn’t reply to that.

“You’re not bad.”

“I am.” But he sounded less convinced.

“No. You have changed.”

“I tried, I guess.”

“And you succeeded. Since I met you, you have been nothing but nice to us, what was the word… muggles.”

He dropped his shoulders, finally losing part of his tension. “I wanted a fresh start… doing it right, for once. Nobody knew me here. I could make friends with normal, kind people like you. And it worked… you invited me in. I had never… I didn’t know what it felt like to have friends who liked me for me, not for who my parents were.” He paused, sounding thoughtful when he began again. ”I mean, I’ve always had people around me, and they’d do what I told them to do, and laugh at my jokes, and appear like friends, but I don’t think they ever liked me. Feared me, perhaps, and envied me most certainly. As soon as my family lost our status they disappeared.” He hugged you a little harder. ”That’s why your friendship meant so much. It felt real. But it’s been difficult to always guard my tongue, and always pretend. I wanted to be honest but I couldn’t… I can’t, or my cover will be blown. If word gets out about my powers, or the Dark Mark, then it’s only a matter of time before my old world catches up with me. I’d have to leave.” He eased your arms away from him. “And that’s why this… can’t be. That’s why you must forget this night.”

Something about the way he said it, and the way he gripped his wand purposefully, made you realize what he meant.

“A spell? There is a spell to make someone forget?”

His bleak face was answer enough. 

You grew cold despite the warming charm around you. The memory loss after the pub night! You had thought you drank so much you had blackouts, but what if he had erased some of your memories?

“Did you… do it before?”

“Once. I’m sorry. You saw the Dark Mark and I had said too much about my past. I had to. I couldn’t risk that you told someone… If it’s any comfort, you did consent to it.”

You were beginning to tremble. “I don’t want to forget what you told me tonight. I want to know the real you, with your background. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I can’t risk it.” He made a wry face and raised the wand. “Gods know it’s easy to let something slip by accident, or we wouldn’t have this conversation.”

“No.” You shook your head vividly. “I don’t consent. You heard that? I don’t consent.” You tried to take the wand but he held it out of your reach.

You stood on your knees, grappling for it, pushing him until he lay on his back in the grass. You knew he was physically stronger and could have easily withstood your attempt, instead he was strangely passive. You plucked the wand from his unresisting fingers.

He smiled sadly. “The wand makes it easier but I don’t need it.”

“Then I’ll stop you from saying the spell.” You put your palm over his mouth. 

He removed your hand. “Spells can be performed nonverbally.”

The last resistance left you and you sank down beside him. “Please, Drake.” Your voice became a sob. “We are friends. Friends don’t steal each other’s memories.”

“It’s Draco.” He cupped your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. ”Draco Malfoy.”

His eyes were so large, so unhappy. He was so close.

“Draco…” You became lost in his gaze, enthralled. He could work magic just by looking at you.

You leaned over him, gradually lessening the short distance.

He raised his head to meet you. And then your lips touched.

It was brief; only a light caress, yet brimming with feeling.

He drew your face back to him and you kissed again, closer now. His lips were soft but not too soft, molding themselves against yours. Neither of you took control; you kissed in synchrony, exploring each other as if you had all the time in the world. As if this would not be erased from your memory within moments, never to be repeated.

You stretched out your legs, half covering his body with yours, and he placed his palm on the small of your back. Holding you close.

He opened his mouth slightly; you did the same. Your tongues met. He tasted sweet like raindrops.

Bittersweet, as it were, for the memory of his taste would be robbed from you as well. 

Kissing Draco was divine. You hadn’t known it could feel this way; how intimate and emotional. How affectionate.

You never wanted to stop, and he made no indication of finishing either. You couldn’t get enough of each other. 

He rolled you over, switching positions. Kissing you and kissing you more, your breaths mingling. His hands enveloped your face and you drew your fingers through his hair. 

Your lips became sore and raw but neither of you stopped. Because if you did, this would end.

You knew he didn’t want it to end either.

You turned on your side and he followed. Lying face to face in the grass, so close he filled your vision completely. Kissing each other again and again.

”I don’t want to forget this,” you whispered between kisses. ”It’s not fair. Because you will remember…”

”How is that fair?” he returned in a low murmur. ”I will remember it and know what I’ve lost… Forgetfulness is bliss.”

”Then don’t do it.” You put a finger on his swollen bottom lip. 

“I have to. This is too… complicated. Risky. But I won’t lie, it’s tempting…” He kissed your fingertip, then planted tiny pecks on your palm. “Fuck. My self-restraint has become disastrous lately. The other time I had to remove your memories I decided to quit uni and do something else, but even that resolution failed. I couldn’t keep away. And now, I just can’t bring myself to… but I must. I really must do it, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, and I disagree. I can keep a secret.”

”Even if you kept the secret, I think it’s a bad idea. I come with a lot of baggage. You don’t need my shit in your life.”

“Isn’t that up to me to decide?”

He didn’t seem to know what to answer and lay on his back again, gaze becoming lost in the pale night sky. 

His silence lit a tiny spark of hope in you. He was considering it, you were certain about that. Weighing pros and cons. 

You rested your head on his chest and he put an arm around you, idly stroking your back. You listened to his steady heartbeat, filling your nostrils with his scent. Making the most of the moment. Waiting.

“If you told anyone about magic and wizards, I suppose I could obliviate them instead,” he said after a long while. “But are you sure you want to be with someone like me? A Death Eater and a criminal. I’m pretty messed up.”

You raised your head so you could bore your eyes into his sternly. “You are not a criminal; you were pardoned. You have changed. And I care about you. A lot. You’d have to remove half of this year from my memories for me to forget that, so you’d better get used to me!”

His lips curled up slightly and his eyes got a resigned look. You knew you’d won before he spoke. 

“Alright then. I won’t take your memories.”

A/N:

Thanks for reading! I’m super happy for feedback, don’t be afraid to share your thoughts! Do you think a bully and former criminal can change and become a better person?

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[chilly-me-softly]

Hi there! Love your work 💕 I’ve recently fell into the Son Heungmin hole so your blog is like nirvana to me. If you are still taking requests, can I request a scenario where Son cheated and Y/N has decided to forgive him but is having a hard time returning to normal with him? My husband cheated on me 3 times and I’m suffering from severe depression and anxiety. Thanks a lot in advance and please don’t bother if you are no longer taking requests. Keep shining!

Hi, first of all welcome to the family and thanks for the request, there's always a place for Sonny here. I am sorry for what you're going through, I hope you can be better with time x

-

Sonny is the classic good guy next door. He is kind, always helpful and has a good word for everyone. He is caring, very good with children and his smile would cheer up even the grumpiest person. He is respectful, rarely loses his temper and has a great talent for football.

Yes, but what if you told everyone he's not like that at all?

Sonny is a human being and like everyone makes mistakes.

Sonny is married, but he has cheated. But because of all the years and moments together you have decided to forgive him and move on with your lives. But it's not easy at all.

He was the one who told you. You thought everything was going wonderfully between you and instead he had dropped this bombshell that had turned your whole life and what you believed in upside down.

At first you didn't want to believe it, you thought you were the victim of a well-orchestrated prank. There was no way that Sonny, your Sonny, the one who made stuffed animals speak to make you laugh was also the one who had broken you in two.

But that's how it works, isn't it? You give your whole self to one person, trusting them blindly and making plans and plans for the future, and they bring you back down to earth. And it happens just like that, out of the blue, leaving you stunned.

Maybe you did it more for yourself, you didn't want to admit that your marriage was over. That you had failed. You were sure you could overcome that moment, a bump in the road to your happiness. Things work out with dialogue and time, you used to tell yourself; nothing is fixed by running away.

But somehow his good-guy image in your head had broken, he could hurt too. This was not like the time he had broken that vase you had inherited from your grandmother, so precious for the memories. It wasn't like when you had a fight because you didn't understand his family's traditions.

Still, you were proud of him. You were there when he had won the golden boot, fingers crossed from the start of the game and cheering like crazy until you lost your voice. You were there when an injury had forced him to the bench for a few weeks, ready to give him the support he needed.

There were days when everything was normal, or at least it seemed so.

It was the other days that were unbearable. The ones when he was away and you wondered if he was alone, if she was in the stands, if he had ever seen or contacted her again. You even went so far as to think if he was lying to you, but you always called yourself stupid because he was obviously going where he said you could see him from the tv.

All it took was nothing to make you remember the moment when in your kitchen at home he had confessed to you that he had cheated on you, the cup slipping from your hands shattering into a thousand pieces as well as something inside you.

And it's that something that you have to put back together if you really want to be with him and continue your life together. You have to figure out, if it is really worth it or if you are just afraid to start again. You have to make a final decision whatever it is, and to do that you have to prioritise yourself first.

"Hey you changed your mind! Are you coming with me?" the impending departure for the world cup gave you the final push.

"No Sonny" the smile on his face fades, suddenly those suitcases in front of the door scare him. "I'm going to my parents. I need to think and I can't in here, and since you're leaving too it seems like the right time"

"Just tell me you'll be back"

"That's what I need to figure it out"

"Hey no no look at me" Sonny gently places his hands on your cheeks making a slight pressure for your gazes to meet. "I love you"

"Good luck at the world cup Sonny"

Part 2

[luxaofhesperides]

the ripped map of childhood

[for orv women week day 2: lee jihye + childhood. read on ao3]

Lee Jihye doesn’t think too much about Before. 

Before the scenarios, before she met Yoo Joonghyuk, before she had blood on her hands. There’s no use in thinking about the life she lived in the Before when it’s all dead and gone anyway. She is who she is now, someone strong enough to keep surviving tragedy after tragedy, somehow lucky enough to be with people she doesn’t mind staying alive for.

But sometimes, a stray thought will catch her off guard during those rare quiet moments where they can all take a break from fighting to just breathe. 

There’s a whole list of things Lee Jihye doesn’t think about anymore. These are things she locks away in her chest, never to see the light of day again.

Things like: class study sessions in the park on the weekends before big tests; the way Na Bori used to laugh so hard she cried when they were both panicking and failing to beat the boss of a video game; her parents holding her hands as they walked through a forest on a hike; the cats that would gather in her old neighborhood to get treats from elementary schoolers.

It hurts to think about, these days, like a knife piercing her heart. Whatever life she once had, whoever she was before, it’s long gone and she’ll never get any of it back. Best to not think about it. Best to bury it with the dead and keep moving forward.

The end of the world is no time for reminiscing, after all.

Occasionally, a dream will catch her off guard. Or the scent of something from an old memory she tries not to chase down. 

Today, it’s Jung Heewon.

Just as they finish fighting off a small group of monsters that had been wandering the area, Lee Jihye hears a sharp whistle and turns to face it, ready for anything. Instead of facing off against a monster that slipped past their guard, something small and colorful flies towards her face and hits her forehead.

“You were supposed to catch that,” Jung Heewon says with a tired smile.

Lee Jihye rubs her forehead, then reaches down to pick up… candy?

“What is this?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had one of those before. They used to be everywhere.”

The colors have faded some, but it’s still a cheerful shade of red. The plastic crinkles in her fingers as she stares down at it. Distantly, she can hear the wind in her hears, the rustle of tree leaves and the faint warmth of sunlight, long since faded. 

“Fruit jelly?”

“Yeah,” Jung Heewon shrugs. “I thought you’d like something sweet. Found a few a while ago and thought you could use something nice. It’s not much, but…”

“Thanks,” Lee Jihye says, feeling numb. She can’t take her eyes off the red wrapper. 

She hasn’t seen this in what feels like forever. It’s something from Before. 

Na Bori always loved the grape flavored jellies, but Lee Jihye preferred orange. They used to split candy together, slipping little brightly colored treats into each other’s pockets, or schoolbags, or hands. 

A hand drops onto her shoulder, startling her. 

“You okay?” Jung Heewon asks, leaning down to look Lee Jihye in the eyes, concerned. She checks for injuries, then a concussion, and leans back with a frown when she finds nothing out of the ordinary. 

Her hand curls around the candy, the sound of the plastic shifting in her grip louder than thunder. “I used to get these all the time,” she says, and it’s as if she’s outside her body, listening to someone else speak with her voice. Another memory slides into place. “My grandma used to buy me boxfuls of these.”

Suddenly, she’s back in her grandmother’s house. Her grandfather had passed when she was young, barely old enough to remember him, but her grandmother has always been there. Her parents used to drop her off for weeks at a time during the summers, or when school was on break and they didn’t want to deal with her hanging off of them. 

Lee Jihye knows her parents loved her, in some way, but she knew they were disappointed in her. They wanted a good, smart daughter, and got her instead. 

But her grandmother never looked at her with disappointment. Her grandmother never wanted someone else. 

She was always happy to see her, and Lee Jihye loved going just outside of Seoul to run around the area, free of cars and tall buildings. It was heaven for a child, all that open space full of greenery, but the house she was welcomed into was always better. 

There was a bowl by the front door, Lee Jihye remembers, that her grandmother kept filled with jelly candy. 

Jung Heewon’s arm drapes itself across her shoulders, bringing her back into the present. “Should I have not given it to you?”

“No, um. It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Alright. Let’s head back, okay?”

Lee Jihye lets herself be guided back to the Industrial Complex. Jung Heewon keeps her arm around her shoulder, almost like a hug, and Lee Jihye trusts in her to get them back safely. It’s for the best, really; with all her attention locked on the candy clenched tightly in her hand, she would have tripped over her own feet five times by now.

“You know,” Jung Heewon says, conversationally, voice purposefully light, “I used to beg those candies off my mom all the time when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I would always get in so much trouble for stealing them from the pantry.”

“My parents would only get me small chocolates because they didn’t want me getting cavities.” Lee Jihye doesn’t mean to say that, but the words come out anyways. This is why she doesn’t like remembering the Before. 

She doesn’t want to think about how her parents are most definitely dead. She doesn’t want to think about how they were right when they called her a bad daughter, because not once has she tried to look for them once the scenarios began. She doesn’t want to think about her dad pressing a chocolate into her small hand every day before she left for elementary school. She doesn’t want to think about her mom always making one of Lee Jihye’s favorite foods for dinner during the week. 

She doesn’t want to cry over them anymore, when it’s all from a life long gone, for a person she hasn’t been since she killed Na Bori.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family, before.”

Lee Jihye tightens her grip on the candy just the hear the plastic crinkle beneath her fingers. “I don’t like to talk about them. They’re all dead, anyways. There’s no point.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not important to you.”

Lee Jihye just shrugs. She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so she bites her tongue and stays quiet for the rest of the walk back. 

When people begin greeting them as they enter the Industrial Complex, she plasters on a smile and heads off to hide in her room. Jung Heewon lets her go without another word, just gives her a light pat on her head before she makes for the training area just outside where Lee Hyunsung likes to spend most of his time.

Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung are probably around. She should check up on them, keep them for getting to caught up in their antics, chase away the loneliness of her memories with their company, but she can’t bring herself to face the rest of the world just yet. 

She’s the only one with these memories now. No one else will share these stories with her ever again.

Just for one night, she’ll be selfish. 

Just for one night, Lee Jihye will remember them. And when the morning comes, she’ll lock it all away and pretend it never happened.

Lee Jihye sits in the quiet of her room, opens the wrapper, and places the jelly candy on her tongue. 

Just for this moment, she pretends she’s still a child at her grandma’s house, and everything’s alright.

[armin-supremacy]

Hi! I’m back again :)! I’m sorry for coming back so soon but your like my favorite creator 😅 anyways! I would like to make fan fiction request! I don’t know if you do fan fictions but I wanted to give it a shot! So I was listening to the song golden hour by JVKE and it kind of reminded me of Mammon- so I was wondering if you could do a fan fic based off of/ inspired by the song? Just some immense fluff :)

P.S. I loved the headcanons you made for my request!

this song is amazing! thank you for requesting and thank you so much for your patience. i hope you enjoy~

golden hour

pairings: mammon x gn!reader

genre: the fluffiest of fluff

You were stunning.

And Mammon couldn't help but stare.

You walked just a tad bit ahead of the demon, basking in the ocean breeze. Giggles left your lips as you stumbled occasionally from the pull of the ocean pulling you in. It was when you turned to speak to him that his breath really hitched. The sun's glow hit your silhouette just right, creating a golden hue on your body. Your smile, so pure and genuine, graced him.

It felt like he was back in heaven. His own little haven of you and just you alone.

How did he get so lucky? He couldn't help the wonder as he watched you hurry over to him, grabbing his hands gently in concern.

"Mamms? Are you alright?" you questioned. "You look a bit spaced..."

He couldn't resist. It was a moment he couldn't let pass away.

One Mammon wanted to burn into his memories.

Instead of a spoken answer, Mammon pulled you into him. You were more than willing to let him capture your lips.

The kiss you shared was sweet. It was warm and gentle. Not a typical kiss you received from your beloved, but a cherished one when it was given.

A hum slipped out as Mammon's arm wrapped around your waist, the other coming to rest on your cheek. But alas, you needed to come up for air. Your eyes searched Mammon's once you parted, your cheeks burning in a flush.

Mammon flashed you that familiar grin, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

"No...you were just being all cute.." you said, slowly backing away.

"Huh? Where ya going, MC?"

Every step back, Mammon took forward. Quickly, you turned and took off. Mammon's laugh mingled with yours, echoing along the shore. It didn't take long for him to catch up to you, picking you up effortlessly from behind.

You immediately caught onto his antics.

"Mammon no!" You protested. "I don't have a change of clothes-"

Too late. With one final laugh to escape, the two of you plummeted into the water. When you surfaced, you were prepared to scold the demon. But you stopped yourself.

Mammon looked so....happy. Like he could let loose like he wanted.

Like he was safe and secure.

Though he was your boyfriend, you were still pulled and dragged off by his brothers. So this trip was a special one for the both of you. Something your relationship needed.

"Mamms?"

The demon calmed down his laughs, giving you a quick 'ya?' in response.

His eyes followed you as you neared him, carefully wrapping your arms around his neck. "I love you. Truly."

You said this to him every night. He's heard those words too many times to count.

But they never failed to make his eyes slightly mist.

How did he ever get so lucky?

He was scum. A theif. A low life in the eyes of everyone in the Devildom.

But to you?

Mammon was more. And you made sure he knew that. "Love ya too, human."

His tone was soft, almost a whisper, just barely. A rare persona that was for you and you only.

And you cherished it.

~

That night, Mammon laid awake. He was careful not to wake your sleeping figure next to him.

He sent texts back and forth in the group chat with his brothers, updating them on what the two of you have done thus far.

"Our Mammon. Who would've thought he'd fall this hard for a little human-"

Asmodeus. Always a teaser.

Mammon quickly said his goodbyes and set his phone to the side.

He turned to his side, facing you. Gently, his finger lifted up to your face. In a daze, he began to lightly trace your features.

He froze as you stirred for a moment. A small breath left him as you settled. Then he got to thinking.

Fall for you?

Yes, he loved you. But he'd never FALLEN before.

Was there a difference?

He thought you were the most beautiful human he's ever met, both inside and outside. Surely everyone else did as well.

He knew his brothers did. Weather platonic or romantic.

You were kind, genuine. Despite your hardships in the Devildom, you pushed through.

You paid attention to him and his brothers. You knew what they liked, what they didn't. You knew how to provide help in almost every situation thus far.

You helped them rekindle with Belphegor.

And more importantly, you saw each of them past their sins. Something nobody had really tried to do.

Each factor hit Mammon like a brick.

You stirred once more, only this time you opteded to curl into Mammon in your slumber. You sighed in content, breathing slowing to a steady rhythm.

Yes. There was a difference.

He was smitten. He had definitely fallen for you.

Mammon had fallen so deeply for you. And even more so.....

He didn't mind.

~~~~~~

ahhhhhhhh ajfjjsjfjand how'd I do? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

[villainessprefect]

title: try to keep it hidden, honey we can see right through you

summary: "Yes! I- No! Ugh!" Idia groans and pulls up the hood of his jacket. That should help. "You're only distracting because I like you! And losing to the one I like would be super uncool, okay? I'd lose points!"

He blinks.

Ah.

His blood runs cold.

Did he really just say all that aloud?

ship: Idiazul

word count: 1,929

Read on AO3!

The silence shared between them is never considered bothersome, especially when shared in the club room. It means the other members have left while he and Azul are granted some privacy over their latest game. This one involves trying to cover an entire board with their selected color with limited and oddly shaped blocks. It lacked chance and relied on reading your opponent.

Would you take the chance to block their movement or concern yourself with gaining more area?

"Come now, Idia, you shouldn't have that hard of a time making a decision," Azul smirks as he awaits his club member's turn to pass.

"I don't rush you on your turn..." He mumbles. Maybe he does edge him and gloats when he believes he has the upper hand, but he's kind enough not to rush his opponent. Time limits are a pain, he knows this well, so he doesn't mind if Azul drags out his turn whenever he starts calculating a way to victory. Besides, it gives him a chance to see if he can outthink him. Rare, but possible in a board game.

In this game, he feels the checkmate coming his way. They upped the difficulty by having each player use two colors instead of one. It allowed for a more interesting game. You could allow one color to gain momentum, stealing half the board while your opponent was concerned with your other color, or have one dominate a quarter of the board. To win, you would need to paint the board in both colors as much as possible.

And it seemed Azul had picked up on the trick to this game fairly quickly. Idia's red had been blocked by Azul's yellow, which was also slithering into his blue territory. Azul's green had covered enough ground on its own, but he had to be greedy and start spreading into his domain, didn't he?

"Tch." He clicks his tongue as he places an L-shaped blue block down.

Glowing yellow eyes glance up from the board to spot Azul's smug grin unchanged. Ah- shit. Wrong move? No, Azul wouldn't give away anything while he's in the lead. How he managed to not react over his move is beyond him.

Azul, the charming bastard, quickly puts down his weirdly shaped yellow piece without a care in the world. As expected, this stops Idia's blue from expanding into his territory.

"I saw that one coming..." He sighs.

"Then you should have prevented it."

"If I did, then you would have just pushed with green. I know you like to limit my movements anyway." Idia hums. "The last thing I want is hearing you rub it in my face that you beat me at another game."

Maybe he should have gone with another game that involved chance. One that he had a fair chance at winning before Azul found a way to control or tip the odds in his favor. Although, it was amusing to see his face fall whenever his tricks failed and landed him in a bad spot. Like rolling an odd number and losing all of his money and getting sent to jail! Oh, Idia would never forget the crushed look on his face when that happened. The mere memory makes his lips curl upward without knowing it.

"You don't seem that bothered by my guaranteed victory," Azul comments. "Unless you're planning something?"

"Huh?" He blinks, becoming aware of his smile. He bites down on his lip and raises a hand to shield his mouth. A faint pink dusts his cheeks and he hopes that's hidden with his jacket's sleeves.

'Ugh. Can't get distracted by his pretty face now. Gotta not think about that and think about kicking his ass! Win now, fantasize later! I mean- gah!'

He runs a hand through his hair to kick out those stupid thoughts. Focus on the game and not Azul!

"Why'd you have to be so distracting...?" He breathes out.

"Pardon?"

"Ah-! I-I mean...I'm thinking!" Idia yelps out as his heart races. There goes his big mouth. He was dangerously close to spilling words that should never leave his thoughts. He hated how relaxed he was around Azul. Not in a bad way. It's nice to let his guard down and speak almost like a normie, but...sometimes he felt too comfortable. Which didn't help his heart one bit.

He'd like to keep things as they are between them anyway. He finally has someone he could call a friend and losing that would...suck. Big time. It would be game over forever for him. Though it never hurts to think that something could happen...right?

He peeks a look over to Azul. The other is sitting with his legs crossed and eyes down at the board. He sits with his back against the chair, hand pressed against his chin. Fingers attempt to hide that winning smile, but Idia can easily see it. His confidence spoke volumes in his pose alone and Idia wished he could exert the same energy instead of being hunched over like a gremlin. Then blue eyes flicker to meet with his yellow.

Idia immediately looks down. God, he hopes he wasn't caught staring!

"Am I still distracting you?"

God. Dammit. He was!

"Yes! I- No! Ugh!" Idia groans and pulls up the hood of his jacket. That should help. "You're only distracting because I like you! And losing to the one I like would be super uncool, okay? I'd lose points!"

He blinks.

Ah.

His blood runs cold.

Did he really just say all that aloud?

Idia doesn't have it in him to even spare a look at Azul. He's probably looking at him like he's trash, which is fine because he is. Stupid trash that doesn't know when to shut up!

"Idia...?"

"Y-You heard nothing! Wipe everything from your m-memory banks!" Idia shouts as he gets to his feet, hitting the table as he does. He's definitely losing more cool points now if he even had any left to spare after that poor confession.

He does his best to hide his growing red face to spare Azul the sight of his embarrassment. He feels his hair heat up and has a feeling the tips are changing color to match his cheeks. At least some of it is covered by his hood, but not all.

"I-I- Ortho needs me, yeah! So, uhh, GG, Azul!"

Idia practically stumbles out of the club room, nearly tripping and falling and making an even bigger fool out of himself. He ignores his name being called and focuses on running home. He doesn't care if people are staring for once, he just has to go to his room and disappear. Forever.

When he does reach the dorm and finally his room, he collapses onto his bed. He takes in heavy breaths and grips a hand over his chest. It stings and he can't tell if it's from the burst of adrenaline or from the fear of confessing to his crush.

"I did not just say that I did not just say that I did not just...!" He repeats while curling up into a ball. He feels tears pricking at his eyes and a disgusting sob bubbling in his throat. He must really look pathetic.

Even as he tries to keep his mind off Azul, he can't help but think of him. He wonders what he's doing. Probably had to clean up after he had left in a hurry. Then he's probably going to go to his dorm and work and go about his day as if nothing happened. He flawlessly helps other students, unlike him who wouldn't move for the rest of the day. Idia wishes he could help him out. If only he wasn't the source of his current problem!

"I'm going to miss hanging around him..." He mutters. Azul was a rare one. He actually didn't mind Idia's tangents, and never once did he tell him to stop. Sometimes, he'd even inquire more! Plus he was into board games! It may not be digital, but a game is a game after all. He'd also learn a thing or two from playing with him, picking up on new strats that translated fairly well into some other games.

Idia lets out a long sigh. "Mm...still got some dailies to do..."

It should help distract him from all of, well, this. But he doesn't have the energy to drag himself out of bed and into his chair. Maybe he'll just stay here for a while.

But his peaceful moment comes to an end when there's a knock at his door.

"Eh? Ortho?" He calls out, assuming it would be his brother. No one else came to his room nor did he want anyone else to. Especially not now. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well-"

"It's me, Idia."

"Eek!" Idia jumps, immediately sitting up in bed. He pulls the blankets up with him, hiding underneath them.

"A-Azul?!"

"Yes," he answered from beyond the door. "I've come to...check on you."

"N-No need! I-I'm fine! Err forget what I said before wh-when I thought you were Ortho! I'm at f-full health!" He stammers out.

"I find that hard to believe."

Idia gulps.

"I just...wanted to inquire about what you said earlier." Azul continues. "I'd like to know if you meant it or not."

Idia falls silent and his grip on his blankets tightens.

He could admit to it, again. If he did it once, a second time would be easier, especially now that he had a door between them. He wouldn't have to deal with catching a look of disgust or disappointment in his gaze from admitting his feelings. Not that he’s sure if he had done so the first time. It’s better not knowing in his case.

"...If I did?" He asks, just loud enough so he’s sure that Azul could hear. "I-It doesn't matter though. Y-You're too top-tier for someone like me. Go on and l-laugh and reject me! I didn't even make a proper confession..."

"Can you at least open the door?"

"No."

"I figured..." Azul sighs. "Very well. I won't laugh or reject you, Idia. While your confession was surprising, I...am touched by it." He clears his throat. "I'd never guessed you'd feel that way about me. I'm glad the feeling is mutual."

"...wha?"

Idia blinks, staring at the door. This isn't some twisted joke, is it? No, no. Azul isn't the type for something like this. Maybe one of the eels, but not him. Still, he can hardly believe what he's hearing. Did his route that leads to doom actually lead to a good ending instead? How did he dodge that ending?

"If it's too much for you right now, I do hope I can see you tomorrow for our usual club meeting? We can discuss this more when you're ready."

"Y-Yes!" Idia blurts out and internally curses. He hates sounding like a giddy schoolgirl and agreeing to that immediately. He was still processing the fact that Azul liked him back and how he didn't mess up a friendship at all but got one better! Or supposed to be better. They hadn't officially said they were a couple yet.

"Then, I'll see you tomorrow, Idia."

He listens to the sound of heels clicking against the ground grow further and further away. Then, he lets his body fall to the bed. His hair immediately bursts into a fiery pink. A burst of nervous laughter escapes from his lips.

"I never thought I'd survive a confession," he breathes. "...n-now what?!"

[folklorianhaze]

Got a lot of writing done today, so I thought I'd post a preview of a multi-chapter fic I've been working on! This one has been a HUGE undertaking; it's probably the biggest story I've worked on before, as well as my first attempt at a mystery. It's a steampunk-ish/noir Feysand AU where Feyre's family gets kidnapped by some shady faeries, and enlists the help of Rhysand (a detective who's been shirking his political duties back home) to help find them.

Look for chapter one of City of Strangers on AO3 very soon! (Not going to give an exact date because I don't want to put pressure on myself lmfaooo but I'm almost done editing!!)

Here's a little scene from chapter one that I had a lot of fun writing, between Rhys and Mor!

“Don’t you ever get tired of all that reading?”

Before Rhysand could respond, a golden hand — with fingernails that gleamed wine-red in the low light of his office — shot out and smacked the top of the precarious stack of books and papers atop his desk.

With the sort of world-weary sigh that could only hint at how many times such an exchange had passed between them, Rhys’ gaze traveled from the hand all the way up the length of arm attached to it, until at last his eyes met those of his cousin’s. And Morrigan, he noted with no small degree of exasperation, looked none too pleased with him this evening.

That is, she rarely looked pleased with him at all, but today the expression on her face happened to feel particularly threatening.

“Dearest Mor,” Rhys said, a smirk touching the corners of his mouth. “What, dare I ask, has put you in such a charming mood this evening — and to what do I owe the honor of being its recipient?”

“They’re asking about you again,” was her flat response. She crossed her arms. “Wondering when you’ll bring an end to these . . . charades of justice, I believe Keir called it.” Even she couldn’t help the soft snort of laughter that punctuated her sentence.

“Hm. I never took your father to be the poetic type.”

“It’s easy for you to be so flippant,” Mor said, lifting a hand to massage her temples. “It’s me they run to when you’ve done something to upset them like this. All of them squawking like hens about the ruination you’re bringing down upon the family and so on.” She sighed. Shook out her mane of blonde hair as if it could clear the unpleasant day from her memory. “You might at least consider giving them some idea of when you’ll be back.”

“I told them I’ll return as soon as I feel my work is done here,” said Rhys. “That’s not enough of an idea for them?”

“That was six months ago, Rhys.”

“So Keir has learned to count! How delightful. I suppose we’ll have to get him started on spelling soon enough.”

Mor rolled her eyes, but he caught the twinkle of amusement on her face. Something in his chest twisted guiltily at the sight of it; she did have a point, about it being far easier for him to treat matters involving their noble family with such lightness. She was the one who’d been enduring those insufferable people for the past six months while he’d been here, chasing this vision of his. This endeavor that so many had — perhaps rightfully, in some ways — called foolish. The least he could do would be to make these dealings with her father as painless for her as possible.

But when he thought of the path that had brought him here in the first place . . . when he thought of the future his family — his people — might not even be afforded if he should fail in this . . . he couldn’t simply turn his back on it. He’d never been a man who abandoned the things he started, and more often than not it seemed to work to his detriment. But this time . . . this time, he was determined for things to be different.

Perhaps it made him selfish. Perhaps it made him a monster. But he’d become whatever he needed to be in order to see this through to the end.

“I can’t give up,” he admitted at last, the words leaving him in barely a whisper. “You know I can’t, Mor. Not yet. Not when I’ve gotten so close.”

Her expression softened; turned into something that, for a moment, felt uncomfortably close to pity. Rhys wasn’t sure whether or not he hated that more than he would have if she’d simply gotten angry with him again. He’d rather have fury than be looked at like that. Like . . . like on some level, yet again, he’d failed his cousin. He’d failed to be what everyone needed him to be at all times.

“You could be wrong, you know,” she said at last — speaking softly, slowly, as if comforting an irrational child. “About all this. There’s a chance that you might never find what you’re looking for. What if it’s all for nothing?”

“It’s not,” was all he could say, even as he hated the lack of logic in it. “I know it’s not.”

[travelingneuritis]

kinnporsche ep. 5: Paying For Sex

-”what happened to me?” porsche wakes up decidedly sober, confused about last night and very aware that he’s naked in porsche’s bed with a newly-broken-in ass; it looks to me like he’s running the same arithmetic as he did last night but arriving at a different answer now that his system is no longer swimming with mind-altering substances. And kinn just sits there not looking at him and tells him, “we got there in time. they didn’t do anything to you.” guys it HURTS

-kinn has that loaded poolside chess match with korn, and korn activates him like a sleeper agent. in an instant he goes from offering porsche another day off to remorselessly torturing him in front of his peers. korn really has kinn’s number huh

-watching porsche crawl is awful. watching kinn humiliate him in front of big & ken is awful. watching big & ken taunt him is awful. for once his fuckup wasn’t a deliberate prank or attempt to push boundaries, but he’s getting punished like it was. but the absolute worst is watching him dissociate in the bathroom afterward, obsessing over fractured memories of warmly-lit, slow-mo sex with his boss, trying (and wretchedly failing) to make those memories go away.

-and then for pete to come in and kindly, gently inform him that this was inevitable, because people are already gossiping about his string of failures: kinn had to do something to regain control of the situation, just like kinn had to publicly choke him out after he pushed macau into the koi pond. that’s right, a traumatic event porsche hasn’t even begun to process is now gossip fodder for people who hate him and think he’s useless! and then the invitation to “party” with tankhun and his crew-- aka, to be their entertainer for the evening when he’s already feeling like this. i’d be trying to eat my lighter too.

-”if I’m not allowed, i won’t go.” even after being shown cruelty and humiliation while he was at an excruciating low point, he still instinctively reaches out to kinn to save him from something he doesn’t want to happen. on the surface, this doesn’t really make sense: kinn has by far been more unkind to porsche than kind; he routinely humiliates or embarrasses him and makes him feel like an idiot (sometimes deservedly, sometimes not). why does porsche keep doing this? why does he compulsively reach out to kinn when his teasing or friendly overtures are so overwhelmingly met with open disdain?

I think it’s because, as hot and cold as kinn may blow, foundationally he has provided porsche with something vital that he hasn’t had for a long time, maybe since his parents died: kinn solves porsche’s problems. the bad men came to hurt his family and extort an unpayable sum from them, and porsche appeared with room and board + the means to provide for chay and keep their parents’ house. on an earlier job, kinn was the one who pushed porsche out of the way of a bullet that hit his arm instead his heart, & kinn was the one who appeared out of the drugged mist and brought porsche up to a room that was private and safe, then stayed with him all night. These aren’t healthy examples of “providing safety”-- kinn is the reason the threats against porsche’s family escalated so suddenly (not that porsche knows that) and kinn’s version of “a safe place to come down from being poisoned” is a bathroom where he then fucks his drugged employee. but i can see how, for someone with porsche’s specific set of life experiences and expectations, both of these constitute rare and precious advocacy. 

which is pretty heartbreaking, but even more fascinating. the fact that he went from poisoned, vomiting and terrified in a stranger’s room to being lovingly held and doted-on in kinn’s room must’ve put the final nail in his imprinting on him. there were multiple moments in the bathroom scene where kinn physically caught a falling porsche (bitching about it all the while), and if that’t ain’t emblematic of their dynamic i don’t know what is. so when porsche says, “if i’m not allowed i won’t go [to the bar w/tankhun]”, what he’s really saying is: “i feel vulnerable and unhappy, and i want you to save me from this thing i’m afraid will hurt me, just like you’ve done before.”

and of course kinn brushes him off. this kills me.

-at the bar, yok sets him up with another horny customer, and this time he can’t follow through. he just keeps replaying the night with kinn in his head. even drugged and shaking from his horrifyingly close call, he still felt safer & more connected to kinn than he ever has with any of these hum bar hookups. & if his sex noises are any indication, he’s really not used to being petted, gratified, and sexually indulged (reading between the lines, i’d say kinn isn’t used to being the one who offers those things in bed either). kinn spent like 20 minutes on his left nipple alone. they luxuriated in being naked together; they spent long stretches just kissing and feeling each other up. i really don’t think porsche knew sex could be like this. no wonder he can’t focus on the panting stranger in front of him-- which of course only makes him feel worse.

-vegas showing up flaunting his brightly-colored plumage. am i aware that vegas was the one who had porsche drugged and then sexually threatened him while he was out of it? duh. are these two profoundly, upsettingly hot together? YES GODDAMMIT. i don’t ship them or anything but this toxic flirtation is very truly doing it for me

-according to reddit (so, whatever. lol), the reason vegas has a really nuanced and idiomatic accent for his english lines is because that’s wichapas sumettikul’s first language. however i have decided to hc that vegas learned english as a matter of general theerapanyakul business-class education, but went out of his way to master it so he could sound effortlessly sleazy in two languages instead of one.

-do we think porsche is kinda digging vegas? he does walk away from their moonlit joyride beaming and glowing, following a very touchy-feely conversation and several lingering hugs. personally, i think he’s just high off the feeling of having someone do something nice for him, tell him they’re there for him, and offer him physical comfort. his last few days have been hell, and vegas is being nice to him right now. then he goes and (ugh! compulsively!) seeks reinforcement from the person he really wants to be offering him rides, and gets a gun pulled on him for his troubles. he even nerves up to say (in words!) that what kinn did hurt him, and when that gets him no fucking joy he’s even willing to settle for some emotionally-unfulfilling comfort of the sexual kind. kinn just acts like a raging bitch before snootily demoting him. i very sincerely hate kinn in this moment; but by this point porsche is well and truly hooked, so all i can hope is that kinn yanks his head out of his small intestine and mans up before he breaks this poor boy for good.

-even for the sake of this ep’s analysis i can’t force myself to watch the cute, awkward musical interludes b/w kim and chay. i’m sorry. i did skim them though, and watched the parts where kim is manipulative because those are fun. i can’t tell if kim is a master manipulator or if chay is just a supremely easy target.

-from these glimpses of kim’s character, we see that he’s: underhanded, nosy, got a good poker face, quick-thinking, mentally organized, self-interested, independent, smooth-talking, and clever enough to hide his incriminating connect-the-dots corkboard under a gigantic photo of himself that is so cringe he knows no one will ever dare to look behind it. i’m starting to like the kid?

-on my first watch of the show, porsche’s poolside convo with korn made me very much like: “wow the mafia is so nice in bl shows, he’s such a jolly, avuncular old guy! he’s giving him PTO! i don’t even have PTO!” on second watch... LMAO

esp. after his parallel chat/chess game with kinn yesterday, i do think korn is like. lowkey expecting porsche to act in a more predictable manner, as one of kinn’s spurned lovers? he’s moping around looking pathetic & sad, much the way we’ll later see tawan do when he’s trying to get back in with kinn. korn gives him a kinda generic “own up to your mistakes and fix them,” maybe meaning to imply that porsche was at fault either for sleeping w/ kinn or for catching feelings. but when porsche’s response is to ask to go home and take care of his brother (implying either that it was a mistake to transfer the care he owes his brother to this messy, undeserving family, or else that the only way to fix his mistakes is to regain equilibrium in the safety of his home and family), korn looks surprised and thoughtful. maybe i’m reading too much into it, but i think this is not the conversation he was expecting to have. 

ETA: in the next ep’s recap, porsche asking korn if he can take care of someone else is translated differently, in a way that implies he’s just asking to be reassigned. but the way the scene w/ korn ended with him asking to take care of someone else, then cut to him at home, taking care of chay, sort of supported my initial interpretation. so i’m not sure. either way, korn is taken off-guard.

-i love the montage of porsche and chay living comfortably under one roof again. no notes

-i’m still trying to figure out how much of pete’s apparent cluelessness re: kinnporsche is a put-on, but the wide-eyed way he tells his boss “if it weren’t for porsche’s traumatic poisoning and subsequent spirit-breaking punishment, i’d think he was heartbroken! lmao crazy right??” does sort of lend credence to the theory. at any rate, that’s how kinn seems to take it.

-back at casa kittisawasd, kinn is forced to sit through his own funeral and finds he does not care for the eulogy. unlike pete, porsche’s other friends aren’t diplomatic about handing him his ass. so then porsche is forced to once again stress about whether he’s gonna get fired, and kinn surprises him by... playing along? and being kinda chill? like, gritting his teeth the whole time, but... chill for him.

-”your coworker seems so dull.” porsche, remembering how kinn rocked his world then pulled a gun on him (metaphorically) then pulled a gun on him (literally): 😬

-the SECOND porsche’s friends leave he just comes out and bluntly asks kinn why he’s here, and kinn just as bluntly starts to chew him out for leaving, before remembering pete’s advice and dialing it back. i think it’s interesting (though not surprising) that his instinct is to engage with porsche on a fairly level field-- bicker with him, lust after him, tsk at his nonsense. it’s when he’s acting/thinking of himself as a representative of theerapanyakul llc. that he turns high-handed, icy and cruel. it’s only now, in the middle of a frustrating argument after an uncomfortable dinner, that porsche gets his answer to the question “do you want me back”: faced with the prospect of porsche’s resignation, kinn outright begs. 

but now, after all the bullshit kinn put him through, porsche is finally not in the fucking mood to be won over. not even when he gets what must be rarer than gold, an actual honest-to-god apology from le Dauphin Theerapanyakul. 

-aaaaaand then some guys with guns show up and i mostly tune out, although i do tune back in during the car chase to make note of porsche taking advantage of their captors’ distraction to grab someone’s gun and ruin their night. i don’t know if i mentioned yet but i like the stunt choreo in this show; it tends to be serviceable but pretty solid, and you usually get to see actions from beginning to end instead of a bunch of shaky closeups to imply momentum without having to like, film an actual fight. and the pacing on the fights is a WELCOME RELIEF after all the wuxia i’ve been watching. this might just be a genre thing, but it’s nice :)

this got long. in my defense: have you seen this show.