#one is in universe and one is out of universe

[anonf1writer]

the reaction after he stands up for his family — single parent universe

second part to this.

text au. ig post. 2k words. drivers: max, charles, oscar and lando.

note: i promised there would be a second part, and here it is. i tried something different, so i hope i didn’t disappoint (although i have the feeling already this wont be everyones cup of tea, so im sorry in advance!).

thank you to everyone who sent requests that led me to create this cute universe. ive had the greatest time with it, and i know it wouldnt have happened without your ideas. so thank you ❤️

──────────────────

MAX

First, came the soft click of Oliver’s bedroom door, and then the lazy thump of Max’s feet making his way back to you. 

Leaning your side against the kitchen counter, you knew a conversation was coming. From the moment you heard the question and turned the TV off, to the moment Max arrived home with a smile on his face, you knew it wouldn’t be something either of you could ignore. 

“Fucking hell,” he murmured as soon as he stepped into view, both hands running up and down his face. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted to punch someone’s stupid face this fucking much.”

You pressed your lips together and shifted on your feet, stepping away from the counter. This was the first moment alone the two of you had gotten after the race, the first moment without a little boy demanding attention, and the first moment Max was finally letting it all out. The anger, the frustration, the disappointment. So you didn’t want to shush him. You didn’t want to tell him he shouldn’t be cursing and swearing right now, that he should be careful, that he should think before he spoke. It didn’t seem fair to him, especially after he had clearly tried his best to put on a fantastic show in front of your son. 

“Did you watch it?” he asked, voice closer than before.

You nodded, removing the whistling kettle from the hob and stepping towards the empty mugs. “Just saw the video. We were watching it live on TV, but I turned it off as soon as I noticed what was happening.”

“Shit.”

“Oli didn’t hear a thing tho, don’t worry about it.”

You took your time filling the first mug, watching how the tea bag floated and swayed in the water, then eventually sank into the bottom. 

“They were so out of line,” Max said, his voice a quiet whisper in the bright kitchen. “I can’t believe that question even crossed their minds.” 

“I know…” 

“But I caught his name,” Max added. “And I had a meeting with the team as soon as I called the interview off. I’ll make sure that guy doesn’t get a fucking word from me anymore.”

You nodded again, and poured boiling water into the other mug. His mug. 

A moment went by before you felt him. Before he wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, and pressed his chest against your back. 

“You ok?” he asked, voice low and too close to your ear. 

You placed the kettle back in place and nodded, one hand resting on his forearm and the other reaching to touch his face. 

“Yeah…” you said, your body instantly leaning into him. “I’m just… I hate that you had to go through that.”

Max nodded, his facial hair brushing your skin as he moved to kiss your palm. Once, and twice. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “For putting you two in this position.”

At that, you frowned. You dropped your hand and shifted on your feet, turning to properly face him. 

Max’s exhaustion was written all over him. But there was also worry there. Maybe a little bit of fear, too. 

“Hey,” you said, hands cradling his cheeks, eyes firm inside his gaze. “Don’t be silly. What you did for us was amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The way you stood up for us… The fact that you won’t let anyone speak about our son like that… That’s what I care about.” 

He sighed, then leaned in. Forehead resting against yours while he closed his eyes. 

“Our son,” he repeated, like he was savouring the words. 

“Mhmm…” You nodded, slightly. Just for him to feel the movement face to face, skin to skin. “It was really hot, y’know? To see you like that…”

Max smirked. Eyes staying close while he listened to you.

“The way you talked about us… How you got all worked up… When you said ‘that kid is mine’?” You sighed. Loudly than you normally would. Your hands moving down to his neck, shoulders, then back to cradle his face. “And then when you stormed off… Damn you, Max.”

A low, amused chuckle escaped from his chest, his whole body shaking lightly against you. “I should’ve figured you’d like that.”

“You should, yeah…”

You leaned in, then. Your lips barely meeting his before you pulled back again.

Max reacted instantly, taking a step forward and fully pressing you onto the counter, his feet slotting between your legs. “Hate teasing,” he murmured, already crashing your mouths together for a much needier kiss. 

You smiled, his lips barely giving you any time before he was capturing them again. 

And again. 

And again. 

──────────────────

CHARLES

──────────────────

OSCAR

──────────────────

LANDO

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Lando said, leaning against the handrail and watching Olivia run around the synthetic grass of the paddock. Just like you had been doing for the past ten minutes or so. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said. “They were the ones who crossed the line.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” you said, curling your lips into a smile just in case someone was watching you. “Like I said, it wasn’t your fault. That’s not up for discussion.”

Next to you, Lando sighed. Loudly. 

You heard it, you felt it. 

His unhappiness with your answer.

So you shifted on your feet, crossed your arms on your chest, and kept your eyes ahead as you said, “You stood up for her. That’s what matters to me. I wish these things didn’t happen at all, but it’s not up to us. We can’t control what others say or do, but we can control how we react to it. And the way you reacted… That’s how I want it to be. So as long as you stand up for her, just like you did today, then you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

For a moment, Lando didn’t talk. Didn’t move. Didn’t react. He just stared ahead, focusing on the little girl that had everyone’s attention as she distributed papaya-unicorn stickers all around. And then, when you thought he would finally speak up, he just coughed and looked away. As if taking a break to organize himself before returning his gaze back to her. 

To your daughter. 

Yours, and his. 

“Should we go inside?” you asked. “Talk inside?”

He shook his head. “She’s having fun… I just… I wanna watch her for a while.”

You nodded, but your heart skipped at that, and you couldn’t help but sigh and take a step closer to him. Unwillingly. Without thinking. 

Elbow almost, almost touching his arm. 

Lando’s whole body stiffened. 

He stretched his legs, straightened his back, and pulled his arms closer to his sides. 

And the tiniest gasp left his mouth. 

Once again, you couldn’t help yourself—you snorted, bringing your hand to cover your mouth and lowering your chin to look down at your feet.

“What?” he asked, quietly. But you could hear the smile in his voice. The amusement. Growing just like yours.

“Shut up,” you said, muffled behind your hand. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

Shaking your head, you held back your laughter and looked up, eyes meeting your oblivious daughter. Happy and full of energy amidst so many strangers. 

You dropped your hand back down to cross your arm around your chest, and after a beat, you murmured, “I can already imagine a video going viral…”

You caught the way he nodded. 

Neither of you ever facing each other.

But keeping the conversation for only the two of you to hear. 

“Lando Norris avoids contact with his girlfriend,” he said. 

And then, you cackled. Dropping your head back and laughing to the sky while bringing both hands to cover your mouth. 

Next to you, Lando chuckled as well, albeit not as hard. The soft sound making its way to you and adding extra warmth to your already heated cheeks. 

He waited until you had calmed down before speaking again, the playfulness hinted in each syllable of each word. “Little do they know… All along, I’m the one who’s been deprived of love.”

“Oh my God,” you grunted and laughed. A mix between disbelief, but also joy. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Dramatic? Please. I’m just a boy… Standing next to a—”

You gasped and turned your body, leaning onto your side so you could face him. 

“—a girl… Asking her to hold my hand.”

“Lando…”

“Or give me a hug.”

“You do not get to quote my favorite movie back at me.”

He shook his head, eyes still fixed ahead of him. “Just anything,  really.” 

You pressed your lips together and turned back to Olivia, a sigh leaving your chest while you watched her engage in a conversation with some other kids she had met earlier that day. 

“You know that’s not how it works.”

Lando, on the other hand, simply smirked to himself.

“What I know is that you won’t love me in public.” 

“Because you get way too handsy!” you reminded him. “And you don’t know how to kiss me in public. You always end up going for a full make out session. Why is it so hard to keep it simple?”

“Because it’s you!” he laughed. “Can’t help it if you’re irresistible!”

“Yeah, well…” You shrugged. “If you can’t help it, then we stick to my rules.” 

“Fine.” 

“No PDA.”

“I know.”

“That’s all.”

“Yep.”

You sighed. 

He sighed. 

Max and Pietra stepped out of hospitality, both of them stopping to chat with Olivia before she pointed straight at where you were. Lando’s best friend looked at you and nodded with understanding, meanwhile his girlfriend waved and lowered her weight to get Livie’s attention. 

You knew, from that on, that Max and Pietra would keep an eye on her. That they would stay around and give you two a chance to take a little break, like they usually did. 

“I never thought I could get so mad at someone,” Lando blurted out. So out of nowhere that you needed to blink a couple times to make sense of it. “I’m watching her right now and it’s just… Look at her… She’s the cutest child around here… She’s kind to everyone… Makes everyone laugh… Always has the funniest, most random comments… And she’s so sassy and bold in such an adorable way… She’s just perfect. How can they… I mean how can they even ask something like that? I don’t get it.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you found yourself unable to reply.

“I meant what I said, y’know? About being proud of being her dad… I know it’s not on the paper… But I don’t mind that… Like it won’t make me love her any differently… What we have now it’s something I’ve earned, y’know? We’ve built it from scratch… I know you wouldn’t have allowed me to be here if you didn’t mean it… So I just… I can’t imagine my life without you anymore… Both of you. And I hate that they tried to use that against me… Because they knew what they were doing when they asked that… They knew they would touch a nerve…”

The emotions in his voice touched your nerves, your instincts, your need to protect him and stand up for him. And before you knew it, you were already walking. Already stepping away from the handrail, turning to him and closing the distance. Until you were standing in front of him and then close enough to crush your body to his. Wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek against his chest. 

“Whoa…” Lando stumbled the slightest, the handrail keeping him in place as he placed both arms around your shoulders and kept you close. Close. Close. Close. “Hold on with the PDA, love.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “Just take it.”

At that, he chuckled. Chin pressed on your temple and arms squeezing you tightly. 

“Your favorite words.”

“Lando!”

“What?!”

You pinched his hip, and he flinched.

“Heyyy!” he laughed.

You smiled, cheek all nuzzled onto him while the world kept moving around you. While the public walked up and down the paddock. While curious eyes and intruding cameras watched you. 

“I love you,” you said. “And I’m so proud of you. Really. Thank you, for everything you do. For who you are. I can’t imagine our lives without you anymore, too. I don’t want to know what it would be like to go back to a life without you. So again, thank you.”

“Who are you and what—”

“Lando!” 

“Ok, ok,” he laughed. “I’m shy, I get nervous…” 

“I know, but I had to say it.”

He shifted his arms, his hug getting both gentler and tighter at the same time. 

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear. “And I can’t wait to show you how much. But Livie is running up to us right now, so I’ll keep it to myself for now… Just for now.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

──────────────────

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 2

A/N: Okay, by popular demand, I decided to make this into a series so after this one, I’ll have at least four or five more parts to this series as it follows the movie events. I also tagged those that asked for part 2/asked to be tagged. Thank you guys for your support!

TW: Not much, just insecurity and a little bit of self deprecating thoughts really

Word Count: 2,097

Part 1

SPOILERS FOR KPDH

“Great, (Y/n), you’re home!” Zoey cheered as soon as you came through the door, tackling you in a hug as you were trying to toe your shoes off.

You chuckled, managing to juggle the groceries so you could pat her back with one hand.

“(Y/n), where were you, we were waiting!” Mira grouched impatiently, her and Rumi joining you and Zoey in the entryway.

“Only for a little bit though, Mira, chill.”

You made an awkward face, “Uh, I was waiting for you guys to text me that you were done and you never—“

“Oh, (Y/n), you’ll never guess what we saw earlier!” Zoey interrupted you, taking the grocery bags from you to see what snacks you had gotten.

“Oh my gosh, you won’t,” Rumi agreed, looking at you with wide eyes.

“What?” You asked curiously, putting the groceries away as the other three separated out the snacks and junk food to take a mental list of what was there.

“Some demons,” Mira spat the word with a snarl, “decided to come after our fans by making a boy band.”

Oh that sounded too familiar to you. You froze. And then did your best to act natural. “Oh, whatttttt?” Okay stop, your voice is too high. You cleared your throat. “Really?”

None of the girls seemed to notice.

“Yeah, we’re gonna kill them tonight,” Rumi tells you. “So that means we gotta get battle ready. So, will youuuu…?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, I’ll set out your battle outfits and make some dinner and bring it down to you guys,” You smiled indulgently at them.

“Yes! You’re the best (Y/n)!” Zoey cheered, pumping her arms in the air and throwing them around you. “And you’ll…?”

“Make you guys your pregame ramyeon? Yes, I’ll boil some water and bring it down with dinner so you can heat it while you eat.”

Rumi and Mira joined in the feral food cheering as the three made their way to the elevator.

“Yes!”

“Thank you, (Y/n), you’re the best!”

“Thank you, best sister ever in the entire universe!”

Sigh. Same routine as usual. They always took a few hours to get battle ready so you decided to go get their battle outfits down from the closet and make sure all the accessories and pieces were in place. And also set out some makeup and nail polishes that would suit their complexions and preferences while complimenting the black leather style.

After that, you started making dinner. Sometimes you felt more like an unappreciated housewife than the sister of an idol.

“Let’s go kill these guys.”

And, also like usual, you grabbed your backpack of first aid supplies and followed after them like a groupie.

To be honest, you really didn’t want to be doing this. They seemed nice back at their performance! They were just performing, singing their cute little soda pop song! And they were so nice to you too! Well… they were very flirty and that might have been because you were part of their target audience as a girl. But it was still very flattering!

Shaking your head, you remembered what they had said at the end of their performance, they were going on ‘Play Games With Us!’ right? You could probably watch it on your phone.

You struggled not to burst out laughing as the video streamed, they were all in baby high chairs with bibs with their names on them, in a hot sauce drinking competition! Baby was happily kicking his feet but everyone else looked like they were dying!

“(Y/n), come on!” A whisper-shout came from up ahead, they were holding the studio door open.

“Coming!” You shoved your phone in your pocket and jogged into the studio to join them. The four of you crouched in the sidelines of the studio, out of sight of the audience. And wow, it was even funnier to see in person.

“Once they come off the stage, we’ll jump down for the attack, and these boys’ll be…”

“Done, done, done,” the three snickered with gremlin smiles, sneaking away to get higher ground. Rumi turned to you as if she forgot you were there, “Oh, (Y/n), stay here out of sight or outside the studio, just in case. Okay?” She left.

“Yeah, okay…” It wasn’t like you couldn’t fight, you went through all the same training as Mira, Zoey, and Rumi. But the three often treated you like a helpless maiden when you went with them for demon hunts.

You turned your attention back to the stage, crouching in the shadows behind the backdrop of the set as one by one, the boys dropped out of the spicy challenge until it was just one of the hosts and Baby.

“It’s a dead heat between my handsome co-host and Baby Saja!” Baby was still sipping away at his bottle of hot sauce like it was just milk, content as can be. “Can our host catch up?”

Nope. He was red in the face and his eyes were crying. He gave up with a pop and a cry of, “So spicy! So spicy!”

The man collapsed forward. “No he can’t! Baby Saja is the winner!”

Baby pulled the empty bottle from his mouth with a pop, a nonchalant, almost bored look on his face, “Goo goo, ga ga.”

You had to slap a hand over your face to keep from laughing. ‘Oh my gosh! Spice KINGGGG! Iconic.’ In some way, that was hot in a way more than the spice itself. It was almost dorky in some way. It was… humanizing to see the so-called demon boys like this as they cheered for their maknae.

The segment was coming to an end and the host was starting to say the goodbyes when Jinu took the mic. You froze like a rabbit as he suddenly introduced Huntr/x as some surprise guests, a spotlight shining on the girls who peaked over the top of the set. You slapped a hand on your face, ‘girlssssss… how can you be so obvious…?’

It was really unfortunate when the leather of their outfits didn’t agree with the slide, making a slow, screeching descent as the crowd groaned. You and the boys had matching grimaces of second hand embarrassment on your faces…

And then they were trying to wrap it up and the Saja Boys were playing the bigger people by being respectful and humble, bowing to the girls, “It was truly an honor to share the stage with you.”

Seeing the positive reaction of the crowd, the girls tried to outdo them by bowing lower, “Oh no, the honor is ours.”

And then it turned into a bowing competition. You couldn’t help but widen your eyes at the boys, ‘These men were basically folded in half!!! Wow. Demon boys are really flexible…’ You slapped your face at the mental implications of that thought. And in the realization of the view you had of the boys from this angle. Wow…

Distracted by your mental embarrassment, you didn’t realize the curtains were closing and the boys were making their escape until a hand slapped over your mouth and arms were carrying you away.

Looking up, you saw that it was Romance, who gave you a sly smirk and a charming wink, “Hello there, sweetheart~” he cooed.

“Nice to see you again~” Jinu cooed as well, a mischievous grin.

‘WAIT! Did this mean they remembered you from earlier?! And was that Baby on Mystery’s back…?’

That kind of attention could go straight to a girl's head if she let it. Or her heart…

And now she was in some bath house. A men’s bathhouse to be specific. Absolutely done with your current situation, you couldn’t help but go limp in Romance’s arms, staring up at the ceiling of the bathhouse flatly. Why is this your life? Being kidnapped by hot demon boys?

“Awww, don’t worry pretty girl, we’ll give you back to your sister in a minute,” Jinu teased with a smirk as the boys took their positions for a dramatic encounter with Huntr/x. You couldn’t help but blush at the cute pet name. He called you pretttyyyyyyy…

And then the girls arrived.

Yadda yadda, followed them into the bathhouse, yadda yadda, simps for Abby’s abs, yadda yadda, stealing fans, clever evil snark, battle.

“Oh, don’t forget to protect your sister, too!” Jinu yelled and nodded at Romance, and then you were being thrown in the air towards a group of water demons.

‘Did this jerk really just throw you!?’

“Hey!” You twisted, landing on your feet and using the momentum to spin and launch yourself back at the boys, ducking and twisting easily between reaching demon limbs, “I am not. A. DAMSEL!”

Abs kinda shrieked in surprise, which was adorkable, and the boys took off while the girls with actual weapons started killing water demons. Jinu almost slipped on a puddle while making his dramatic exit which was also adorkable but now wasn’t the time for giggling at cute, evil boy antics.

Jinu was gremlin laughing cheerfully as you ran after them, your sister joining you in the chase and quickly overtaking you, slashing at Jinu. The two ended up detouring into a room in their fight and you kept going after the other four.

“I knew idol fans were crazy but I didn’t think it was this bad!” Abby called back to you with a smirk and you growled, your frustration giving you a burst of speed.

You leapt and ended up tackling Baby, causing Mystery to stop and come back with a protective snarl.

“I am not a psycho fan! I’m just trying to do my part!”

You twisted, having to let go of Baby as Mystery made a grab for you with his clawed hands. “And we’re just doing ours,” Romance was apparently joining the fight. It may have been a mistake going after the maknae of the group, it always drove the protective instincts of the rest of the group up the wall…

Leaping, twisting, kicking, punching, it was all you could do to protect yourself and try to keep them from running away until the other girls could catch up with the actual fire power.

“Do you own any shirts that actually fit or do you always shop two sizes too small?!” You couldn’t help but ask Abby as his abs flashed you before you kicked them.

“If it bothers you so much then stop looking, babe!” He smirks, twisting around Baby as the maknae swiped at you.

“Less flirting, more fighting,” the maknae drawled lazily. Your face flushed. From anger or being flustered, who knew. You knew…

“Not flirting!” You denied strongly, ducking under a high kick from Romance before jumping over a low swipe of the legs from Mystery.

“Awww, but I didn’t get a chance to flirt with her,” Romance whined. The four started moving faster, working more in synchrony as you struggled to keep up with all four of them at once.

You yelped when Abby and Mystery’s nails caught in the sleeves of your sweatshirt, the soft fabric tearing easily to reveal your arms. Panicked, you looked down and yeah. There they were. Your patterns. Your ugly, disgusting, demonic pattern.

When you were little, you used to use markers to color the space between them and make doodles on your skin out of the jagged lines until Aunt Celine caught you and berated you. She disciplined you so badly that you never even thought of doing it again.

And now they were on display. In front of four demons no less.

You hugged your arms, trying in vain to cover them, looking up at them. Their fight stances had loosened in surprise, their eyes darting across your arms to take in the darkening lines.

“Demon pattern…?”

You took a step back, terrified. They’ll tell Jinu and then they’ll tell Mira and Zoey and then the world and no one will ever accept you again. Mira and Zoey may accept Rumi as a fellow huntress but you? You who doesn’t matter? You who can only help with clothes and visuals? They’ll kill you in a second.

Having to pick between running and hiding or staying and keeping them from escaping?

You chose to run. Run back to the apartment by yourself to hide your skin.

And you didn’t notice how a foot took a step after you, a hand half raised to reach out to you, a lingering unreadable look as eyes followed you, a mouth partially opened to call after you.

Four demon boys left to question what just happened.

Outtake:

Huntr/x: “Can you believe it?! A demon boy band?!

You: “Yeah, it sounds like a good concept.”

Huntr/x: “… What…?”

You: “Yeah, hot demon guys coming for your soul? Fans are rabid for that kind of dark mystery. They’d sell their soul in an instant.”

Huntr/x: “…”

Tag List:

@brights-place @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio

[freeandiwill]

Saja Boy Love Languages

Oh lookie there just so happens to be 5 of them, how convenient.

Jinu - Quality time

This boy absolutely loves to seek you out for impromptu dates, especially more intimate and secluded ones. Long walks after dark, dinner in an empty restaurant, playing card games in bed. He wants to feel like he’s really getting to savor his time with you, absorbing your presence without any interruptions. He’s a sucker for good conversation, whether it’s the two of you just bouncing off each other with banter or having a deep conversation when you should be sleeping or him just listening to you ramble on and on while he memorizes every feature on your face. He’s utterly fascinated with all of your behaviors and soon will be able to read your demeanor like a book, knowing exactly what you need when you need. He gets antsy when he goes to long without having seeing you and will forcibly pull you away from anything if he’s desperate enough, craving another moment with just the two of you.

Abby - Acts of Service

Despite being kind of a massive douchebag, he really enjoys feeling like a true gentleman for you. First of all, absolutely any opportunity where he can show off his strength and build is a win in his book. He’ll hold your shopping bags for you, block people from bumping into you in crowds, reach things off of tall shelves. Oh, your feet are tired from standing? Well, you are being hoisted up into his arms, no questions asked. His manners game is also off the charts, even though he does it all with the most cocky smirk you’ve ever seen. He holds doors open for you, keeps you on the inside of the sidewalk, mindlessly adjusts your hair and accessories so you always look perfect. And he loves when you dote on him for doing all these little things, drinks up every thank you and cheek kiss. Sometimes you swear he’s randomly buying you your favorite snacks just to see you swoon over his chivalry and giving you his shirt when it’s not even that cold just to show off his abs to you…again.

Romance - Gift Giving/Receiving

How do we feel about ‘Roman’ as an alternative name for him?

Turns out being a massive Popstar has its financial perks and he has very few things he wants to spend his money on besides you. You might open your closet to find luxurious outfits that were totally not there before or find massive bouquets on your doorstep, all his doing. He’s very nonchalant about all of it too, only relaxedly admitting to it when you’re in the midst of having a crisis over where how this 22karat gold bracelet appeared on your wrist. As time goes on, he gets better at distinguishing your taste and making his gifts more appealing to you specifically, like a special edition of your favorite book or a pair of shoes you’ve been wanting all your life. He would literally go to hell and back if it means he could spoil you just a little more, nothing is ‘too much’ for his love. He also adores any and all gifts you give him, from a framed photo of the two of you that you printed out and decorated to literally a hair tie you let him borrow once that never leaves his pocket now.

Baby - Words of Affirmation

What can he say? He’s a lyricist at heart. Honestly, he’s going to be quite cool and apathetic most of the time, but when he gets going he really knows how to really lay it on thick. This might be sickeningly clever nicknames or passing compliments that set your heart on fire. It could also be the absolute most passionate, provocative monologue sensually whispered in your ear at this worst time possible. He loves to torture you with his knack for words. He’ll leave you Shakespearean-level love poems on sticky notes that you keep and cherish forever. And then he’ll mischievously deny ever leaving the note in the first place. He’ll randomly look up at you with glittering eyes and tell you all the ways he holds you dear, how finds you more precious than the universe itself, how he considers you to be a valuable blessing upon his life and he mourns the days before he knew you and dreads every future minute he can’t be beside you. Then he’ll very casually ask what you want for dinner. Good luck with all that whiplash. Don’t worry, even though he might not show it, you drive him just as wild with even the smallest things. You called him cute once and he plays the moment on repeat in his head. Boy is just as down bad as you are, but a lot better at hiding it.

Mystery - Physical Touch

He’s also quite good at keeping himself in check most of the time. In public, he won’t do much besides stand close to you, making sure your shoulders are brushing. He gives little frowns to anyone who tries to come as close to you, hovering over you like a guard dog. If you’re lucky and he’s feeling particularly clingy, he may hold your hand. But this absolutely pales in comparison to how he acts in private: he is feral for your touch. He wraps himself around you and nuzzles into your skin, labored breathing like you’re his only lifeline at this moment. You have to remind him to calm down. His limbs are squeezing yours, nails grazing and groping. You swear to god you hear sniffs, is he smelling you? He’ll press sloppy kisses over every inch of you, whimpering while he leaves wet patches, teeth just barely nicking your flesh. Sometimes he doesn’t realize how rough he’s being with his affection, he really just likes to feel like he’s consuming you, like you’re melting into him so you can never leave again. And if you do have to leave briefly in the middle of a cuddle session, even just for the restroom or to get a drink of water, he follows and has his hands gripping your clothes until he can tug you back to your bed or couch.

[hoonjayke]

TOO FAST — MASTERLIST

— Inspired by the Fast and Furious franchise (All the stories are in the same universe)

— They will be updated slowly and in order (probably) - OT7 stories

— If you wanna be tagged, please comment below - Ageless blogs won't be tagged.

— masterlist - perm taglist

— Author Note: Hey guys, this is something I've been working on for a while since a few mooties asked for more stories in this universe after Jake's story, so I decided to write it (slowly, pls bear w me) so I hope you guys like it!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sim Jaeyun — TOO FAST TOO BAD

Jake is known as the city’s famous drift king, a legend in the illegal street racing world, completely untouchable and invincible. However, when you're assigned to work undercover as a racer for an investigation, you don't expect that getting involved with Jake would mess with your morals and most importantly, your heart.

PAIRING: — Street Racer Jake x Cop Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, a bit of angst, super suggestive, smut (mdni), slow burn, illegal street racing au

WARNINGS: lots of heavy making out (pool, car, bedroom, bathroom) yeah they're freaky, a bit of dirty talking, petnames, skinship, small slow burn, mentions of alcohol, guns and drugs, fighting, a little bit of cursing, morally grey characters, mentions of death, etc. Jake is blonde from the beginning till half of the story. Enhypen OT7 + one oc for the plot.

WC: 23k — READ HERE

☆

☆

Yang Jungwon — RECKLESS RIDE

In order to expand your experience as a mechanic and raise money for your engineering degree, you accepted a job at the famous Lee's garage on the south side of the city. However, you'll soon discover that dealing with eccentric drivers, customized cars, and dangerous races is nothing close to Yang Jungwon's thoughtless flirtations that would make you hotter than car engines.

PAIRING: — Street Racer Jungwon x Mechanic Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, super suggestive, smut (mdni), illegal street racing au, flirty jungwon x nonchalant reader

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, mentions of alcohol and guns, cursing [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

Park Sunghoon — SWEET ADDICTION

What is the price of paying a lower rent? Apparently, your peace. Ever since you moved in next door to Sunghoon's house, you've never had peace. The parties, loud car engine noises, and your neighbor's stubbornness were the price you paid for trying to live alone for a low price. However, as much as you say you can't stand your neighbor, you'll be surprised when you find yourself in the middle of illegal races, expensive cars, and discovering just how truly addictive Park Sunghoon is.

PAIRING: — Street Racer Sunghoon x Preppy Neighbor Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, super suggestive, smut (mdni), illegal street racing au, kinda good girl x bad boy trope

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, mentions of alcohol, cursing [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

Nishimura Riki — RIDING OUT

Obsessed is an understatement. You practically took every breath with Niki’s name. Ever since you saw him race you knew you had to have him. After he agreed to be your model for your clothing store, you were feeling over the clouds. Until the moment he broke your heart, so you decided to move on with your life and get over him without a second thought. However, you didn't expect his sudden change - because now he would do everything in his power to win you back.

PAIRING: — Street Racer Ni-ki x Clothing Store Owner Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, angst, super suggestive, smut (mdni), illegal street racing au, nonchalant x sunshine trope (reader is really down bad for Ni-ki)

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, mentions of alcohol, cursing [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

Lee Heeseung — KILL ME HEAL ME

After recovering from an accident as a child, you swore that your greatest purpose in life was to save lives, which is why you became an extremely competent nurse. You have always been focused, dedicated and professional, until you met Lee Heeseung, the most complicated patient of your entire career. However, in the midst of the strange connection you created with him, you will discover that Lee Heeseung's secret life makes him intense, mysterious and above all dangerous, especially for your heart.

PAIRING: — Street Racer Heeseung x Nurse Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, angst, super suggestive, smut (mdni), illegal street racing au

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, mentions of alcohol, guns, car accident, cursing, hospital facilities [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

Park Jongseong — CRIMINAL LOVE

You are beautiful, talented, seductive, and a criminal. Ever since he landed his dream promotion, Jay’s biggest goal has been to capture you, the notorious art forger from a case that kept him up at night. After months of strategic escapes, he finally arrested you. But when a deal is offered and you’re chosen to become a consultant and help him fight white-collar crimes during your sentence, Jay will discover that working with you will mess his heart more than any police chase ever could.

PAIRING: — Cop Jay x International Art forger Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, angst, super suggestive, smut (mdni), forbidden love

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, guns, mentions of alcohol, cursing [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

Kim Sunoo — MASTERMIND

After landing an internship at STOCK CAR, Sunoo will need to use all his automotive knowledge to keep his superior assistant, you, from jeopardizing his perfect academic record. But amid racing and perfect reports, Sunoo will discover that you are much more than just a strict boss.

PAIRING: — Administrative Intern Sunoo x Superior Assistant Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, super suggestive, smut (mdni), racing au, small age gap (reader is 3 years older)

WARNINGS: heavy making out, violence, mentions of alcohol, cursing [...] more tba

WC: (esp 20k+) — COMING SOON

☆

☆

[cherrygirlfriend]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT? ✮

✮ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

✮ summary: agreeing to go to a party with you and meeting your friends for the first time causes rafe to have insecurities and doubts.

✮ warnings / tags: angst. fluff. hurt and comfort. punching someone. insecurity. nudity. them being ridiculously perfect for each other. wc: 2k

✮ author's note: what’s been up with me making these two suffer lately… tbh i just wanna deepen their emotional bond!! but dw i have freaky smut coming up for them soon!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ✮ 5K MASTERLIST

people say that opposites attract, and that saying was a fact when it came to you and your boyfriend. you and rafe were like day and night; all the bouncers at all the clubs and bars within a five-mile radius of your university campus knew you by name, meanwhile every professor on campus knew your boyfriend by his name, all of them delighted whenever they found out they got to teach him. sometimes, a single outfit of yours had less fabric than one piece of rafe's outfit. rafe did more studying in one weekend than you did in a month. he was a virgin when you started dating, and you were... experienced.

and your boyfriend was definitely not a party animal.

"c'mon..." you coaxed, "i can't go alone. besides, i want you to meet my friends!" you whined, "your friends are gonna hate me." rafe deadpanned, his brows raised. "no they won't. so what if you're different from them? i'm sure you can find something to talk to them about." "like what? shoes and purses?" "like how much you adore me." your lips quirked up into a grin and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, "pleaaase?"

honestly, rafe's assumption wasn't that far from the truth; when you'd first told your friends that you were dating him, they all looked at you like you'd grown a second head. but it never mattered to you; you adores rafe, and even though you two sometimes got strange looks from people and your friends got weird whenever you mentioned him, it never bothered you.

"pleaseeee?" you stuck out your bottom lip, doing your best to put on a 'sad puppy dog' look. "fine." rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face, "only because you're cute."

"this is gonna earn you a reward..." you giggled, biting down on your lower lip and running your manicured finger down rafe's chest, the suggestive tone of your voice and the feel of your long nail against his muscles through his shirt causing his own voice to go hoarse, "i didn't... didn't even ask for that." "don't care." you give rafe a quick peck, "good boys get rewarded."

you'd told rafe that it'd take you around an hour to get ready, but the two of you had finally gotten to the frat house nearly three hours after you'd told rafe it'd take you an hour, but you'd just mumbled, "fashionably late..." into his ear.

but once you got to the frat house the party was being held at, you got past with ease... but the random dude at the fraternity door who acted as the bouncer looked at your boyfriend up and down and let out a disgusted 'eugh', making rafe look down at the ground, his cheeks starting to redden as he switched from one foot to the other, the other boy letting out a belittling chuckle, "sorry, but you're gonna have to ditch him."

you could see your boyfriend's face fall and him starting to step back, only for you to pull rafe back to you and looking at the boy standing at the door with the bitchiest smile you could muster up.

"he's my boyfriend." you said as calmly as you possibly could, even though you truly wanted to punch the living hell out of that dude, "and if you don't want him inside, it's gonna take me about two minutes to get every girl at your shitty ass party out." you smiled widely, "so, if you want a sausage party, then go ahead."

the boy's gaze went over rafe once again, a small groan leaving his lips. "alright, go in…" the faux-bouncer mumbled, and your smile widened as the boy stepped aside, making sure to bump into his side as you passed him.

"you didn't have to do that… i could've just gone back to the dorms." rafe leaned closer to you so you could hear him through the blaring music, only for you to take his hand in yours and squeezing it, "please. like i'd let someone get away with talking to you like that." you smiled up at him, "should we go find my friends?" rafe took in a deep breath before turning to you with a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

rafe felt out of place. when you'd introduced him to your friends with a cheerful, "this is my boyfriend, rafe." and brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of his hand that left a glossy imprint there.

after your friends had awkwardly introduced themselves to rafe, looking at him up and down the same way the guy outside had, they went back to how they'd been before; chattering about something had no understanding of, with you joining in while your friends acted like he wasn't there.

lately, he'd been noticing all the ways you were different in. you went out nearly every weekend while rafe stayed in his dormitory either studying, reading, or gaming. you felt so confident you brightened up every room you walked into, meanwhile he felt like he was nothing but a dark cloud that followed you around. you seemed to get along with everyone, being able to make a friend in almost any setting, meanwhile most of his friends were ones that he'd met online.

even now, with the two of you being surrounded by crowds of sweaty people pressed to one another, music blasting so loudly the floors sticky with spilled booze were shaking, you looked like there was nowhere you'd rather be; meanwhile rafe's flight instinct was kicking in.

he leaned close to your ear and quietly said, "hey, i'm gonna go to the bathroom." pulling back and trying to give you a convincing smile. "okay." you nodded, and when he freed his fingers from your own, you reluctantly let go of his hand, watching as he made his way through the crowd, a small frown on your lips.

rafe gripped the bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white as he took tried to steady his breathing, his heart beating to the rhythm of the bass he could hear through the bathroom door. "get it together..." he mumbled under his breath. rafe took off his glasses and placed them down, turning the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face, wishing it could wash away all the thoughts plaguing his mind.

all the thoughts about how much happier you'd be with someone who you didn't have to beg to come out with you. all the thoughts about how much your friends would be more accepting of someone they thought was more suitable for you. all the thoughts about how he wasn't good enough for you. how he would never be good enough for you.

rafe was startled by someone beating their fist against the door, swiftly turning the faucet off and drying his face on a towel before turning to the mirror, "just be normal. just... be normal." he mumbled, putting his glasses back on.

the boy spotted you almost immediately as he was making hi way through the crowd, recognizing the outfit you'd spent too much time choosing, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted him. rafe's brows furrowed as he got closer to you, a dark-haired guy leaning close to you, a cup in his hand, his other hand on your arm, your jaw clenched.

"c'mon. we had fun last time, didn't we?" rafe overheard the guy say, almost as if he was boasting, deciding to stop a small distance away to see how the situation would play out. "let's just ditch the party and go to my room."

"that was ages ago. i have a boyfriend, thomas." "so?" the boy laughed, "your little einstein doesn't need to know. everyone knows you're just dating him so you can better your grades." "you think i'm that big of an idiot that i need to date someone to get better grades?" you scoffed, shaking your head, "then, what's it for? you pity him because he has like three friends?"

"i know this concept might be strange for you, but some people actually like others because of who they are and not just because of their bodies." you remarked,

"well, you weren't like that before." thomas rolled his eyes while you narrowed your eyes, "what do you mean by that?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "i mean, you used to fuck anything that moved, fucking slut. now you're just with some nothing loser who probably doesn't know how to fuck." thomas laughed, rafe's jaw clenching, intending to interrupt until—

THUMP!

your fist made contact with thomas's face, the drunk boy falling to the ground as you took in a sharp breath, shaking your hand with an 'ouch'. "just so you know," you look down at him, your words coming out slightly clumsily, "he's better than you. and bigger. take that." you turned to walk away from thomas, but when you noticed rafe standing there with a stunned expression on his face, you froze, looking like a deer in headlights. "rafe."

but rafe simply chuckled, taking the hand that hadn't just greeted thomas, pulling you through the crowd, hurrying you outside.

you were breathing heavily, goosebumps forming on your skin from going from the hot, packed party to the chilly outside air, looking up at rafe, "rafe, i can explain, i know i shouldn't—"

but you were silenced by rafe leaning down, pressing his lips on yours, his large hands going to cup your cheeks, and as his lips moved on yours, he hoped it conveyed everything he thought, everything he worried about, and everything you somehow managed to make him feel.

when rafe pulled away, he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, his thumb going to stroke the soft skin of your cheek. "weirdly, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." rafe looked down, gently taking the hand that you'd punched thomas with as a hiss left your lips, the boy noticing some bruising on your knuckles, a few of them even bleeding, "let's get back to my dorm and fix this up, yeah?"

every time the antiseptic made contact with one of the cuts on your knuckles, you let out a quiet hiss, each of them sounding unfairly adorable to rafe.

"this is the cost of punching dickheads." he jokingly mumbled, "well, i had to protect your honor." you shrugged, making rafe furrow his brows as he applied lotion onto the cuts, "my honor?" "he called you a nothing loser. i'm not gonna let that slide."

"i thought you punched him because he called you... that." "oh, no. i've heard it many times. if they wanna shame me for liking sex then they can go ahead and do that. but i'm not gonna let them say something like that about you."

your words made rafe's lips quirk up a little, "so, are you my knight in shining armor?" "only if it's one of those ridiculously skimpy armors they give to female characters in games." you grinned, rafe shaking his head. once your boyfriend had applied band-aids onto your knuckles, he pressed a kiss on each of them.

it wasn't long until the two of you were under rafe's blanket, your naked bodies pressed together, rafe holding the hand he'd patched up, "you know, sometimes i worry that i'm not good enough for you." he mumbled, "why would you think that?" "i'm... i'm not like guys you've been with before. i'm not into parties, i'm not cool and confident..." "you're also not a total dickhead." "yeah, that." rafe chuckled softly, "i don't know. what if you were happier with someone more like you?"

"the thing is... i think you are like me, rafe." "how's that? we're... so different." "yeah, we have different interests, we have different personalities..." you bring your hand to rest over his heart, "but when i'm with you... i feel connected to you in a way i haven't before. like we're one."

"that's weirdly poetic." rafe chuckled softly, "i think you're secretly a sap." "shut up." you rolled your eyes, "but i know what you mean. like we're two sides of the same coin."

"yeah. and for me, that's better than anything or anyone else. i don't care if i could have the world's most perfect person. because they'll never measure up to you. i wouldn't want to love anyone else but you."

rafe smiled, bringing his lips to your forehead, "no one else." he whispered, pressing a kiss there.

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @digitaldiary111 @constantsadness cont. in com.

click here to join the taglist! 🐆

[wosospacegirl]

dinosaurs and...sex? - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia's girlfriend is way too stressed out for her own good, so she puts matter into her own hands (fingers)

Word count: 2.2k

Warning: (+18) fingering and oral (r receiving) and at the end suggestive to oral (r giving) because we are all switches here at wosospacegirl

A/n: I think I've found my niche in fanfic and it's writing nerdy lesbian sex...sorry it's repetitive but it's just so fun to write them...

this is a scheduled post because I *actually* have a dinosaur test to study to and I don't have alexia to eat me out so--

..

"Can I come in, or are you still acting like a monster?" Alexia said from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She was holding something, but you couldn't quite see what, mostly because your eyes had stopped functioning after reading the word Mesozoic for the ninth time.

You had decided to go to university.

 And now you carry that burden every day. Every. Single. Day.

It was finals week, and you were an absolute wreck. You were so stressed that you had caught the worst cold ever known to humankind. Why your immune system gave up on you at the slightest sign of stress, you didn't know.

Alexia had taken care of you and made sure you rested. But of course, that meant you hadn't been able to study for three whole days.

And now here you were, at Alexi's house, sprawled across her bed, surrounded by books that were open at completely random pages, with class notes you didn't even remember taking.

Your eyes hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurt. But mostly your soul, because you felt like you barely had one. Surely you had long lost it between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous period.

And when everything hurt, it made you angry, because you couldn't study the way you wanted to. And when you were angry, you were rude.

Alexia had shown up (to her room, in her house) and asked if the two of you shouldn't take a walk or do something relaxing. AKA: She was getting stressed from watching you mumble like a maniac about something called…Coelurosauria?

You, ever the sweet and understanding girlfriend, had snapped at her, questioning why the hell she was bothering you while you were studying.

It wasn't a "Hi, Alexia, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now."

It was a "Oh my fucking God, Alexia, can't you leave me alone for two whole minutes?"

Alexia–who was actually sweet and understanding– didn't say anything. She just stepped closer to where you were sitting, kissed the top of your head, and left a protein bar beside you before quietly walking away, probably heading for a lonely walk around Barcelona.

You cried while studying the skeleton of the Brachiosaurus because you felt guilty afterwards.

You didn't want to be mean, but finals brought out the worst in you. Still, Alexia wasn't the one to blame.

You knew Alexia was back when you heard the front door on the first floor opening and then closing. You heard her taking off her shoes and making her way upstairs.

You felt the mattress dip beside you, and when you turned around, Alexia was sitting there. You gave her your biggest, most apologetic eyes. 

"I'm sorry," you said, genuinely.

Alexia looked at you, cupped your jaw, and brought your mouth to hers. She kissed you sweetly. "It's okay," she murmured against your lips as you closed your eyes. 

"I know you get grumpy when you're overwhelmed with school. No need to say sorry."

"Yes, I do," you said, breaking the kiss and flopping back onto the bed, almost like a starfish. Your book was lying open beside you as you stared at the ceiling. "I was rude, that's not okay."

"It is okay," Alexia said, as she hovered above you, her hair tickling your cheek. "Because you sound hot when you're mad."

You rolled your eyes and pecked her lips. "Okay, now you're stretching."

"I'm serious," she said, getting off of you and sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. "You pout and your brows furrow…It's like  exactly the face you make when you're about to cum–"

"Okay!" you interrupted, throwing your book at her, your face burning. Alexia could be so crude when she wanted to.  "No talking about sex, or–"

"--you cumming?" Alexia teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," you groaned. "This is literally the most boring subject ever. It doesn't pair well with dirty talk."

Alexia stayed quiet for a few seconds, and you took that as a sign to return to your notes and re-read them. You were lying on your stomach now,  your paper was spread out in front of you, when you felt Alexia climb on top of you and drop all of her weight onto your back.

Out of the sudden, you had a book to your face as well–your zoology and evolution of dinosaur book.

Alexia cheekily snatched your notes, and before you could complain, her voice filled the room as she read the book.

"Thyreophora, often known as armoured dinosaurs, were a group of ornithischian dinosaurs that lived from the Early Jurassic until the end of the Cretaceous…"

You listened as Alexia spoke, and you couldn't help but feel as if she was… reading it erotically?

You felt her weight on your back, the way she held your book right in front of you, holding it with one hand while her other hand stayed pressed to your ribcage.

"Primitive forms had simple, low, keeled scutes or osteoderms," she continued, her voice low as she pressed more fully into your body like she was getting cosy, relaxing. "Oh, those are cool, right, bebé?" she said against your ear, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you.

You had known Alexia long enough to recognise when she was doing this on purpose.

Sometimes, you had the willpower to push her away and to fight back. You had to study, your exam was tomorrow!! But right now?

Right now, you wanted to be pliant.

"Most thyreophorans were herbivorous and had small brains for their size," she said, her hand slipping under your shirt, her cold fingertips grazing your skin just above your ribs. 

"Oh, does that mean they were dumb?"Alexia asked innocently, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

"N-no," you stammered as you tried to move, but her body was still pinning you down. "Brain size doesn't really determine intelligence…"

Alexia hummed against your skin, letting the book fall onto the bed with a soft thud. 

Now her full attention was on your neck, she was licking your skin before sucking the it into her mouth.

"I thought the bigger the brain, the smarter?" she murmured.

She sat up from behind you and turned you over, leaving you flat on your back. Then she kissed you deep and slow, biting your lip.

"No, it doesn't mean that," you mumbled, lifting your arms as Alexia pulled off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. "W-what is intelligence, after all, right? It's a very human construct and we…."

Your breath hitched as Alexia kissed your stomach, slowly making her way down to your navel, then she gently tugged at the waistband of your pants.

You lifted your hips, helping her in the process of getting you naked.

"Keep going, amor, "Alexia said, kissing you just above your underwear. "I don't want to distract you from your studies."

Her fingers slid down to your centre, where the wet spot of your underwear was. Your eyes were closed now, but you knew Alexia was smirking.

"What were you saying about intelligence?"Alexia coaxed, her voice innocent, as if she wasn't doing anything wrong, as if she really was helping you study.

But thinking about dinosaurs or intelligence or anything was nearly impossible as she hooked her fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulled them aside, exposing you completely. She slid her fingers just above your cunt, spreading your weteness slowly around your folds, teasing you.

You moaned as Alexia pressed just the tip of your finger inside of your cunt, your hips moving, begging for more contact, but Alexia didn't give in. She wanted to make you work for it for a bit.

"If you don't talk," Alexia said sternly, kissing the inside of your thigh, "I'll stop. Keep going. Tell me about the subject."

You were in silence, your brain mush. It was like you forgot you even knew any words, let alone the evolution of ornithischian dinosaurs.

Although you were quick to remember it when Alexia took her mouth away from your body.

You clutched at her head, pressing her against your cunt. 

"Please, keep going–"you whined. "I-I was saying that intelligence is a human parameter, and we shouldn't judge other species based on it because it's honestly a very anthropocentric concept…"

"There she is, my smart girl, "Alexia purred. And just like magic, she slid her index finger inside of you, and your body welcomed it immediately. "What else can you tell me about those Thy… Thry…"

"Thyreophora," You breathed as Alexia slid another finger in, thrusting into you so slowly it made you want to cry. "There are two major groups, th-" 

You didn't even get to finish, because you felt alexia's hot breath against your cunt, her mouth touching your clit, wrapping her lips aorund itand sucking gently. "Fuck–more." 

Alexia slapped your thigh; it didn't sting, but it was a warning.

"Keep talking." 

So you did.

Alexia ate you out slowly as if she was savouring every single drop of your wetness. You were very aware she was enjoying herself way too much; you also knew she was doing it as a form of revenge, too.

But you didn't mind for her motives, not when she kept fucking you like that. She only stopped when you stopped talking. 

She really was taking your studies very seriously.

Alexia's tongue was thrusting inside of you. You didn't know how she had mastered the ability to penetrate you so deeply with her tongue, but you (once again) didn't care.

Her hands were pinning you down on the mattress, clutching your hip bones, not letting you move an inch as she continued to thoroughly pleasure (or maybe torture) you.

It took you a while to cum, but not because Alexia wasn't giving you what you needed, but because your body had trouble switching from stressed, anxious and overstimulated to relaxed.

Alexia didn't say a word about it. She didn't make you feel bad that it was taking longer than usual. She just kept her mouth on your cunt, as if she had all the time in the word.

And when you finally came, it felt like your body had truly relaxed for the first time in days. 

You felt as if all of your muscles relaxed all at once. Your eyes rolled back, and you yanked at Alexia's hair with a little more force than you were intending to, but she didn't complain. 

You were trying to catch your breath when alexia finally lifted her face from your cunt. 

She made her way up your body, kissing your stomach and your breasts before (finally) kissing you, and sliding her tongue in to let you taste yourself.

"See," Alexia whispered as she broke the kiss. She lay her head on your chest, her finger gently tracing your face. "I was right."

"Rigth about what?" You barely manage to say. 

"Your face when you cum," She said against your sking, kissing your collarbone. "The pout, the furrowed eyebrows."

You blink, still pretty much dizzy. "Did you make all of this... too prove a point?"

"Maybe," she said, smiling. 

"I hate you," you murmured, closing your eyes and letting your hands run through her hair.

"You don't," Alexia said. "You just came in my mouth, I think that was a love confession, actually."

You chucked at Alexia's words. 

Maybe it was the oxytocin running through your body stream, or maybe it was the quiet realisation that this was the first time you and Alexia were properly intimate in days, mostly because of your schedule at uni and her schedule at Barcelona.

You surprised yourself by lowering your head and kissing her again, your hands slipping under her shirt to trace the back tattoos you knew by heart.

Alexia kissed you back–and what was a sweet kiss–turned into something urgent.

"I want you," you breathed against her mouth, your hand curling around the back of her neck. "Now."

"Yeah?" Alexia smirked. "How?"

"On your back, legs spread open," you said.

"Okay," she simply said.

She did what you asked of her. 

She lay down, but she winced slightly when one of your pens dug into her back.

You watched her for a moment, admiring her, and then you undressed her completely. You took her shirt off, and then her training bra.

You wrapped your lips around her nipples, sucking them until Alexia was gasping, asking for more.

Without wasting another second, you pulled down her shorts and underwear in one go. 

You spread her legs apart with each of your hands and began kissing the inside of her thighs, biting them softly,  leaving teeth marks where no one would see them.

You were in your moment now.  Feeling hot and heavy, watching Alexia's cunt dripping right in forn of your face, how pretty her cunt looked, how ready she was for you.

But just as you were ready to taste her, Alexia said.

"Do you want me to read your notes out loud while you do it?"

You paused, your mouth still slightly open, looking up at her. You truly had a problem reading her facial expression.

At the same time that it looked like she was teasing you, it also seemed like the proposal was sincere, like she might actually do it if you said yes.

You glared at her, your eyes narrowing, trying to make your point across without having to use any words.

"Okay," she said quickly. "I guess that's a no."

..

A/n: Got the dino infos on Wikipedia!

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13 , @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

[spideyjimin]

LOVE AGAIN | kth

—  pairing: taehyung x female reader 

—  genre: established relationship, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: your boyfriend, taehyung—or captain clumpsy, as you like to call him—is finally home after eighteen long months of military service. when he left, your relationship was new, but the distance only strengthened your bond. with every call, every stolen weekend, the craving slowly and deeply built. now that he’s back, everything you’ve held in finally comes to the surface, and neither of you holds back.

—  words: 5,415

—  warnings: mention of crying, mention of sex, oc is desperate, nervousness, strong language, swearing, some teasing, face riding, oral sex (f. receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, good old missionary, multiple orgasms, and creampie

—  author’s note: hiii angels ✨ i hope you’re all doing great!! sooo the boys’ discharges have been driving me wild & i had to write something 🫠 so here you have a pure filthy fic with our beloved taehyung because that man has gone wild!! hope you enjoy it loves ❤️

MASTERLIST

Falling in love wasn’t in your plans. Not until a certain Kim Taehyung appeared in your life. He came into your life in the most surprising and also very embarrassing way.

It was on a rainy friday. It was the kind of day when you felt like the universe was plotting against you to make everything harsh. On that day, work was incredibly intense, to say the least. You’d even cry in the bathroom out of nervousness. It was honestly horrible.

Due to that, you decided to order instead of cooking. There was that cute italian restaurant you especially loved—its food was your go-to comfort when you were feeling down.

You were distracted by your phone, venting about your horrible day to your best friend. And then suddenly, bam! Pasta all over your white shirt and bolognese sauce on his shirt. For a moment, none of you spoke; you were only eyeing each other with pure surprise before you laughed. It wasn’t a forced or polite one. It was a real, ridiculous, and oddly warm laugh.

Taehyung apologized a million times while offering napkins, although his shirt looked far more ruined than yours. He offered to buy you tiramisu to apologize for his clumsiness, but you politely declined because it was also your fault. You weren’t looking where you were going, too focused on your phone.

You ended up sharing a table, paying for each other’s food as an apology for the mess, and somehow, talking to him felt natural. It felt like you knew this man for an eternity. Everything just felt right with him.  

Kim Taehyung had a smile that softened everything and a very contagious laugh. That night was a wonderful one, and it closed what was supposed to be the worst day of your life.

Before you could even understand it, you were meeting him again in that restaurant. Then, met again over coffee at a coffee shop he liked. Then, went for late-night walks where your hands found each other without thinking.

Slowly, that man made you believe in love again, made you see that there was still magic in it. His arms became your safe place, and there wasn’t a day when you didn’t want to find comfort in his hugs.

But life had other plans. It tore him away from you when he was sent to the army for his military service. The man who had just become your lover was suddenly gone for eighteen long months. How were you supposed to live without him?

Well, turns out that it was hard. Obviously, he had some days off and had his phone, but everything was limited. In eighteen months, you barely saw him and talked to him. Whenever he was out, you were always encouraging him to spend it with his family, but he would always find time for you.

During that time, you got to meet his family. Apparently, he wouldn’t stop talking about you to his parents, his mom even begged him to introduce you. After that, he started inviting you over now and then, so he could spend time with you and his family. It made it easier for him.

However, you were more than impatient to see him again, because damn, he was getting bigger and bigger. And it was getting harder and harder to remain composed around him and his family. You’d always get wet, and man, your mind was dirty. And the worst of all was the fact that you never had sex with him. 

Your best friend never understood how on earth you never got that man between your legs. The answer was simple. You got together only a few weeks before he was called to serve in the army. Neither of you was really into having sex early on in the relationship, so nothing happened. But as time passed, you couldn’t help but regret that decision, especially with the way he was getting buffer and broader every time you saw him.

Honestly, you couldn’t wait for his discharge day.

And that day is today.

Well, he has already left, but he’s with his parents and siblings right now. You couldn’t join them because of work, but you promised to spend the night together. Your first night in eighteen months.

Even though you adore this man with your entire soul, you’re nervous. Actually, you’re terrified. And you can’t quite explain why, at least not in a way that makes sense.

Why? Because everything is different now.

When he left, you had only known each other for three months. You were still figuring each other out, still caught in that golden haze of newness. Back then, every touch felt like a discovery. Now? It’s been nearly two years.

So much has changed, and above anything else, he has changed. Although you got to see him here and there when he was off and through a screen during your video calls made on his free time, you noticed how much he was different. He’s been through things you can’t quite picture.

And now, you’re about to spend the night with him like you used to. Tonight, you won’t be hoping this could last because you know the army won’t be waiting for him the next morning. Tonight, Taehyung will stay and will still be here tomorrow morning. 

You stare at your reflection, adjusting your hair for the fifth time already. You quickly check the mirror before looking down at the phone in your hand. It’s a matter of minutes before he opens the door. Your stomach tightens, and your heart pounds like it used to before a first date, but heavier, because this isn’t new love.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You know there’s no reason to be this nervous, but you’re too scared of what will happen from now on. You’re too scared that he won’t love you anymore. You’re too scared of everything.

Suddenly, your apartment’s door is cracked open, revealing your boyfriend’s face. He’s still wearing his army uniform, making him look hot as hell. You literally run to the door to jump into his arms. He catches you before you both fall, and the brightest and biggest smile grows on his face.

“I missed you, pasta girl,” he murmurs while holding you tight in his embrace.

“I missed you even more, captain clumsy.”

After your accidental encounter in the italian restaurant, he started to call you pasta girl. In an attempt to tease him back, you started calling him captain clumsy. Those nicknames became your everything during these eighteen long months. They were comforting. They were tiny reminders of where it all began.

For a moment, you both look at each other almost as if you’re trying to realize that you’re finally together after all this time. It actually looks unreal.

“Thanks for your service, Mr. Kim Taehyung,” you decide to tease him as you take a step back. “It was very much appreciated.”  

“You’re welcome,” he instantly replies. “I accept payments with kisses, by the way.”

“Well, not sure if you deserve it,” you clap back. “You left me here alone for eighteen months like I didn’t matter.”

“Eeeh, it’s quite not true, pasta girl,” he begins. “My country got my service, but you always had my heart,” he pauses for a moment. “And I was always running to you whenever I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face. You love teasing him. It helps to calm your nerves, especially when you’re around this ridiculously handsome man. He’s far too good-looking for his own good.

You still remember how nervous you were on your first date. You couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was, and for a moment, you even wondered how someone like him could be interested in someone like you. But you quickly pushed that thought away.

“Well, just for that,” you begin, “you deserve your kisses.”

The man doesn’t waste a second before crashing his lips on yours. It starts with tenderness, and you basically melt while kissing him. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his white shirt.

However, the kiss quickly turns into an urgent, almost desperate one. It’s as if he has been holding back for far too long. There’s nothing careful about the kiss. It’s messy, a little breathless, and full of all the months you spent apart and all the words you didn’t say.

When you pull back, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing your cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s like you’re both afraid to ruin this moment if you dare to speak.  

“God, I missed you,” his voice is low and rough. “Like really miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

It was such a weird feeling to see your boyfriend knowing that in a couple of hours he’ll be leaving for weeks. You hated the time he was in the army.

“Sometimes I wish we had met a lot earlier,” you confess.

Taehyung is fully aware of your feelings. You told him like a hundred times, and he feels the same, but he fully believes this was meant to be. It was hard for him, too, to spend so little time with you for the past eighteen months, but those were the memories he cherished the most.

“Especially because it was torture to see you changing so much and holding back every wild thought that would cross my mind,” you continue.

Now that he’s finally here, you feel like you can say out loud what has been going through your mind for the past months.

“Oh,” he says with obvious surprise. “You’ve been having wild thoughts,” he repeats while a smirk arises on his face. “What kind of thoughts?”

Honestly, you don’t feel shy at all. You’ve been wanting to have his magic stick in you for months, and you deeply hope you’ll be having it soon. If it’s tonight, even better!  

“Well, at first, it would be thoughts of you naked,” you begin. “Your hands on my thighs, inching higher, just brushing where I wanted you most. And eventually, it was you inside me. Again and again.”

Taehyung is caught off guard by your boldness, but he’s absolutely liking it because damn, he has needs too. His mind has been driving him way too crazy. He’s been thinking about all the possible ways of having you while he was serving his country.   

His eyes darken, his jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the heat rolling off him. His lips get closer to your ear, his breathing caressing the skin of your neck. You feel goosebumps appearing all over your body. It’s crazy how this man makes you weak.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve desperately wanted to feel your pussy around my cock.”

He lets his hand rest at your waist, fingers tightening, and you almost moan with how tightly he’s holding you.

“I’ve imagined every part of your body, every sound you’d make. It’s driven me crazy.”

His breath is warm, his body taut with restraint, but barely.

“I need to have sex with you tonight or I’ll die,” he finishes.

You’ve dreamed of this reunion with him, but you never pictured it this way. You never imagined him being as desperate as you. And fuck, you want to have sex with him.

You grab his hand before guiding him to your bedroom. There’s no more time to waste. Not after eighteen months of late-night calls, quick visits, and longing that never quite went away. Taehyung follows without question, his fingers tightening around yours. You can feel the tension radiating off him. It’s the kind that has been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

The moment your bedroom door closes behind you, the air shifts. His eyes roam over you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. You pause near the bed, turning to face him. Neither of you speaks, but everything is being said. In your breathing. In your gaze. In the heat of your skin.

You take a step closer. He meets you halfway.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, voice husky and uneven, as if he’s giving you one last out.

You just reach for him, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, until he can feel just how sure you are. You waited long enough. Now, it’s time to feel.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” he says instantly. “Then, remove your pants and underwear and sit on my face.”

Your boyfriend lies in bed, and without thinking, you follow his orders. As your eyes scan the man lying on your bed, you lick your lips before placing yourself over his head. Taehyung looks ethereal even with his army uniform.

Your heart starts pounding fast because you’re about to have sex for the first time with him, and honestly, by the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like a first time.

Neither of you is a virgin. It’s a fact that you shared quite early on, but you’ve never done it together, which can make you a bit nervous. You know nothing about his preferences or if you’re even compatible. All you know right now is how desperate you are to have him inside you. All you want is for him to calm the fire inside you.

“I hope I’m not going to suffocate you,” you teasingly say as you slowly bring your core closer to his face.

“I absolutely don’t care about that,” he honestly replies. “Suffocate me as much as you want, I’ll be happy.”  

His hands move to your hips, guiding you down to get closer to his face. The sweet scent of your arousal makes him hungry, like really hungry. He wants to suck and lap all your juices until his lips are only covered with your arousal. 

“Your cunt smells so good, pasta girl,” he whispers against your core. 

His nose brushes against your core, a small moan leaving your lips at the sensation. As he hears the barely audible moan, he deliberately breathes against your throbbing core, the cool air sending shivers down your spine. There’s absolutely no doubt that this man knows how to pleasure a woman.

“You’re already so fucking wet,” he mumbles with a growing smirk on his face.  

Well, being around this man always gets you wet, and if on top of that he’s wearing his military uniform, then, you’re soaking wet.

“Not my fault if you’re so damn sexy,” you reply.

Before you can even process what is happening, he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking at it. The man doesn’t even give you the time to breathe or to realize what’s going on. His nose tingles your core, sending goosebumps throughout your entire body. You bite your lower lip to suppress any moan from falling out of your mouth.

With your previous partners, being loud in bed was apparently not a good thing. That’s what they told you, and moaning during the act also felt almost wrong. The only thought that others could hear you was uncomfortable.

Automatically, you bury your hand in Taehyung’s hair, pulling it as he laps your sensitive clit with his tongue. A groan rumbles from his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin, which sends shivers down your spine. You close your eyes to savor having him under you with his nose in your core.  

This right here with him feels quite special, especially since he’s giving you quite a lot of pleasure with his mouth and nose alone. What would it be once he’s going to be buried deep inside you?

After a little while, he buries his tongue in your hole, causing fireworks inside you. The man laps at your arousal as if his life were at stake. In some way, it feels like he’s trying to make up for the time when you weren’t together. Today is all about taking care of you. 

His eyes glance up at you, enjoying the way your body is contorting with pleasure. An evil smirk appears on his face while he keeps lapping at your juices. Your back arches, causing you to push your pussy closer to his mouth. He instantly notices the way you’re holding back your moans.

“Don’t hold back, babe,” he mumbles against your core. “Scream as loud as you desire.”

“No,” you shake your head while completely lost in your pleasure.

He pushes his face away from your pussy, and his eyebrows furrow. He’s not understanding why you’re holding back. It’s a first time for him. His previous partners were loud as fuck, and it was also an indicator for him to know if he’s doing well or not.

“Why?” he asks.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” you admit. “And my exes made me understand they didn’t like it.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. He’s heard your stories about your exes, and he hates them all. They were all assholes; he always feels sorry that you had to deal with guys like them.

“They were wrong, my love,” he says softly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll never push. But just so you know, I don’t mind it. Not at all,” his voice gets deeper and lower. “Actually, I’d love to hear you moan.”

His words make you blush. You never thought that a man would ever say that because you always believed that men hated a vocal woman. But Taehyung is proving you completely wrong.

“Okay,” you nod.

He offers you the prettiest smile before settling back to his previous position, which is his face pressed against your pussy. He’s lapping at you like there’s no tomorrow, and his words echo in your mind so you don’t bite your lower lip anymore. You try as well not to hold back any moan.  

“You’re so pretty,” Taehyung mutters against your core. 

Slowly, you start rolling your hips over his head, your hand running through your hair to push it back so it doesn’t stick to your face as you start to sweat. The moans start to leave your lips as the wave of pleasure begins to build strongly in your lower stomach. A smile grows on his face when he hears the sweet sounds you’re making.

His eyes glance down with marvel at your core. Everything about you is extremely wonderful. This man loves you with his entire soul, and most of the time, he wonders how he survived all this time without you by his side. You’re so fucking beautiful, and it was hard to keep his hands to himself.  

Taehyung senses the orgasm building stronger inside you at an extremely fast pace. Your body is moving more and more, your walls are clenching way too much, and your moans are also getting high-pitched. The man starts to suck harder on your core to make you come all over his face. That’s all he wishes for right now.  

Your free hand goes to the headboard of the bed to hold yourself onto something. The man below you is sucking and lapping every single drop of your arousal, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It’s a matter of seconds before you come undone all over his face. But that’s what you both want.

“Fuck, Taehyung,” you mutter as your hips slowly roll desperately over his face. 

Your boyfriend detaches his mouth when your legs start shaking, indicating that your orgasm is finally hitting you intensely. His name leaves your mouth when the wave of pleasure explodes inside you, your back arching even more, and you close your eyes to enjoy every second of it. 

Your arousal leaks over his pretty lips while he watches with marvel the way you come over his face. Nothing makes him prouder than giving you such an intense orgasm for the first time. And man, the way you look when you’re on cloud nine is honestly the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

Taehyung moves under you, your core now pressed against his covered chest. It takes you a moment to come down from your high, and he can even feel your wall clenching against his toned chest. His hands caress your hips, trying to bring you comfort as you come down. His eyes never leave your pretty face. 

“Would you like to keep going?” 

He wants to be sure that you really want to have sex with him. Of course, it’s pretty obvious you want more, but who knows, maybe you’d like to stop here. He’s not going to force you to do anything; he has never been like that. 

Your eyes open to look at the man under you. His lips are all wet with your arousal, which honestly looks pretty good on him. Anything looks good on him.

“Yes, I want it,” you bend down, your face getting closer to his ear, “captain clumsy,” you whisper with a smile on your face. 

Taehyung bites his lower lip, goosebumps appearing all over his body with the way you just whispered “captain clumsy”.

“You’re such a tease,” he says before pressing his lips against yours.

When your lips meet, you instantly taste yourself. Again, this is new to you. Your exes weren’t the type to go down on you. They’d prefer to go straight to the penetration as they preferred it, but damn, being eaten out is way more worthy than any dick inside you.

“Let me undress, my love,” he says while tapping your tights.

You move aside to let him stand up. In seconds, he strips off all the pieces of clothing from his body, leaving no room for imagination anymore. The man standing in front of you isn’t just the charming guy you met in that italian restaurant anymore. He’s transformed.

His body is sculpted and more powerful. His chest is broader, his arms thicker, every muscle defined and glistening, and veins trail down his forearms, rising slightly beneath his skin in a way that makes your breath catch.

Then, your eyes slowly look down, and you freeze. There it is. The beast he’s been hiding from you for nearly two years. And it’s a lot. You’re not even sure how he managed to tuck that away in his military uniform.

“That’s huge,” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he replies with a grin. “That’s what people usually say.”

You raise an eyebrow, your eyes now moving up to meet his gaze.

“Oh? So people just casually admire your dick like it’s no big deal?” you ask in a teasing tone.

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes while shaking his head.

“Totally. I made it a habit to walk around naked during my military training.”  

“I’m sure they were all grateful for that,” you chuckle.

“Obviously,” he smirks.

Taehyung gets closer, like dangerously close, before his body hovers over yours. You fall backwards, your back pressed against your mattress. The smirk on his face turns into the softest smile.

“I wish I could have been there,” you smile at him as your hands cup his cute cheeks.

His hand gently caresses your face. It’s weird to think you’re about to share a very wild moment while he’s simply adorable right now.

“If you were there, I would have never been able to serve my country,” he admits. “I would constantly have had my hands all over you.”

You chuckle, but honestly, you know you would have never let him do his job because you’d always be around him. Most probably, he’d be tired of seeing you all the time, and probably would find you too clingy.  

Your boyfriend presses a sweet kiss on your lips, but it quickly takes a steamy turn. His fingers visit your wet core while still kissing you, and the cold sensation of his fingers makes you moan. A moan that he instantly swallows.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles.

“It’s always the case around you,” you admit.

“Naughty girl,” he teases.      

Before you can say anything else, he slides his length along your folds, teasing you and covering it with your arousal. As he does so, a soft whimper leaves your lips, your body aching for more. His eyes drop to where your bodies are meeting, watching the way your wetness clings to him.

Damn, you’re both barely holding it together. The anticipation is thick, and the thought of finally having him inside you makes your walls clench around nothing.

After a few seconds that feel like an eternity, his gaze lifts to meet yours again. His eyes are dark and filled with lust; he’s definitely desperate to push himself deep inside you. And there’s no doubt in either of your minds. He’s seconds away from giving in to the need to bury himself deep inside you.

“Ready?” he asks.

You simply nod. You’re actually more than ready for this. You’ve been craving this moment for months now.

With his hand still on his thick cock, he guides it to your soaked pussy before burying it inside you, stretching your velvety walls. His large hands find their way to your waist, caressing your soft skin while his eyes filled with lust look into yours. Both of you groan as he slowly pushes his long and thick cock inside you.  

“Fuck,” you mumble as your eyes roll back. 

The monster between his legs looked big before, but now, as he slowly pushes himself inside you, he feels even bigger. It’s overwhelming, but definitely in a good way. And above anything else, it feels simply right to have him inside you.

He pushes his dick as far as possible inside you, filling you up to the brim. This is definitely quite something. None of the guys you previously dated were this huge, but damn, this is incredible. Your pleasure is reaching levels you never knew existed, and he has only pushed his length inside you.

“Oh fuck,” he swears. “This feels so fucking good.”    

As you hear his words, your walls clench around his cock, causing him to moan. 

“Don’t torture me, pasta girl,” he groans, his voice rough around the edges. “If you keep going, I’ll come and completely embarrass myself.”

“I wouldn’t judge you,” you murmur, hand gently trailing over his chest.

“Yeah, but…” he leans in, brushing a kiss against your cheek, “I kind of want to impress you. First time and all.”

The wink he throws you makes your heart flutter.

Before you can add or say anything more, Taehyung slowly pushes back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. His eyes never leave your figure, watching you with delight.

He brutally pushes his cock fully inside you, a loud moan leaving your lips. For a little while, he doesn't move, hovering over you before his lips meet yours again for a sloppy kiss. Slowly, his lips move down to your collarbone, leaving sweet kisses all along. 

“Are we going to stay like this all night long?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Looks like someone is desperate,” he chuckles.

“I’ve waited so so long for this, Taehyung,” you confess with some desperation in your voice. “I can’t wait any longer.”

For a second, his eyes get lost on your body, groaning as he watches himself buried deep inside you. This is a sight he has desperately craved over the last months. His mind was going absolutely crazy, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen before his discharge.

“Let’s go then,” he says.  

He instantly pulls back brutally before slamming himself back into you. He leans closer again before licking the spot just under your ear. His hands slowly travel down your body to rest on your waist while his hips slowly thrust into you. The slick sound of your pussy soaking his cock as well as your moans quickly fill the bedroom. 

The feeling of his cock filling you up, his hips hitting against yours with every thrust he makes causes sparks of pleasure to shoot throughout your body, your arousal dripping from your core and creaming his cock. He licks his lips as he notices the sticky mess you’re causing. 

His cock is buried deep inside you, brushing against your walls which only causes you to moan even louder. You grip the sheets as hard as possible to steady yourself from Taehyung’s hard thrusts. 

This first time with your boyfriend tastes like heaven. It was an absolute torture to wait all this time, but god, it was worth it.

His hands press harder into your skin when he feels your walls tighten around him. Every time he pushes his hips back, he watches with delight the way his cock is completely covered with your arousal. It’s driving him so crazy.

Gradually, Taehyung thrusts into you harsher and harder. Even though you’re not holding back any moan, it feels so weird to be moaning louder and louder.  

Your walls suck his cock as he slams his hips into you harshly. His hands can feel the way your body quivers with each thrust, the way you’re losing yourself further into pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels the warmth of your walls wrapping tighter around him. “Your cunt is clenching so hard, my love.” 

As you glance up at him, you can’t help but find him extremely attractive. His eyes stare down at you with so much passion and desire as his tongue licks his lower lips. He keeps growling your name, thrusting into you with more urgency. Quickly enough, you feel the orgasm building within you.

“I’m gonna come so hard, captain,” you tell him.

His fingers move along your body before pinching your nipples while his cock twitches inside of you at your words, a low groan rumbling in his chest.  

“Don’t hold back, pasta girl.”

Since he wants to torture you more and more as you get closer to your orgasm, one of his hands slowly goes down on your body, landing on your throbbing clit. His fingers start to rub your sensitive spot as his cock keeps slamming roughly inside you. 

His fingers on your clit cause your orgasm explode intensely, making you come hard around him. Your walls squeeze him over and over again while you come all over him. 

Taehyung doesn’t stop at all. Actually, he speeds up the pace of his hips, chasing his own orgasm. The coil in his lower stomach tightens inside of him, completely clouding his thoughts.

The second his eyes look at the mess your orgasm is doing, breathy whines leave his pretty lips. He groans when his orgasm hits him hard, your name rolling off his tongue. His eyes roll back with pleasure as his body tenses up and paints your walls white. The feeling of his semen being released inside you almost makes you come all over again.

Taehyung collapses next to you, both your bodies covered in sweat. This was definitely intense, but honestly, a perfect first time with him. You both look at the ceiling while catching your breaths.

“The wait was definitely worth it,” you whisper while turning your face to look at him.

“It was,” he agrees with you.  

He turns his head too, eyes meeting yours with a softness that makes your chest ache. This man looks cute after being absolutely wild and dangerous.  

“You were worth it.”

You smile, your fingers instinctively reaching for his. He laces them with his own, still slightly trembling from the intensity of what just happened. You don’t understand how you got so lucky to have him. This restaurant incident will forever be the best moment of your life. No matter what.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I kept replaying this moment in my head so many times, and now it’s finally real.”

He lifts your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s real,” he whispers before pressing another kiss. “I’m home.”

You both fall into silence again, but it’s not awkward at all. It’s just a moment where you take the time to process what just happened. After eighteen months of waiting for his return, you still need some time to fully understand that he’s here. He’s all yours now.

“So,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “Do I get a second chance to impress you?”

You grin, heart fluttering all over again.

“Only if you think you can top that.”

[thebubblesareevil]

Amity Park Field Trip:

The consequences of spilled coffee.

Mr Lancer would be considered a hardened war veteran if any member of the government not wearing white stepped foot in Amity Park.

He’d fought off zombies, ghost cops, and sentient meat on more than a few occasions to protect his students.

He’d warned each and every one of his students against misbehaving durin their field trip to Gotham and they all respected him more than enough to listen to his orders.

With Mr Lancers guidance they had made it an entire week in Gotham without any incident despite Poison Ivy taking control of the green house they visited, Scarecrow gassing the art museum mid way through their tour, and even Bane fighting Batman right outside the opera house right as they left for the evening. (Thankfully he had the foresight to put Fentons child leash on to stop him from ‘joining the fun’)

And now, here they were on their last day of their trip on their way across the Gotham University Campus to attend the lecture that brought them to Gotham in the first place.

They’d stopped by a lovely little cafe on campus and Mr Lancer was taking a long drawn out sniff of his coffee, just basking in the aroma for a moment when a high pitched laugh broke the peace and suddenly students were frantically running away from an explosion.

Normal this would be when he organizes his student and they all evacuate back to the hotel. All but one of his students had already put on their gas masks and were ready to mobilize at his command.

All but one that stared off towards the explosions with a demented grin on his face that was officially recognized as an omen of doom in no less than 10 occult journals.

Normally he would scold the teen.

Normally he’d had his coffee.

Instead Mr Lancer looked mournfully down at his spilled nectar and sighed.

Walking through his class he stopped right next to the smiling teen and reached behind him.

Every single one of his students immediately stepped back when the click of the glowing child leash signaled the boys freedom.

He didn’t even glance towards his teacher.

He had a clown to hunt.

A different laugh was heard throughout the campus that day, one that would haunt the dreams of any that had been unfortunate enough to be there the day the Joker made Mr Lancer spill his coffee.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: You are meant to be a sacrifice to Nikador, but when you gain the attention of the wrong god, you learn firsthand why mortals are not meant to trifle in the affairs of the divine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 14.9k

Content Warnings: mentions of human sacrifice, mentions of abuse, it’s going to get violent and whatnot i am sure, blood and whatnot to be expected, obviously an alternate universe, an ending i would say is bittersweet??, not really 1:1 with the myth of bellerophon however if you know the myth you will definitely see a lot of similarities in the general progression of the story, phainon is a god, like fr, so ig you could consider it a problematic age gap SKHJF but more so power imbalances in general, phainon is a catfisher for a bit lowkey, vaguely ancient greek/rome inspired but in the way canon is (so loosely + i make most of it up), i have played maybe HALF of amphoreus !! so characterization may be spotty (#powerofau), uhh idk what else i will try to add it in here if/when it comes up ig

A/N: hihi all of you i am so sorry that this has taken me so long to get out!! i have been on vacation the past two weeks so writing time has been sparse (i wrote…pretty much this entire part on my phone whenever i had a free moment or two to open up google docs LOL) but it is finally here!! as before, here are some additional notes on the chapter that you can feel free to look at whenever <3 thank you all for reading and being patient and not sending me asks harassing me about this HAHA you all are the best

During the Silver Age of Man, in a time long before Phainon, Nikador, too, had sat alongside the other gods, brave and revered, the sagacious warrior who raised their lance in Kephale’s name and struck down all who crossed the heavens. In that time, they had been worshipped by all who went to war, and so they were impartial to individual conflict, their shadow hanging over every battlefield, looming and dark as they waited to see whose blades struck true, whose shields were sturdy and whose men did not falter. Only to those chosen few would they grant victory and spoils; the rest had to fight with their own merits, or else turn to softer gods who might yet give them favor.

Back in that time, before the city on the mountain was as widely regarded as it is now, it was but a small kingdom, prosperous but contained, ruled by a kindhearted king who guarded his most precious treasure with a fierceness: his daughter, a girl so beautiful that Mnestia sang when she was born. The king knew, as all possessed with something so precious do, that there would always be those who would try to take her from him — an empire to the north, a nation of war-beasts to the west, and a nest of serpents in his very own court — so he prayed to every god he could think of, hoping for even one that might hear his pleas.

Yet none of them listened, and with every cruel answer to his prayer, the king grew more and more desperate. Great Georios desired the girl, but the king was not willing to give her to the father of giants, whose progeny would have torn her apart if they took; wise Talonton would not save her, for there was no justice in it, in allowing something so ethereal to remain mortal and unmarred; fair Thanatos promised to take her into their abode, but warned that the king would never see her again if they did, not even in death. 

Finally dear Mnestia appeared and told the king that there was only one god who could save his daughter: Nikador, the just, the furious, who even the greatest of warriors would not dare cross, whose stalwart defense could deter gods themselves.

And the king wept, for he had heard the tales of Nikador’s madness, their thirst for violence, but Mnestia held firm, unmoved by his tears, telling him it was the only way before disappearing. So the king slaughtered an entire herd of sheep and called upon the god of battle, who was so intrigued by the summons that they really did appear before him, and as soon as they lay their eyes upon the princess, they felt something stirring in their heart, something not unlike bloodlust but gentler, tenderer.

They swore to defend her, and never again did they bless another kingdom, for those of the mountain were so beloved to them that they could not bear the thought of any other’s victory. The hearts of men turned against them, and after the princess fell to Thanatos, as all mortals must, their own heart, too, grew cold — but their watchful gaze never left that mountain, for its stones were the last to hold her memory, and although it had been years upon years, they could not let go of her yet.

“Everyone knows that story,” you said when Phainon finished with great flourish. His smile, so proud in the telling, dropped immediately, replaced with a frown.

“How can it be? Do you know the labors Mnestia had me undergo before they told me that Nikador loved that girl?” he said, showing you his palms, the lines of which shone gold beneath his skin. “You mustn’t say it was in vain!”

“Well, I did not know they loved her,” you said. “That king was my ancestor, although it is his son I am descended from, not the daughter. We were always taught that Nikador admired the spirit of the mountain and so chose it as their residence.”

“Then you did not know the story!” Phainon accused, his expression indignant for all of a moment before relaxing back into the earlier grin. “My labors were not for naught. I am pleased to hear it.”

Were you not frightened of offending him, you might have rolled your eyes or made some remark, but instead you only nodded, wondering to yourself how long he would walk at your side for. He was tireless, keeping pace with your pony’s amble, striding along near your leg and speaking without so much as pausing for breath; it was all you could do to pray to Nikador, although you sensed they had no interest in saving you, not this time.

“What does it mean, that they loved this princess so well?” you said. “It isn’t as though I am her.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But if they have loved once before, then they can do so again, right?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not as though I’m the sort of beauty which could soften their heart,” you said matter-of-factly. It was an objective thing, an honest assessment — a woman who could soothe even Nikador was the sort of person that could only really be found in legends and stories. If ever she did exist, she was long since dead and would not return so easily.

“I think you are,” Phainon said, and he spoke with such beguiling earnestness, gazing up at you with those gold eyes, as honest as daylight, that you almost believed him. But then you remembered that he was a god, and one using you for his own entertainment, no less, so you only huffed and raised your nose in the air, the only show of disdain you could be permitted.

“No matter how you flatter me, it doesn’t change the reality,” you said. Phainon pouted, and internally you scoffed at his petulance, how mundane and mortal his little mannerisms were. You wondered if he had to think about them, or if they still came to him naturally — for unlike the other gods, he had been a man once, and perhaps he still recalled in the back of his mind what that meant.

“It’s not flattery,” he insisted. “You will believe me when I bring you before them, I am sure.”

“And when do you plan on doing that, exactly?” you said, pulling your pony to a stop, for it was beginning to grow dark and you had no intentions of riding through the night. Sliding off and tying him to a nearby tree, you shook out your meager blanket, ignoring Phainon, who watched you curiously.

“Ah, it’s difficult to bring a mortal to the heavens,” he said. “You must be patient with me. But I swear I will!”

“I have nothing but patience,” you assured him. “There is nothing left for me — thanks to you, I have been cast from the mountain and the Grove alike, so I travel now to Okhema, in the hopes that I may at least find a quiet place there to live out the rest of my days.”

“Okhema! Wonderful, I can accompany you there!” he said as you lay on the ground, kneeling in front of you. “Mnestia does not guard their people as zealously as Cerces, and anyways they are fond of me, so they will turn a blind eye to my presence. Besides, Okhema is large enough that even if we did have some quarrel, I could still avoid detection without resorting to as many measures as I did in the Grove.”

“Wonderful,” you repeated with perhaps a quarter of his enthusiasm. “May I sleep now, my lord, or do you have more tales to spin?”

“You may sleep,” he said. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Certainly,” you said. “The nights are always cool, and to I who am used to the bedchambers of a princess, it is less than preferable, though I have grown used to it well enough.”

His expression was not smug when he leaned close to you, and his voice was as ever — soft, composed, clever — yet somehow you could feel it in his words, that teasing, that delighted mischief.

“I can embrace you tonight,” he said. “I promise you will be warm then.”

You sat up immediately, holding the blanket up to your chest, sputtering as you did so. “You — you most certainly can not!”

He burst into laughter, and it was a handsome sound, as befit him. You stared at him, waiting for his mirth to fade, but it took some time before his humor petered into a sigh and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean in this form,” he clarified, although you had an inkling he very much had and was only saying that to save face. “Is this better?”

You would never grow used to the ease with which he changed shape, nor how unsettling it was when his body melted into something new. Now he was a large dog, his eyes shining, a collar winding around his neck and sinking into his thick white fur. He wagged his tail at you, and although you knew, logically, that he was still that same infuriating deity, you could not help finding him so sweet in this form, and before you knew it you were shifting to make space for him.

“Alright,” you relented. “However, you — you had best be a dog when I wake, or so help me, I shall give myself to Thanatos at once!”

He panted happily, a black-lipped, pink-tongued expression which resembled a smile, his small ears pricking as he trotted towards you and, with an exhale, flopped atop you stomach.

“Hey!” you snapped, shoving him off, earning you a dramatic, injured whine. “You are far too heavy and badly-behaved for that! You sleep at my side or go back to the heavens, but do not presume that I am enjoying this, or that I have forgotten who you are!”

It was easier to rebuke him now that he was not in the shape of a man, and especially so given that he did not argue or fight back, only licking his nose contritely and then tucking himself to your right, just close enough that the tips of his fur brushed your arm if you moved, but not so close that you had to touch him if you did not wish to. The arrangement was acceptable if not ideal, and he was as warm as he had promised, so you fell asleep quickly, without fuss, and better than you should’ve given that you were in a field alongside the road to Okhema, with the god of the dawn as your only companion.

Phainon was still asleep when you awoke the next morning, which begged the question of who had dragged the sun to the sky if not him — but these were mysterious things, and you supposed the explanation would’ve been beyond you anyways. Allowing yourself the moment of weakness, you stroked his forehead lightly, finding the fur to be like silk under your palm, moving so quickly that you doubted he would notice yet luxuriating in the soft feel of him, which was even more fine than your mother’s best gowns.

Yet almost immediately, his tail began to thump against the ground, and he lifted his head, cocking it when you withdrew your hand like you had been burnt. He nosed at your wrist, and you swatted him away, standing and beginning to fold your blanket brusquely.

“Enough with that,” you said. “You aren’t fooling me by playing the part of puppy. Become a man again at once, and enough with your innocent act.” 

“If that is what you will,” he said agreeably, wearing the same white armor as the day before, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I did not know if you preferred me in this form or the other.”

You almost told him you preferred him in neither, but his eyes were gold again, resting directly on you, and although you knew it was not his true divinity, it felt as if it might be the closest that you would ever see with your mortal form. A reminder, then, and one you heeded well, any traces of fondness or levity vanishing in an instant as you remembered once again that he was Phainon, god of dawn, god of the denied, god of deliverance.

“It is your choice, sunbringer,” you said. “It matters not to me.”

“You ought to just call me Phainon. Speak as if we are friends,” he said as the two of you set off again, you on your pony and he using his divine power to match your pace effortlessly.

“We are not friends,” you said, not unkindly. “I am a sacrifice who might, if you have your way, worship you one day. What friendship is that, where I kneel at your altar and beg you to bless me?”

“You wouldn’t need to beg,” he said. “Whatever you asked of me, I would grant it immediately.”

“That doesn’t change what I said,” you said. “You are a god, and I am mortal. Let us not pretend otherwise — it does neither of us any good.”

There were stories of gods who took what they pleased and left the rest; although such stories did not exist of Phainon, you were still wary as you waited for him to muster a response, half-expecting him to drag you from your pony then and there, to use the power he had been granted by Kephale to have his way. But he did no such thing, only nodding contemplatively, like you had said something profound.

“Very well, o sacrifice,” he said. “I will be a god for you.”

You did not ask him what he meant by that. You did not think you wanted to. How much more of a god could he be than he already was? What else was he planning? But knowing would not change the outcome, so you decided you would forgo your uncle’s teachings and, this one time, choose ignorance.

“You do not trust me because of Nikador, right?” Phainon asked you when you had been traveling for some days. Every night, he wore the guise of a dog and slept by your side; when dawn rose, he became a man anew, although he still followed you around as if he were a hound, tilting his head when you did something he could not understand — and there were many of these habits, for he had not been a man for an age and had not been a woman ever — and beaming if you offered him even the meagerest of praises — which typically amounted to a thank you for leaving me alone again every morning and nothing more.

“In some sense,” you said. You had, through the course of gour travels, grown accustomed to his presence, although you could never bring yourself to accept him fully. You were looser with your speech now, though, and less afraid, more indifferent when it came to the god. He had not hurt you yet, and although you did not doubt his capacity for it, you supposed there was no harm in letting down your guard the slightest bit. What other choice did you have? For he insisted on remaining with you, although the world and the heavens were his to do with as he liked.

“Nikador,” he groused. “They have always held this grudge against me! As if it’s my fault Kephale chose me to replace them.”

“It’s not as though you don’t do your part to antagonize them, if the stories are to be believed,” you said. “I admit that there must be some bias, but certainly the priests have never spoken of you favorably.”

“I would strike all those priests down if I could,” he said, quite seriously. “Yet even I know that that would be an act of war, and I am not quite so foolish — despite what you may think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, fighting to keep your voice neutral, without any hints of distaste.

“It’s such a silly thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if Nikador resents me for taking their place as the general of the gods, that doesn’t mean you must despise me as well.”

“I am loyal to my lord of strife,” you said levelly. “I have followed them for my entire life, and I shall not betray them now.”

“You love them,” he said. He stated it plainly, like it was a fact, but the way his brow furrowed implied a question more than anything. You shrugged, braiding a lock of your pony’s mane to busy your hands, which had grown lax, idle.

“Of course I do,” you said. “I have never had a father, for mine was too willing to relinquish his every duty to the High Priest — and so they were my father. I have never had a brother, for mine spent more time in war camps and temples than he ever did in the palace — and so they were my brother. I have never had anyone to believe in, for the priests show me their true faces, which I find hideous — and so they are my constant. Now, I shall never take a husband nor lover, I cannot, so whether or not you are successful, they will play that role for me, too. This is what it means to be the god of a people.”

“I see,” Phainon said. It must’ve been foreign to him, the concept of patronage, for although he had hymns and temples alike, he had no home, no sweeping city or towering mountain which claimed him as theirs. He was young for it, and anyways, who would want him? Because to have Phainon’s favor was to draw Nikador’s ire, and even though Nikador was no longer a proper deity of the pantheon, everyone knew that they were the granter of victory, so no one dared risk it. 

Besides, a god so impulsive that they even answered your brother’s wavering summons could not be trusted with stewardship of a kingdom. He would bring it to despair, and he would do so with that same glimmer in his expression as he wore now, finding humor in that downfall, delighting in their misery as much as he did their supplication.

“Is that why you wish to be their bride?” he continued. “Because you have already pledged yourself to them, and want to be theirs in full?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He must have heard already, in some form or another, when you had explained to Anaxagoras why you had done what you had done. So why was he asking? Did he long for some excuse with which to punish you? For now, at least, you were defenseless, exiled from Cerces’s protection and far from Nikador’s. If you told him the truth, if you told him it was because you were frightened of him, then he might take offense, and you shuddered to think what his displeasure would mean for you. 

“Yes,” you said. “I will never know another. Can you fault me for this one longing?”

“You could’ve married a mortal,” he pointed out. “Any number of princes or kings, I am sure. Were you so concerned with longing, I could have even breathed life into a statue for you and made a man exactly as you wanted.”

“Well,” you said, for you had no doubts he would’ve found pleasure in doing that, in moulding with his own hands the husband he thought you desired, demanding only your devotion in return. “But a man is not a god. A prince is not Nikador. I cannot love any other but them.”

“True enough,” Phainon said. “I have not yet conceived of a way to convince them, but I will. I consider it daily, I promise!” 

“You are rather dedicated,” you said. “Why don’t you search for another worshipper? There are many who would be overjoyed to receive attention from one such as you.”

“I don’t want any others,” he said, patting your calf for emphasis. “If you had asked me for something simple, I would have left you with it, but you have presented me with such a challenge I cannot help being consumed by its completion. Anyways, think of it from my perspective — the bride of Nikador, praying to me. Oh, how it would infuriate them!” 

“And you wonder why they dislike you,” you said.

“It’s what they deserve,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They would do the same if they could! Had I a lover, Nikador would surely torment them. Miserable, rotten old god. In truth I pity you, o sacrifice, for you will be bound to them for eternity!”

“Save your pity for those who ask it of you,” you said. “As for me, I shall discover for myself exactly what kind of god Nikador is when you bring me to them.”

Okhema was a distance from the Grove, although closer from there than it was from the mountain, which was inland and thus removed from the seaside capital. Still, you and Phainon traveled for a long time to get there, and over the course of our travels you learnt the god’s peculiarities with more intimacy than you ever would’ve wanted to.

He called you sacrifice, and yet he fussed for an entire day when he heard someone slaughtering a bull for him, saying he much preferred flowers and sweets to be burnt upon his altar. He was the bringer of the dawn, and yet he slept well into the morning, always whining when you told him you had to leave for the day. He bore the power of worlds, and yet instead of tormenting you with it, instead of toying with you and yanking you along at his whim, he followed your orders rather willingly, even happily.

“Do you ever laugh?” he asked you once. You frowned at him; he tried on the expression, which looked strange on a face that only ever darkened on the rarest of occasions. “This one is not so nice.”

“I laugh quite readily, when I have something to laugh about,” you said. He mulled this over, even nodding like it was something terribly philosophical.

“You did laugh at me when I was a bird. Shall I drown myself again for your amusement?” he said.

“It’s not amusing when I know it’s you,” you said. “It’s just ridiculous. What business does a god have flailing about in a bath?”

“By Kephale! My apologies, o sacrifice, for trying to raise your spirits, low as they were when you came to the Grove,” he said. “You forget I walked with you as a man and saw your shoulders droop lower and lower with every passing day.”

“That was because you made me lead you around like a child learning to ride a pony!” you said.

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted,” he said.

“You might’ve said no,” you said.

“I tried,” he said. “You refused.”

“Only because I thought you were truly a man in trouble,” you said after a moment, scowling at how weak the rebuttal was, for after all he was correct. Noticing that you were suddenly sullen, he snickered, knowing he had won this argument.

“I’ll give you something worthwhile,” he said. “I’m the god of good humor too, though most people don’t realize it, so how can I have such a serious devotee?”

“How many roles you play,” you said. “Dawn and good humor and the general of the gods. What relation do any of these have?”

“They are all things I used to love,” he said, so simply you were taken aback, shifting in your saddle to look down on him with a furrowed brow. “When I was human, I mean. I don’t remember much from that time, it was long ago and my memories have since burned away, but there are small things I can still recall. The feel of morning dew under my bare feet. The creases around my father’s eyes when he laughed at a clever joke. The sound of my sword clashing against a rival’s. I could’ve been the god of anything, but when Kephale granted me divinity, I only wanted to keep those close to my heart.”

“Oh,” you said, for you had been expecting some sharp, witty answer, as quick as he always was. You waited for him to continue, to laugh as he was prone to and tell you he meant it in jest, but he did not. He only stared ahead contemplatively, face set, the corners of his mouth curving downwards. “I thought you would say something more foolish.”

“Hm?” he said.

“That what each of these things has in common is you, or something,” you said, and you did not smile, but you looked at him and waited, for you found you did not like it very much, the sight of Phainon so pensive. If he was the god of good humor, then ought he not remain in high spirits? He glanced up at you in confusion, and then his eyes widened before his countenance became oddly soft — not exactly amused again, but kind in a way, grateful.

“There is that as well,” he said, and then he did that thing he was fond of, touching your leg as you walked along, lightly, shyly, like he was reminding you that he was still there — as if you could ever forget.

You smelled Okhema before you saw it, the air growing lush and heady with salt and sand, lemon trees lining the road and drooping with bright fruit, perfuming the path with their sweet blossoms. Phainon plucked one and held it out to you; when you gave him a look of barely-disguised horror, he shrugged, transforming it into a golden apple and biting into it with abandon.

“I will have to remain your hound while we are in Okhema,” he said as you approached the city gates, his head swiveling around, his eyes keen. “Mnestia may not chide me, but for some reason, I don’t know that I can say the same for their followers.”

“What can mere followers do to you?” you said. “You are a god.”

“Cause me enough trouble that I get into a fight with the Lady of Romance, who, although admires me, is temperamental to a fault,” he said. “Now, I can do battle for you if you’d like, but as you said you’re trying to find a peaceful life by the sea, it might be counterintuitive.”

“Yes, please do not ruin things for me here as well,” you said. He sighed at you but returned to the dog form you had grown accustomed to from your nights together, although he did bark at you rudely once he had, his ears flat against his skull in reprimand. “Come along then, and don’t bark too much, or they’ll shoo you away for disrupting the silence.”

Okhema was a city made of marble, white and gleaming, the stones polished until one could all but see their reflection. Phainon found inordinate pleasure in trotting along and leaving gold prints behind; you had not walked in any mud, and anyways you had never seen dirt which shone like ambrosia, meaning he was doing it entirely on purpose. When you gave him a look, he only cocked his head innocently, prompting you to click your tongue, wondering if he was the god of horrible jokes as well.

There was an order even to the bustle of the city, everything in its place, the people’s voices lyrical and hushed, never abrasive, never ugly. It was so opposite to the mountain, where everyone crushed together in a muddle of shouts, pushing and shoving and cheering in turn, everything done in extremity. How beautiful that cacophony was, how pleasant, and how uncomfortable you found this tidy quiet, where wandering eyes could not help but settle on those who intruded.

“Oh, miss, is that your dog?” 

You were halted in your tracks by two small children, a boy and a girl, with bright eyes and shy voices. You glanced at Phainon, willing him to answer in some way, but he only peered back up at you, like he was daring you to say something.

“He’s been traveling with me for a while, but I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” you said finally. “We go now to meet with the Council of Elders.”

“They won’t let him into the palace,” the girl said, squinting at him. “He’s a dog. Elder Caenis thinks they’re all dirty.”

“Then he’ll either go back to where he came from, or he’ll wait for me outside, I expect,” you said, not deigning to mention that it was just as likely he would take some other ridiculous shape so that he could stay with you — a bird or a beetle or something else like that.

The two children exchanged looks before the boy took the ball tucked under his arm and held it out in front of him, blushing and avoiding your eyes.

“He’s very cute,” he said. “There aren’t many dogs in Okhema, and all of the ones we do have are small or mean. Could we — I mean, while you’re on your business, would you mind…?”

“We want to play with him!” the girl completed, all in a rush. “But you can say no if you like, he’s yours after all.”

“So that’s why you approached me,” you said, tapping your chin as you tried to come up with some way to explain to them kindly that if they tried to make Phainon fetch their toys in some sort of game, he might actually turn them into insects for the disrespect. “Ah, well, he’s not mine, so I don’t want to—?”

“Puppy!” the boy squealed as Phainon pounced on him, taking the ball in his mouth and then wagging his tail. The boy did not even fight back, instead busying himself with petting along his back and hugging his neck. Your jaw dropped as, instead of smiting them, Phainon sat on the ground with his tail wagging and his eyes closed, allowing the two children to flit about him. “Fetch, puppy!”

“Don’t — what?” you said, for in a stranger turn of events, instead of refusing, Phainon bounded after the ball, catching it in his mouth and then trotting back to deposit it at the boy’s feet. “What is wrong with you, sunbring—Sunny?”

Phainon barked at you. You glared at him. The boy clapped in delight, and the girl's eyes grew to the size of saucers as she tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Can we please watch Sunny while you’re gone? He’s so adorable and sweet and wonderful!” she said.

It wasn’t possible for dogs to look arrogant, but somehow Phainon managed, and you almost wanted to tell him he might as well just take these children for his budding cult, since they seemed so willing. But you would not condemn the two to that when their intentions were naive in nature, and so you only nodded slowly.

“Yes, alright,” you said. “As long as he doesn’t mind, you can play with him while I’m gone.”

“Yay! Thank you, miss, we’ll be sure to take good care of him,” the boy said.

“Right,” you said, still somewhat at a loss for words, the sight of the god being fawned over like any other mutt more than a little disconcerting. “As for you, Sunny, you — you had best behave yourself!”

The palace of Okhema had a name in the tongue of the sea, something elegant which you could not remember as you approached the grand staircase. Your pony, too, was nervous as you came closer and closer to the imposing building, and you stroked along his neck to soothe his prancing, although it did not do much. Eventually you dismounted altogether for fear of falling, taking the reins over his head and leading him behind you until you could flag down a stablehand, who was hesitant in accepting until you showed him the letter Medea had given you for Elder Caenis.

A pretty slip of an attendant came to fetch you from the entrance hall, her creamy dress swishing behind her as she motioned for you to follow along. Her footsteps were light and her walk magnetic; you wondered if they were trained in this way, to be so uniform, as much a part of the decor as the towering pillars and archways. She did not ask for your name, nor did she offer hers, only bowing and telling you that the Council awaited you in the meeting room.

You lingered for a moment, toying with the scroll you had kept close to your breast for the entire journey. Time and time again, you had been tempted to open it, but you always stopped yourself before you could. Whatever Medea had written, you thought it might be better if you did not read it, especially not before Phainon, whose reaction to your tears you could not predict.

Phainon. You wished he were with you, you realized; you were frightened, and instead of longing for Nikador’s gaze, it was Phainon who you wished to come to your side, Phainon with his charm and lightness and his uncanny ability to understand even what you could not say to him aloud. It was a betrayal of the highest order, but you could not help it, could not help looking towards the window and waiting for him to appear in some form or another. A bird or a beetle or a ray of sun, even, as long as he was there. As long as he was with you. As long as you were not alone.

“They tell me you have a letter from Medea,” Elder Caenis said when you entered. She was the council’s sole representative, which was both more and less nerve-wracking than if you had been faced with the entire collective. Her hair was a knot of clotted spiderwebs tied at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were the bland color of dead halcyon feathers, devoid of anything resembling light or life as they settled upon you.

You nodded, handing the paper to her. “Yes.”

“You’re Anaxagoras’s niece,” she remarked, unfolding it. “A wonder you are here, and not still in the Grove.”

“I am sure Medea’s letter explains it,” you said. Elder Caenis hummed.

“And so it does,” she said, putting it down and pressing her mouth into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, twin slits of ice cutting through Okhema’s heat and into your core, chipping away at your soul with a steady cruelty. “I understand the situation. I shall deliberate over it with the rest of the councilmen today, and tomorrow, you will be summoned to hear our conclusions.”

“Yes, Elder. Thank you,” you said with a bow. 

“An attendant will be along to take you to the baths, after which you will be escorted to your quarters, where you are to remain until further notice,” she continued. “I hope you’ll understand.”

“I do,” you said, even though the taste in your mouth was bitter, sour. Yet you had no other choice, not when her glare didn’t lift for even a moment, not when an attendant was at your side in an instant, taking your elbow in a hand whose size belied its strength. 

The Okheman baths were as beautiful as their acclaim suggested, but you could not enjoy them when the water was soiled with the stench of your fear, the attendant hovering over you the entire time, offering you help with pleasant words that you did not believe for a moment. When she realized you would not accept it, she took a step back, and there she stayed until you told her you were finished.

Your guest chambers were far closer to what you had known for your entire life, sumptuous and decorated with an attention to detail that spoke to a true love of refinement and wealth, as was to be expected from the seaside capital, which had earned that title as verily as it had fought for it. Sitting on the windowsill was a white squirrel, and in the entire room filled with vibrant paintings and rich fabrics, you found it was the most beautiful thing, with a gold stripe running down its back and tufted ears swiveling towards you when you were ushered in by the attendant.

“You’re here,” you said, unable to stop yourself from sounding relieved as you nodded at the squirrel, resisting the urge to take it and hold it close to your heart. The squirrel — who was not really a squirrel but Phainon himself — chirped, and then when he was sure the room was empty, he sprung back into the form of a white-armored man, beaming at you in greeting.

“My sacrifice!” he said, and for a bizarre moment you thought he was about to embrace you, so, swallowing, you turned and busied yourself with inspecting the bed, which was as perfect as everything else. “Of course I am. How could I leave you so soon?”

“Perhaps you found better worshippers,” you said. “Ones who actually worship you, for example.”

“That would be boring,” he said. “Anyways, what did the Council of Elders say?”

“They will consider my fate and inform me tomorrow what they decide,” you said to him. “I am not to leave my quarters until then, and especially not without an attendant.”

“No matter,” he said. “If you have any need for anything, just ask me. I’ll bring it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not going to treat a god like a messenger-boy. The mere prospect ought to anger you beyond belief,” you said, pulling gauzy curtains over the window to ward away insects, lighting oil lamps to stave off the encroaching darkness of the night. 

“It doesn’t,” he said. 

“Why not?” you said. “Like I said, it should. Doing these things for a mortal woman, letting her speak to you with such insolence, it should madden you, and yet you allow it — encourage it, even! Talonton or Phagousa or Mnestia or any of them, they would’ve turned me to some beast by now, if not stricken me down entirely. Why doesn’t it infuriate you?”

“It just doesn’t,” he repeated as you slipped into the bed, though you did not lie to sleep, instead waiting with your hands folded for him to do — you weren’t sure what, exactly, but something. “I don’t mind it so much. I’m not like the others, anyways, as they are so fond of reminding me.”

You smoothed the space beside you, motioning for him to sit. He furrowed his brow, but you shook your head wordlessly, and so he crept to the side of your bed before, all in a rush, hurling himself atop it, laying his head on your lap and slinging his arms loosely around your hips, exhaling as you finally allowed him to lie with you as a man. You raised your eyebrows but, biting your tongue, did not push him away this time, instead letting your hand hover above the place where his hair curled around his ear, too shy to touch it but suddenly feeling a great and inexplicable desire to.

“They don’t like you much,” you said rhetorically. He opened one eye to peer at you; when he noticed how close your palm was to his face, he tugged your wrist down until your fingers met his pale, warm cheek. You drew it back immediately, like you had been burnt, which prompted nothing but a dry chuckle out of him, as though he had expected nothing less

“Who?” he said. 

“Anyone,” you said. The corners of his lips curved, although he did not quite grin.

“Not particularly,” he said. “But you meant the other gods in specific. It’s okay — you can speak ill of them if you’d like. I will defend you.”

“Yes,” you admitted, finding you trusted him to keep this promise, although maybe you shouldn’t have. “I meant them.”

“It is not as though they hate me, necessarily,” he said. “Some of them even like me well enough — Mnestia, for example. But many of them do resent me. I am a man who became a god; I was never born to divinity the way they were. Once, I was just like you, and gods do not take kindly to those who rise above their stations. It changes the natural order of things, and they are so reliant on that constant to maintain their power.”

“Just like me,” you mused. “I cannot imagine what kind of a man you must have been.”

“I looked much as I do now,” he said, rolling off of you, sprawled on his back with his limbs askew as he stared up at the painted ceiling. “The same hair, the same nose, the same expression — although Mnestia tells me my smile was once crooked, endearing, not as perfect as it is now. Other than that, though, you should not have any difficulties picturing me as I once was.”

“It is difficult,” you said, moving so you could lie on your side and face him. He turned as well, and in the flickering light of the oil lamps, his irises were alive, dancing and mad, twin coins reflecting gold and greed as they bored into you. “How terrible your eyes are in this celestial form. I cannot imagine a mere mortal to possess such a gaze.”

“They were different,” he acquiesced. “I can’t remember what color they were back then, but it wasn’t this. These are a color only a god can don.”

“Yes, it must be so,” you said. “You really can’t remember?”

“It was not just years but an entire age ago that I was a man,” he said. “I told you already, most of my memories drifted away when I ascended to godhood, and time has only thrown a veil over those that are left. I could ask Oronyx for their aid, but I think it’s better I don’t remember. It would make what I do have hurt even more.”

“Hurt?” you said, and then you frowned, because you didn’t want to keep prodding at this newfound wound, even if Phainon might not have minded. “Well. By the way, it was good of you, what you did earlier.”

“Hm?” he said drowsily, although he did not appear to be tired, and neither did he need rest in the same way you did.

“With the children,” you said. “Obliging them and all. You might’ve punished them, but instead you played along and let them treat you like a dog instead of a deity. I didn’t expect it. I mean, who’s ever heard of a god that plays fetch with little boys and girls?”

“It made them happy,” he said, and then slowly, carefully, he extended his hand so that it rested on your jaw and he could trace his thumb along your face. You almost flinched away, but he was so mild, like a butterfly along your skin, that you could not bring yourself to. It was so different from any touch you had ever known, the priests or your mother or anything, that you found yourself leaning into it, found yourself wishing he would never stop. “I was also a child before. This, at least, is something I still recall — how it felt to be a boy, with no knowledge of what would one day become of me.”

He stroked along your bones like he was trying to memorize their shapes, their angles, and he lingered in odd places: the hollow under your eye, the bow of your mouth, the arch of your brow, with no rhyme or reason to it. The repetitive motions were soothing, and combined with the lush bed, it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but you fought it back, giving in to your curiosity when the conversation seemed like it would take no other path but this.

“Was it painful when you became a god?” you said, punctuating the statement with a yawn. He pressed his index finger on your lower lip, halting you in the midst of it and answering your surprised look with a snicker that did not quite reach his eyes. Another joke, then, but one only meant to deflect the question, and so one you did not deign to acknowledge. “You keep mentioning your time as a man, so I was wondering.”

“Because it will happen to you, should I find success,” he completed knowingly. “Because in order to marry Nikador, you will have to become a goddess.”

“Right,” you said, although it wasn’t the case. But it should’ve been. You had no reason to feel genuine concern for him, to care for how he had become what he now was. He was still Phainon, still an ill-tempered and badly-behaved god who would just as soon take you and turn you into a rabbit for his troubles as he would grant your wishes. No amount of playing with children and touching you how you wanted would change that; no amount of tragedy or terror would make that fundamental part of him different.

“It’s not,” he said. “Painful, that is. The physical process is easy, and besides, after that pain is…different. You can’t quite understand it in the same way, so it matters little. I wish I could say the same for the rest of it.”

“Do you mean your injuries from the fight against Aquila?” you said, referencing that final, terrible battle, wherein Phainon had defeated the maniacal god by holding the sky upon his shoulders until Kephale could trick Aquila into taking back the burden. Human as he was, Phainon could not survive it, his body withering away from the weight, but in recognition of his sacrifice, Kephale granted him godhood and made him their general for his bravery. “I’ve only heard the story a few times, but it sounds so awful…”

“I had a horse,” he said. “Pegasus. He was as white as a shooting star and scared of his own shadow; I was the only one he allowed on his back, so sensitive was he.”

“He sounds beautiful,” you said, more than a little bemused by the change in topic.

“He was,” Phainon said, dreamily, wistfully. “He was the first one I lost. Colic, I think it was. They put another man on him and it set him to thrashing about and that was when I learnt that it is far worse to watch Thanatos embracing another than it is to meet them yourself.”

“Oh, no,” you said, a pit clawing open in your stomach, your chest heavy with an invisible burden as Phainon nodded slowly. You wanted to tell him to stop, but this was something you could not look away from, could not avoid, and so your mouth refused to move any further.

“My mother was next. She was assaulted, killed for pleasure and silence, and although I struck down those petty thieves, turned them into pigs as was befitting their nature, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring her back,” he said.

This story you knew as well, though you had never heard the whole of it. You were only ever told on the mountain that in all the hot-blood of youth, Phainon had once turned a pair of beggars into pigs and laughed at their squeals. You swallowed, because you did not think he was lying, but it was so at odds with what you knew that you weren’t sure how to reconcile it.

“After that was my father,” he said. “Old age took him. I fought with Thanatos—”

“For five nights,” you completed. He raised his eyebrows, and you hugged an extra pillow to your chest, hiding your face in it. “They say you got in an argument with them and the two of you dueled until Cerces intervened.”

“Yes,” he said, his hand on the back of your head now, petting along your hair. “Cerces told me even I could not fight fate, and if I continued as I was, they would be forced to bring me before Kephale and have my divinity stripped away. I nearly agreed, but the gleam in Thanatos’s eyes at the prospect was so wicked I could not bring myself to.”

“Then the story of you flooding an entire empire?” you said, your voice muffled by your bedding and exhaustion alike.

“They dared to kill a man I once considered my dearest friend,” he said. “And planned on pillaging his kingdom and enslaving his wife, who was always so meek, who always gave me little sweets when I visited and told me she was glad her husband had someone like me to defend him. I could not do anything for him in the end, but at least her, at least I could save her in his name…she scorned me, you know. When I appeared before her and told her what I had done, all she could do was weep and curse me. What sort of a god are you? That was what she asked. He prayed to you before he left, and you abandoned him. His kingdom revered Nikador, and still he chose to put his faith in me, but that very faith was what cost him. I’ll always wonder if it might’ve been different, had he been like you, had he remained loyal to strife. Would he have lived a little longer? Would his wife have hated me less?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you said. “He still would have died eventually, and she still would have hated you. Only gods are immortal.”

“And that is what you will come to learn,” he said. “In time, indifferent as you are now, you might find me to be your greatest ally in the pantheon. I am the only one who can ever understand you, after all.”

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps it was the last vestiges of the dying oil lamps, but you found yourself asking him to close his eyes. He did so at once, always so willing, always so obedient, and for a second you thought to yourself, what have I ever done to deserve him? But you chased it away immediately, because Phainon was your bane, because you did not want him and certainly did not think of yourself as unworthy of him — if anything it was the other way around, for you surely did not deserve to have to endure his presence as much as you did.

“They must have been blue,” you said after a moment of deliberation. His forehead creased, but he did not speak, only waiting for you to elaborate, and so you did. “The color of the sky right after sunrise. Bright and lovely. The kind of color that is impossible to refuse. I would have been very fond of them, I think.”

“Would that I could make them that shade,” he said, and then he opened his eyes to reveal that same gold, not the blazing blue you had pictured and loved. “Would that you could be fond of me as I am now.”

“I am sorry,” you said. “But—”

“Nikador,” he said, and then he rolled over so that his back was to you, wide and sturdy and perfect, so perfect, like an artist had made him with loving hands, like he had been crafted, not born. “I understand, o sacrifice, you needn’t explain further. I am sure that learning the fate of my friend has only fortified your resolve.”

To this you had no response, so you only turned your back to his, and thus you slept alongside him, dreaming of a man who resembled him greatly — but with a crooked, dimpled grin and eyes like wildflowers, shining in the faint light of dawn as you offered him something sweet in the hopes he might accept it. 

The next morning, you were summoned to the meeting room once more, for it was said that your fate had been decided. Phainon rode along on your shoulder, a small bird tucked into the curve of your neck as you walked behind the attendant to where Elder Caenis awaited you. When nerves caused your hands to tremble, you would reach up and run your finger along his wings, which would earn you a delighted coo that you thought would alarm the attendant but in fact went ignored each time. Phainon, for his part, seemed to have forgotten his sorrow from the previous night, waking up in good cheer and even pecking your palm sweetly when he became a bird and you lifted his fine-boned body in the air, asking him to come with you.

It was easier to face things with him there, even though the prayers in your mind were meant for Nikador alone, as they always were. You did not know if your esteemed lord would answer you, not with Phainon so near, but even the words were enough to calm your thrumming heart, so that when you came before Caenis, it was with a steady mind and blank expression, giving away nothing.

“Niece of Anaxagoras, former princess of the mountain, you have come to Okhema in search of refuge from the god Phainon,” Elder Caenis began. “Medea has explained it well, so you needn’t clarify further. As a favor to an old friend, I will accept you, but on one condition.”

“Anything, Elder Caenis,” you said. “I have no qualms about working and staying in sparse lodging — I don’t demand nor expect comfort.”

“Good, that makes this easier. As of late, the Okheman countryside has been plagued by a new terror: the Khimaira, a terrible beast with the body and head of a lion, the bust of a goat sprouting from its back, and a serpent for a tail. It can breathe fire, and it has been burning crops with such prolificness that a famine has gone from unthinkable to a genuine consideration. You are from a nation of warriors, so surely you should not mind slaying it for us?” she said.

“If I say no?” you said.

“You will not like how I answer that question,” she said. “This isn’t a choice, girl, it is a compulsion. You will agree to it. You will ride forth, and you will slay the Khimaira or you will die trying.”

“Haven’t you army-men to send?” you said. “Why must it be me? I may be of the mountain, but I don’t have any experience with fighting, and certainly I am no hero who can kill even monsters without batting an eye. That age is over; men like that aren’t born anymore.”

“The soldiers have attempted and failed again and again,” Elder Caenis said. “But setting aside the matter of Phainon, you carry Nikador’s blessings in your blood. They will certainly assure your victory, as long as you pray to them well. That is all; you will be brought to your horse and given a weapon with which to do battle. The Council of Elders wishes you luck, young princess. May fortune smile upon you someday.”

You thought it strange that people only ever called you princess when they were bidding you farewell. The High Priest, Elder Caenis…they wielded the title you once had as a mockery, as a way to cut into you with unfounded cruelty. Neither they nor you could ever escape the knowledge that a princess you were no longer, and they took such pains to remind you of it with every breath you took.

“Oh, Phainon,” you said, a single, terrified sob escaping you as soon as you were in the stable alone, a knife in your hand and your pony’s reins in the other. “You heard her! They’re sending me — I’m meant to — this beast, how am I supposed to defeat — with only a dagger!” 

“You aren’t,” he said, jumping from your shoulder, a man once again, tightening the straps of your bridle so that it would not slip. “Medea sent you to Okhema to be killed. You know that, right?”

“No,” you said. “My uncle, he would never allow it, surely there is some mistake!”

“Your uncle was outvoted,” he said, lifting you by the waist and setting you in the saddle before leading you forward, your pony prancing along behind him. “Six against one. The Sages were too cowardly to do it themselves, as were the Elders, so they have come up with this way of ending your life blamelessly, without any chance of angering Nikador or I — make no mistake, this is an execution order nonetheless.”

“What am I meant to do?” you said. He looked at you over his shoulder.

“Ask me for my help,” he said. “I will come to you, o sacrifice, and I will save you, as I have promised so many times before. Become my devotee and I won’t let anything harm you. You won’t fall to the same fate that my friend did, that my mother and father did. As long as you ask it of me, I will guard you from even Thanatos. But you won’t, right? No matter what I say or do, no matter how I entreat you, you won’t.”

“It is Nikador,” you said. “I must — I cannot anger them; the savage king who bears the lance of fury, they who vanquish all enemies and who are with me in all my battles, they must befriend me in this mine hour, or else I will not see victory.”

Phainon’s expression turned a peculiar version of mournful, desolate, and for a moment you thought he would say something, but then panic flitted across his features and he vanished, like he had never even been there in the first place. Your pony pinned his ears, but you did not nudge him forward, waiting for Phainon to appear again with one of his jokes, to tell you he would stay with you until you found the Khimaira. Yet he did not, so eventually all you could do was continue as you had been, your muscles turning tauter and tauter the farther you grew from the golden city.

��I suppose in the end, you are my only constant,” you said, hugging your pony around the neck. Your pony, who had set out with you from the mountain and remained steadfastly at your side ever since; indeed, he was at this point your oldest and longest friend, the only one to never spurn you, the only one to never demand anything from you in return.

Your hunt for the Khimaira was long and lonely. Phainon did not materialize at any point, and if the Khimaira had ever been near to Okhema, it had long since flown to the countryside, far from the capital. You rode for longer than you ever had, with your pony as your only company, your orisons to Nikador and the song of hoofbeats on the road the only sounds to cut through the desolate, foreboding silence.

You missed the god most in the nights, for it became colder and colder as the year stretched on and your distance from Okhema increased. What you wouldn’t have given to lie with him, to have him embrace you and ward away the omnipotent chill you suffered from. But you refused to call upon him as your deity, refused to kneel for any who were not Nikador, and so you suffered alone, sleeping against your pony’s side, his body shielding you from the wind, his warmth meager compared to Phainon’s but better than nothing.

Many times you thought of running, but where would you go? Who would have you? Cast from the mountain and the forests and the seaside alike, there wasn’t a village that did not know your face, that did not turn silent when you begged for asylum. They did not dare anger the Sages or the Elders or the priests or their deities, and no amount of disguising yourself or invoking Nikador’s name was enough to fool them or change their minds. 

You were marked by Phainon — therefore, the gods who had quarrels with him took it upon themselves to bring misery to you, too, for he was untouchable and you were so delicately, breathtakingly mortal. Georios caused the earth to shake when you tried to become a nanny in a small riverside town; Thanatos sent a plague to the foothills until you were chased from them by a crowd of frightened men with sick on their breaths; Phagousa brought a great wave from the sea when you sought refuge with a family of fishermen, who even after this retribution told you you could stay and only allowed you to leave when you pretended you could not stand the smell of seaweed which clung to every available surface in their home. 

You pleaded and pleaded to Nikador — defend me, please defend me, why won’t you defend me? — but they did not so much as send you a sign, let alone protect you from the torments of their brethren. Deaf to your begging, they left you with no other choice, no other recourse but to seek out the Khimaira in the hopes that you could one day return to Okhema, where Mnestia’s protection could be enough to hide you from the rest of the pantheon.

Eventually, in the course of your travels, you came across a dying woman, blood around her mouth and a baby wailing in her arms. She was saying something, and you knelt so you could hear, gathering the baby without thinking and holding it to your breast, cradling its soft head against your heart as you rocked it, trying to soothe its fretful tears.

“Lady,” she coughed out. “They took everything from me — my son, please take care of my son—”

You didn’t bother asking what happened to her. It was obvious enough, and anyways you didn’t want her to waste her precious last breaths explaining something that could not be undone, so you only stroked your hand along her temple, not sure who you meant to comfort more, her or the child or yourself. 

“I don’t know how to,” you said, your voice breaking as something caught in your throat and stuck there. “I’m sorry, madam, but he will have such a terrible existence with me anyways, and I do not even know how to cheer him…” 

“Sing to him,” she said. “As your mother did to you when you were a baby. Do you remember the song?”

“Of course I do not,” you said. “But it must’ve been one for Nikador, I am sure.”

The woman shook her head, and then she lifted a crimson palm to your cheek, leaving a slender, wet handprint behind. Everything about her was limp; you held her hand to you, crushing her bones in your grip as your vision swam with tears that did not fall and the baby’s damp cheek pressed against your own.

“They chided her for it,” she said. “She tried every ode to war, but it never ceased your sobbing. There was only one song which could quiet your tantrums, only one god whose name could mellow your irascible temper. Don’t you remember? That hymn you never learnt but know in your heart, the one you loved so well as a child…call upon it once more, darling princess.”

“What?” you said, and if you were not so entirely distraught, you might’ve noticed the sparkle in her eyes, which should not have been that type of gleaming when she was supposedly so near to death. “A hymn I never learnt but know in my heart?”

She smiled at you, mysterious and cunning, but did not explain further. You thought and thought, but you could not understand what she might mean, until she began to hum to you, soft and slow and sad, her voice so like your mother’s you nearly began to bawl yourself, nearly crawled and lay your head against her stomach so that she could pet your hair as your mother had in your youth.

“How, then, shall I sing of you?” you said, following the dips and crescendos of her humming, allowing her to lead you through it as the baby quieted. “For everywhere, Phainon, is beholden to you, over the mountains and across the isles, from high-sloping foothills to beaches canting seaward. Do I sing of how you were born a man amidst golden furrows, and how you then rose to become the joy of mankind itself? Hear this, Earth and wide Heaven, surely he will have his fragrant altar and precinct, and he shall be honored above all; as for me, I will carry his name close to my heart, and I will never cease to praise that white calamity, o shining Phainon, god of every dawn.”

Suddenly the weight upon your shoulder lifted, the baby dissipating into nothingness and an immense light enveloping the woman. You stumbled backwards as she stood, no longer a wan, bleeding figure but robust and tall, angular and pointed in construction, wearing flowing robes and a melancholy expression on the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

“Hello, child,” they said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, waiting to be struck down, waiting for the latest tragedy to befall you in the name of Phainon, in the name of some feud or another. “Do not be frightened. I have no quarrel, with you or with that dear boy. You do not recognize me? But it is my own city you ride forth from.”

“Mnestia,” you said. They smiled at you, bending down to caress your face, combing their fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. How warm it was, how maternal, and you found yourself reaching for them, clinging to their skirts like a child might cling to a mother’s dress, enveloping yourself in the safety of their watch, the closest to repose you had felt since Phainon had left you without a word.

“Phainon was right,” they said. “If only you had been born in Okhema. You would’ve been my most treasured priestess, you lovely little thing. What a shame that another has staked his claim upon you, and a greater shame that you were born to Nikador, who would never allow me to so much as look upon their mountain and steal you away first.”

“Thank you,” you said. They placed their palms on your shoulders firmly, pulling you to your feet, and although they were a goddess, no less than Phainon or Nikador, you could not bring yourself to be afraid. For a moment, their expression flickered, and you swore you saw your mother looking upon you, that same lined smile, that same furrowed brow, and instead of terror, it was only grief you could muster, grief for the life that had been wrenched from you the day you were exiled from the mountain.

“You are not so far from the Khimaira,” they said. “Soon you will stumble upon it, but as you are now, you will lose.”

“I know,” you said. “I was never meant to win, was I? You should know better than anyone, as it is your own cult who sentenced me.”

“I am sorry,” they said. “I cannot control them any more than I can help you. There are too many factors at play, too many gods who find pleasure in this turn of events. Even meeting you now is a risk that I am taking, but at my behest, you called upon Phainon, and so he is protecting us, shielding us from the gaze of the other deities.”

“Phainon,” you said, swallowing and wrapping your arms around your own torso. “I…”

“I know,” Mnestia said. “He longs for you as well, child. All he does is sit by the heavens’ looking glass, staring down at you so forlornly that even Zagreus has grown concerned.”

“Then why won’t he come to me?” you burst out, all at once, ashamed of it but spurred onwards by the desperation which had built and built in you since he had left. “Why did he go without any explanation and refuse to return?”

“Do you think gods can appear to mortals without consequence?” Mnestia scolded you, their voice resounding with the clamor of a thousand avalanches. “He has broken every one of Kephale’s rules so many times over! He struck one of Cerces’s Sages, he came into my holy city, and he has watched over you, who does not even offer him sweet words. It is not allowed! Perhaps Kephale might’ve turned a blind eye were it one of the others, but not him. Not Phainon, who is kept in such contempt by half the pantheon. If he were allowed to continue to accompany you without so much as a sincere plea falling from your lips, if he were allowed to continue to trample on other deities’ domains without care, the heavens would’ve been thrown into mass upheaval. It would’ve been war, and so Kephale has chained him to his throne in the sky and banned him from the mortal realm.”

“Then…if I ever want to see him again, I have to pray to him? But what about Nikador? They will hate me if I turn to him now,” you said.

“Do you truly love them so well?” they said. “Phainon tells me you wish to wed them. Is it so? You will be miserable if you do, you must know it. They won’t love you, child. Not how he does.”

“Nikador has never betrayed me,” you said. Mnestia sighed, and then they took a step back. You meant to chase them, but some force rooted you in place, holding you there as they grew more and more distant.

“Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate?” they said. “Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? Make no mistake: you may have once been the princess of the mountain, but even in the eyes of Nikador, you belong to Phainon now. In some sense, you always have — your mother knew it, I know it, and more than anything or anyone, he knows it. You only need to call on him, child. He will come as soon as you do.”

“I will do no such thing,” you said. “You lie. Nikador would never — they would not leave me like this, they would not forsake me to Phainon — it isn’t true! I am of the mountain, I am their daughter and sister and devotee, I have spent my whole life as such — you cannot say that they have thrown me away as easily as their priests did — you cannot, you cannot—”

“Whether you believe me or not, that doesn’t change the truth of the matter,” Mnestia said, and then they sounded so exactly like your mother that you could only close your eyes and pretend that they were affording you that final farewell the High Priest had robbed you of. “Goodbye, child. May the path you tread be ever peaceful.”

Only when their imposing presence vanished did you allow your lower lip to tremble, tangling your fingers in your pony’s mane as you remounted him, leaning forward and burying your face in his crest. He continued onward steadily, ignoring your shuddering breaths, which were not exactly cries, unaccompanied by tears as they were, but came very close. Yet you refused to cross that threshold; you were brave, strong, you could not crumble over something so meaningless. Nikador was still with you. Phainon was the one who, in his fickle whims, had abandoned you, had grown bored of your constant refusals, and this was what you had hoped for, wasn’t it? You didn’t want Phainon to look upon you ever again, you were glad he had moved on, and when you had begged Mnestia it had only been a wavering moment of longing for the familiar comfort he brought you, nothing more.

You knew you had found the Khimaira when ash began to stick to the air, a light film of grey settling over your surroundings, turning the sunrise dim — as if Phainon could not bear to witness this final moment, as if he were close his eyes to this last brutality which would be your end. The withered trees were sticky with residue, and every village you passed through was deserted, hollow, the white stone walls streaked with black ash and dried, flaking red, the smears turning brown around the edges. 

Bile rose in the back of your throat, scratching and burning and wicked when you pushed it down, clenching your fist around the ritual knife you had been given in Okhema, your only weapon against the monster. It was a pretty instrument, the hilt painted gold, the blade nearly white and engraved with a prayer to Mnestia, but it was only meant for slaughtering lambs at the altar, who were small and shy and would not fight back. Perhaps it was some sort of a joke, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of why you had really been sent on this errand, of the fate the Sages and the Council of Elders had decided for you, but you could not resent it enough to throw it away, not when it was your sole defense against the world.

Your pony’s instincts were as keen as yours, or perhaps keener, for just as he had in Okhema, he swelled with nerves, and this time you could not quell them. Yet he continued onwards steadily, trusting in you more than himself, and this was such a great source of dismay for you that you nearly leapt from his back and turned him loose. How could he? After all this time, after all he had endured, his coat growing dull and his ribs sharper than you ever remembered them being on the mountain, he still remained loyally at your side, such that he would even accompany you to your death. Perhaps you would ride him into the underworld, too, and it was selfish but it soothed you to believe you would not be alone in that final descent, so you steeled yourself and directed him onwards.

Great Georios must have warned their child that you were coming, for the Khimaira was eerily still when you emerged from the forest onto the cliff where it awaited you. The sire of all beasts, they thought of Phainon as a troublesome, calamitous being, and so they held no love for you, either. At times, you thought of giving them some offering or another in supplication, but then you remembered the stories you had heard of the earth god and grew frightened, deciding you would rather suffer their casual irritation than their proper rage. In truth they were as jealous and mean as Phainon was said to be, but far more powerful than he, slower to anger but erupting suddenly and violently when they did.

The Khimaira stood slowly, languorously, the lion’s head eyeing you and your pony with shrewd eyes like volcanic glass, blank and unfeeling. Beneath you, your pony shuddered, and you knew you were in no better shape, your breaths quick and short like a hare’s, the knife slick in your grasp, teetering on the edge of falling more and more with every passing moment. You wondered, suddenly, in a stroke of clarity, how it had come to this, how you had gone from an esteemed princess to such a ragged, pitiful girl, who only had death left to welcome her — and not even fondly, for Thanatos hated you as well as the rest! How learned you had been once, how happy and adamant, and now you were miserable and helpless, abandoned by divinity and humanity alike.

As quick as lightning, the Khimaira opened its enormous, gaping maw, a dying lamp in the back of its throat flaring to life as fire built in the span of instants before spitting out at you, licking along the browned grass and turning to tall, towering columns that scraped at the reddening sky. Your pony squealed and bolted, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to storm back into the forest, but in his fear he missed the path, ramming into a tree whose boughs gouged into his flanks and left them dripping with blood. You tried to shush him, to take back the reins and guide him properly, but he was beyond reason, his pain and fear blinding him as the Khimaira advanced with a piercing roar, the serpent of its tail lunging at you, your leg only escaping its translucent fangs because your pony shied sideways, dancing towards the edge of the cliff and whinnying shrilly in vain challenge.

You had known as soon as you saw it that it would kill you, and you had known for longer that this quest was meant to be your execution, but despite how long you had had to come to terms with it, you were surprised to find that you were still so petrified, that as your pony’s back hooves scrabbled against the edge of the cliff and the knife balanced precariously in your fists, you still clung to him desperately, still clung to a final chance at life you knew would not come.

Nikador, you thought to yourself, please, where are you? Why do you not aid me? You have left me! Grant me victory, what must I do for you to do just that?

Every prayer, every ode, every hymn to the lord of strife, they all ran through your mind like an elegy, haunting and anguished and imploring. You could speak them aloud, as you had been every day since you left Okhema, you could attempt to force them to listen — but would they? Mnestia’s words rang in your ears as your pony’s hindquarters gave way and you began to slide down the cliff, sweat darkening his neck, white lather bunching under his mane as he scrabbled for purchase.

Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate? Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? They won’t love you, child. 

And so, when your pony collapsed and you shrieked out a name, it was not Nikador’s which fell from your lips. You abandoned them then, abandoned them as well and truly as they had abandoned you; it felt like death, too, this invocation, for with it you could never go back to who you had once been, could never again be the princess of the mountain who was loyal only to her god of war. 

“Phainon! I will give you anything — my body, my loyalty, flowers and sweets and a thousand songs in your honor — but come back, please come back, please, I need you—”

You belonged to him now, or maybe it was as Mnestia said: maybe you always had, and it was only in this moment that you were realizing it, this moment in which it came to fruition, that prophecy which your mother had unwittingly woven with that very first lullaby she whispered to you, that very first story of the sunbringer she sang you to sleep with.

Your pony’s slack, tangled limbs straightened in midair and his coat turned the shining white of a shooting star, all of his many wounds knitting together before vanishing entirely. Feathers sprouted from his heaving sides, large wings coalescing and churning at the air, leaving howling gales in his wake as he climbed towards the sun, far from the furious Khimaira’s reach, prompting a proud trumpeting sound from him as he soared over the forest you had come from.

“Pegasus,” you gasped, for he had in truth transformed into a winged version of Phainon’s horse from his mortal days, that silvery, wild thing which had died when it lost him to godhood. Yet here he was, born again, winged and immortal as his former master, but beholden to another this time, still possessed with your pony’s steadfast, undying allegiance to you. Flicking an ear back, he banked slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. “Ah, what?”

Flashing with a surge of lightning, the hilt of the ritual dagger became a scalding temperature, and then it melted in your palm, reforming into a sword made of moonbeams, the crossguard a heavy bronze that your arms strained under until hands curled around your wrists, fingers closing over yours and helping you heft it. It was not just any sword, you realized when you stared at it longer, but the very one which heralded the dawn, the blade of the worldbearer, a heavenly weapon which only one other had ever wielded: Phainon, whose invisible presence was the only reason you did not plummet from the burden of its divine authority.

Go, he said, and when you twisted in your saddle you saw nothing, but you could feel his heat surrounding you nevertheless, could feel the tickle of his breath against your ear when he whispered against the shell of it, the firmness of his body as he steered Pegasus towards the Khimaira. Slay that vile thing.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice bordering on hysterical. “I can’t, it breathes fire, I can’t, I—”

You can. Something fluttered against your cheek, a kiss like a sunbeam, and then it was gone, so quickly that you might’ve imagined it. I promise that you can. I am with you. I am always with you.

He steadied your grip, an invisible thumb soothing over your knuckles, and then Pegasus dove towards the Khimaira with his muzzle pointed at the ground, weaving in between bursts of fire like a child playing in the streets. Then Phainon nudged your upper arms, and before you knew it you were raising the sword in the air so it could catch the light, squeezing your eyes shut and aiming it at the Khimaira’s heart.

That’s no good, my sacrifice. This beast doesn’t have just one heart, you know. Wait.

Right when you thought Pegasus might crash into the ground, the Khimaira leapt at you, evidently tired of toying with its prey. Pegasus pulled up sharply, and you hesitated, but Phainon had no such reservations, maneuvering your hands into place and then humming as the tip of the sword stuck into the top of the Khimaira’s gullet.

Pegasus landed on the ground with hooves tearing at the mud, gnashing his teeth as he galloped under the still-airborne Khimaira, the power of his stride dragging the sword through the beast’s underbelly and ripping it asunder, its molten innards spilling out in a splattering trail. Smoke and flame billowed about you, but you did not breathe in even a wisp, and Pegasus’s brilliant hide remained untouched, like there was a shield protecting you both, rendering you invulnerable to all which might cause you harm. 

The Khimaira landed behind you in a heap of mangled flesh and steaming remains, and Pegasus skidded to a stop, snorting in approval as the sword of dawn sparkled back into nothingness, leaving the innocuous dagger to rest in the ruined weeds. You dismounted on shaky legs, fisting the cloth of the saddle pad to remain standing, and then you waited for his wings and starlit pelt to vanish, leaving behind your dull, simple pony. Yet seconds turned to minutes and still he remained, wings folded against his sides, dark nose nuzzling at your pocket in search of a treat.

“He will not return to his mortal form,” a familiar voice said. “My first and only son, born from my blood and your sweat — such creatures can only be made like that, after all. He is a demigod now.”

You had not known until you saw him how deeply your sorrow had run, but as it was, you sank to the ground and wept, your face in your hands and Pegasus standing behind you protectively as Phainon appeared to you once more, white-armored and golden-eyed. He did not bid you to bow or greet him, only crouching before you and taking you to his chest, allowing you to sob against the smooth curve of his throat and stroking your back, your hair, any part of you he could touch, like he could not quite believe you were real. And for your part you were the same, clinging to his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at his nape, almost assuredly wrenching at it in your quest to hold onto him as tightly as you could, in your refusal to be yanked from him once more.

“Don’t leave again,” you said. “What do you want from me? Anything, I promise I will give you anything, but don’t leave me again, I was alone and they kept hurting me and I was cold, so cold, I wished for you every night, I did not realize at the time but I did, I thought of you until I ached from your absence—”

“I never wanted to leave you,” he said. “I did not think Kephale would call me back so swiftly, or I might have said something beforehand. Even sending Mnestia to speak with you was beyond difficult, and I am sure they will demand recompense from me for a century or two, but I couldn’t let you think I left of my own will. It was the other gods who demanded it, Thanatos and Georios and Phagousa and the rest; even Cerces and mad Aquila spoke against me, I have come to find. It was abrupt for me as well, and prolonged for your stubbornness. How torturous it was, to know that if only you asked, I could rejoin you in an instant, but to also know you never would.”

“Still you saved me,” you said. “After everything, after how many have left me, you never did. You came when I called, and you saved me.”

“Yes,” he said, gathering your face in his hands and touching his lips to your forehead. “I never expected you, o sacrifice, and so many times I tried to understand what it was about you that moved me to hold you so dear. An exiled princess who constantly spoke ill of me, who praised Nikador to the point of asking to wed them…what business do I even have with you? But it remains that from the day your brother offered you to me, you gave my purposeless existence meaning. Curiosity, desire, warmth…these things which I have not felt since I became a god, you made me remember what they are like. In truth, I could not ignore your summons any more than I could ignore Kephale’s; perhaps you are not my sole devotee, but you are the only one to understand me, and so I will die without you regardless.”

“Mnestia told me I have always been yours,” you said, finding yourself otherwise unable to respond. “Is it true?”

“I do not know,” he said kindly. “Nikador’s mountain is not a place I can look at very frequently. Sometimes, I would hear the faintest murmurs of my hymns, but until the ritual to sacrifice you, it was never enough to justify my appearance.”

“But that is why you were listening on that day,” you said. “That is why you took me before Nikador could. Because of those very murmurs.”

“Yes,” he allowed. “It is so.”

“Then they were right,” you said, closing your eyes and leaning into him once more, allowing him to trace his index finger along your dusty face, as he had such a penchant for doing. “All along, I have—”

A stomp from Pegasus was the only advance warning you got, and then something dark crept into the corners of your vision, a malevolent presence which dulled even Phainon’s celestial light. You almost asked who it was, but then Phainon tensed, his voice coming out as a growl as he held you tighter than ever before.

“You,” he said. “You dare show your face now?”

“Is it not my right?” said the newcomer, their voice deep, commanding. 

“You forfeited any rights when you ignored her every call for help,” Phainon said. Pegasus nickered in vehement agreement, pawing at the ground for good measure, but this new god was undeterred, only chuckling at a display they surely found childish.

“Just because I do not coddle her as you do does not mean I have been ignoring her,” they said. Peering over Phainon’s arm, you saw that the figure was that of a tall, bare-chested man in a red-plumed helm, a spear in their right hand. You knew them at once, and although you could not see their eyes, you wagered they softened with something like delight when they understood you recognized them. “How could a woman unable to handle such petty disagreements ever hope to be my bride? I have never allowed her to face anything she could not manage, and she has in turn proven her mettle many times over. You chose well, brat-god; I am thoroughly impressed. She is beyond compare, beyond a mere, paltry sacrifice, and thus she is truly worthy of standing beside me.”

It was Nikador.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @urrluverrr @itseightamineedsleep @s4turnx1 @qwnelisa @sugilitez @sweetstarfalls @celestial--atlas @beli-eve-ing @monicahar @emperatris-rinaka @lsunncy @mokonosenpaiposts @cusp-du-aureate @rinaataruu @vskhn016 @kaisaiisanewknight

[littledes1re]

Hi! You’re one of my favorite writers on here :3 I was wondering if you could do a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? (Totally not filling my birthday fantasies)

Birthday Sex

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, pinv, praise kink, pet names, oral f!receiving, fluff

„Look at you. Like a present from god, and it‘s not even my birthday, baby.“

It was your birthday. And, as if scripted by the universe itself, Joel went all out—again. It wasn’t unusual for him to give you everything he had but somehow, he always made this day feel a little more magical. You woke up to a mountain of gifts, the kind you could practically swim in, each one wrapped with care and tucked with little notes that made you smile before you even opened them.

The house smelled like comfort and joy—vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of fresh coffee. Joel had been up early, dancing around the kitchen like it was his stage. You had a choice that morning: waffles or pancakes. Without hesitation, you picked pancakes. Because Joel made them exactly the way you loved—golden, buttery, and extra fluffy, as if each bite could float you a little higher above your worries.

You didn’t even have to glance at your phone. Joel had already taken care of it. He called in for you, told them you were „terribly sick,” with that charming blend of sincerity and mischief. All before your eyes had fully opened. You had nothing to do, nowhere to be—just you, him and the morning sun creeping through the curtains, making everything feel like it existed only for you.

The day stretched on like a soft melody—unhurried, comforting, and full of little delights that feel stitched together just for the two of you.

After the pancakes, you two lingered at the kitchen table, sunlight dancing through the windows as Joel refilled your coffee mug without a word. He played that one record you both love, the one that instantly makes everything feel slower, dreamier. There’s no rush, no pressure—just warmth and presence.

As evening slides in, Joel lights a few candles and pulls together something simple and lovely for dinner. You two toast with wine and laugh about inside jokes no one else would ever understand.

And when you think that beautiful day got already to an end, Joel has still a surprise for you.

„Lay down, sweetheart.“ a smirk forming in his face. He peeks your curiosity and you do as he says.

He presses wet kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching your skin, his breath giving you a slight breeze. And as he kisses his way up to your cunt, he stops—pulling down your pants and panties.

„Joel—please.“ you sweetly whimper.

He chuckles, hushing you and spreading your lips with his fingers—blowing cold air into your cunt, making you clench around nothing, your clit already beginning to throb.

„So wet f‘me, my sweet girl.“ he whispers and dives right in. He takes a big lap from your hole to your clit, then latches around your nub. Your head fall to your bed, you reach for Joels curly hair, as he starts to suck and lick you. The pleasure spreading trough your whole body, feeling his fingers suddenly in you—curling upwards so he can rub your spot.

Your eyes roll back.

„Cum for me, baby. C‘mon.“ he says against your cunt, the buzzing going trough your folds as you spasm, your legs locking and you gush around his two fingers.

„You don‘t even know how fuckin‘ happy I am, that you were born.“

And as you try to catch your breath, Joel is already filling you with his cock.

His arms go around your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed—so he is closer to you. He starts thrusting slow, locking eyes with you, searching for any discomfort in your face. But that doesn‘t come, instead, your moans get louder and louder.

„My pretty angel. Always good for me, every single day.“ he coos, his hand cupping your cheek, gently caressing it as his thrusts go harder.

„You’re makin‘ me so happy, Joel.“ you cry out.

A smile spreads across his face, followed by a groan as you clench on his cock. His thumb falls on top of your clit, a whimper leaving your lips.

„C‘mon birthday girl. Show me how good y‘are. Cum for me one more time.“

Joel gives you one final thrust, his body fully laying on top of you, locking your lips with him. His thumb never stops, as you bite into his lip, coming with a soft whine, making him grunt into your mouth. He thrusts a few more times into you, all while kissing you, devouring you and releases into you, filling you to the brim.

„Happy birthday, baby.“

I hope you like this @bluekat707 <33 And thank you!!

[whispersinthetide]

Ok but… consider the reverse.

We were meant to be… in every universe except this one. This is the only one where it doesn’t work out, where it all goes down in flames. I want nothing more than to be happy with you, infinity itself screams across time and space for it, but by some twisted serendipity, the strings of fate cross in just the right way to make that impossible.

Or something…

"We're together in every universe" this "we'll always find eachother" that. What about this is the only universe that we're together in. What about there is no other way this could have worked. What about this is the only place that we have found each other. And goddamn it if we aren't going to make the most of it.

[rikudaa]

₊ ⊹ ᶻz !! The Ones Who Weren’t There !! ␥ Part 2

[BatFam x Alien Stage] x Reader | <<< You are here!! >>>

✮ WARNING!! Contains Themes Of Violent Death, Grief, Psychological Trauma, Body Horror, Emotional Breakdown, Survivor’s Guilt

Again, this is part two for the earlier post SO READ THE FIRST PART FIRST, UP YOU GO🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The low murmur of keyboards and coffee machines faded into static the moment the newsroom screen flared to life.

Dick, now just another name on an HR payroll in Blüdhaven’s safer corners at day—was elbow-deep in quarterly reports when his coworker’s voice slithered through the haze of workday monotony.

“God, Gotham’s a cesspool. Did you see the news? Gala turned massacre. Whole damn city’s cursed—wait, isn’t that your sibling?”

The air collapsed.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Like rebooting a jammed system. His pen dropped, clattering loudly against the laminate desk, but it sounded like it came from underwater. A dull echo. The noise of a world beginning to warp.

He turned to the TV.

The news chyron bled across the bottom of the screen:

“BREAKING: Unidentified Body Found After Gotham Gala Massacre. Brain Removed.”

His eyes snagged on the footage.

A stretcher.

A body under a black tarp.

Boots. Flashbulbs. Officers shouting.

Plastic gloves smeared with something dark and glistening.

“That can’t be—no. No. No, no, no—”

Not you.

Not you.

His chair screeched as he stumbled to his feet. He was shaking and didn’t even know it. The room swayed. His vision tunneled. Somewhere behind his ribs, a war began—a fight between every breath he couldn’t take and every scream he wouldn’t let loose.

The screen cut to a slow replay: the tarp lifting. A gasp from the bystanders. The gloved hand reached into the body bag—just for a second. A sliver of exposed jaw. Pale skin. Bloodless. Too bloodless.

The top of the skull—

Gone.

A void where a mind should be.

And Dick’s mind broke open with it.

He gasped—violently—as if the TV had just punched air out of his lungs. His hands gripped the sides of the desk. The wood under his fingers warped, melted into the phantom feeling of a gala wineglass. The memory struck like lightning: your laugh under chandeliers, the rustle of your formal wear, the way you’d said, “Bruce is impossible, but he backed out. I’m handling the gala instead—wish me luck, Dickie.”

The memory shattered into blood.

He staggered backward. A chair toppled. Someone called his name but it didn’t reach him.

“They got it wrong. The press—always fast, always messy. It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake. That’s not you. That’s not you, that’s not–”

But it was the coat.

The color.

The cufflink—his cufflink, one he’d gifted you last winter, gold and black and one of a kind.

And that’s when the spiral began.

It wasn’t just horror. It was a fracture.

Denial wasn’t a wall—it was a flood, tearing through every cell in his body.

He couldn’t breathe. His chest caved in on itself. His vision pixelated. He clawed at his tie like it was a noose, a foreign object choking him.

“They’re wrong. You’re alive. You’re probably pissed Bruce bailed on the gala and now you’re hiding somewhere, sipping scotch, sulking over bad press. You always hated the spotlight—this is a prank. A test. Maybe Jason’s idea of a sick joke. Or Scarecrow—maybe this is a fear toxin flashback. Yes. Yes. That’s all it is.”

You weren’t-

…missing a brain.

His heartbeat thundered so loud he didn’t notice he was crying until a drop fell onto the back of his hand.

He was halfway out the office before anyone could stop him, breath ragged, lips moving to a name he didn’t dare say aloud.

Not yet.

Not until he could prove the universe wrong.

Because if that body was you–

If your eyes would never open again–

If someone had reached into your skull and stolen the part that made you you–

He wasn’t just going to mourn.

He was going to burn Gotham to the ground to find the monster that did it.

──── ୨୧ ────

Jason had been close.

The sensor tripped—a flicker of red on his gauntlet HUD. Hidden panic clenched his gut, but he was already on the bike. Already tearing through Gotham’s streets like a bullet ripped from the barrel. He’d always told you to keep it low profile, but you insisted on finishing Bruce’s gala.

Always trying to hold the damn family together, even when it splintered.

He was close.

But never fast enough.

When he got there, Crime Alley was already swarming. Flashing red and blue strobed across the soot-stained brick, casting monstrous shadows down the corridor of Gotham’s most cursed street. It looked like a wound split open in the city’s ribs. Blood-slick asphalt. Sirens howling like eulogies.

He ditched the bike two blocks away.

Walked the rest of the distance like a man descending into his own grave.

Jason didn’t blink. Didn’t ask permission.

He walked past two rookie cops. Shaking. Crying. One vomiting against the side of the ambulance, hands braced on his knees, the other whispering frantically into his wrist mic, “It’s like a butcher shop… Jesus Christ…”

He stepped inside.

And the smell hit first.

Iron. Burnt ozone. Copper. And something rotted.

The crime scene was centered under the crooked old lamppost—half-lit, the bulb flickering like it couldn’t decide if it should expose or mercy-dim what lay beneath.

He saw drag marks. Two trails. Long. Panicked.

Someone had fought here. Desperately.

The sidewalk bore impact cracks, as if something—or someone—had been slammed into it, again and again.

The blood trail was wide.

Wide and dark and too much.

The stench nearly took him to his knees.

He didn’t throw up.

Didn’t breathe.

He just moved, slow, controlled, rage tightening in every joint, his gun already drawn because this wasn’t a rescue anymore. This was a fucking hunt.

Then he saw it. The ping zone. Right at the mouth of the alley.

Your last stand.

Your watch was there–the screen cracked, but the signal light was still blinking—pathetically, like it didn’t understand it had failed.

“No.”

His voice rasped, caught between fury and a breaking sob he would never admit to.

“You were supposed to ping me. You did. I came. I was here—I WAS FUCKING HERE.”

He crouched beside the watch, blood squelching under his boots. One gloved hand hovered over it—shaking.

There was no body.

Only pieces.

Pieces.

Not enough to say for certain. Not enough to kill hope.

But the blood told him the truth anyway. The kind of blood loss no one walks away from.

And the skull–God, your skull.

Or what was left of one.

The top of the cranium was gone—scooped out like a jack-o’-lantern.

Blood seeped around it, pooling under where the brain should have been.

But there was nothing.

Nothing inside.

They didn’t just kill you.

They desecrated you.

This wasn’t a crime.

It was a statement.

Jason’s throat closed around a scream he didn’t let out. Not here. Not in front of these bastards who’d arrived too late. Not in front of the blinking camera feeds. Not where someone might see the Jason Todd on his knees, shaking like a child and staring at a broken watch like it was a headstone.

“I should’ve been faster.”

The guilt gnawed instantly.

He thought of Dick—what this would do to him.

Of Bruce—how he’d fold it into another stoic silence.

Of himself—and how he wouldn’t survive this. Not again. Not you.

You were his tether. The one person who still called him “Jay” like it didn’t taste like ash. The one who gave him shit about overkill, but still patched his wounds when he came back bloodied.

Now there was nothing.

No you.

No face to hold onto. No soft body to bury.

Just the red blinking light.

And blood.

So much blood.

Jason stood slowly. Every movement hurt.

He holstered the gun. But not the rage.

“I’m gonna find them,” he whispered.

“I’m gonna find whoever did this. I’m gonna look them in the eye. And I’m gonna carve their fucking names into the devil’s guest list.”

Behind him, the lamplight flickered once, then went out completely.

Because someone had taken his tether to humanity—

And now?

He had nothing left to lose.

──── ୨୧ ────

Wayne Manor had gone silent for the night.

No operatic soundtrack echoing from the study. No clink of decanter glass. Just the whisper of firelight crackling in the hearth, and the rustle of papers as Bruce Wayne read through an intelligence report that had been sitting unopened for three days.

He hadn’t attended the gala.

You did.

And instead…

His phone rang.

The line that never rang unless it was bad.

Worse than bad.

Bruce froze.

His hand hovered over the encrypted comm.

Then it rang again.

He picked up.

“Wayne.”

The voice on the other end was tight. Measured.

GCPD.

“We… Mr. Wayne, we need you to come to Crime Alley.”

He didn’t respond at first. Didn’t move.

“There’s been… an incident. We believe your legal signature may be required to identify… remains. It’s your ward. We found credentials. We—please, sir.”

Bruce said nothing.

He hung up.

He didn’t throw the phone. Didn’t scream.

Just stood.

Rigid. Straight-backed. Like a soldier receiving orders from a war he thought was long over.

Crime Alley had never changed.

Still dark. Still narrow. Still reeking of old tragedy and new ones waiting to happen.

The Batmobile didn’t come. Bruce Wayne arrived alone, in a nondescript black town car. His coat sharp. Face pale. Movements exact.

He walked through the barricade tape, not even looking at the officers who parted for him like water.

Some recognized him. Some averted their eyes.

Most said nothing.

One detective—a younger man, freckles, eyes red from crying—met him halfway.

“Mr. Wayne. Sir. This way.”

He was led past the alley’s mouth, to where the cleanup hadn’t even started yet.

Jason’s silhouette stood off to the side. Still. Bleeding at the knuckles. Blood that wasn’t his. Or maybe it was.

His mask was off. Eyes vacant. Rage burned out into the kind of grief that could kill gods.

Bruce looked down.

There was a metal cart draped in a white sheet.

There was the watch—your watch—bagged beside it, cracked but blinking.

And there was a clipboard.

The words “LEGAL GUARDIAN / IDENTIFYING RELATIVE” printed at the top.

Bruce reached for the clipboard. His hand trembled once. Just once.

He forced it still.

The sheet was lifted.

And for a moment, time stopped.

Not because of gore. Bruce had seen worse.

Not because of the horror—though it was there, oh God, it was there.

But because there was nothing behind your eyes.

Because there were no eyes.

No skullcap. No brain. Just a hollow cavity.

A mind stolen.

A child erased.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t cry.

He just stared.

Long enough for the fire behind his eyes to ignite.

Then—

He signed.

B. WAYNE

Block letters. Neat. Final. The same way he signed every mission log, every will, every authorization for body disposal from the League.

But this was different.

This was you.

And paper wasn’t enough.

Jason approached slowly. Quiet. Like even breathing wrong might crack the world further.

“I was late,” he rasped.

Bruce didn’t answer.

“I came as fast as I could, but—”

“I know,” Bruce said. A voice carved from stone.

He looked at the remnants of your watch.

“I should’ve gone myself. It should’ve been me. Not you.”

Jason turned his face away, fists curling again.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

Bruce’s eyes sharpened. Cold. Focused.

“We bury what’s left.”

He looked toward the blood stains drying under the lamppost where his life had once changed.

Then back to yours.

“Then we hunt.”

He didn’t speak the entire ride back to the manor.

Didn’t change.

Didn’t sit.

He stood in the center of the library, coat still soaked from alley rain, the silence heavy like a shroud.

The clock ticked.

4:29 a.m.

He reached for the secure comm device on the desk. His fingers trembled, just slightly.

He called her.

Selina answered after the first ring, her voice still velvet with sleep.

“Bruce? That you?”

Silence.

Then—

“You’re calling late, or early—I guess depending on what disaster you’re cleaning up. What’s wrong?”

More silence.

She sat up. He could hear it—the creak of silk sheets, the shift in her breath.

“Bruce. Say it.”

He stared at the floor.

Where you once sat with a cup of tea and tired jokes about how the manor was too quiet without Damian’s brooding and Dick’s bad coffee.

I should have gone.

It should’ve been me.

He exhaled through his nose. A single sound. Broken.

Then finally, he spoke.

Low. Guttural. Final.

“It’s Y/N.”

Selina didn’t respond right away. But he knew her silence. It wasn’t confusion—it was comprehension. The kind of silence that comes only when the floor drops out from under you.

“How bad?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes.

“No body.”

“…”

“Just blood. Pieces. Skull damage. Brain’s gone. They took it. Left the rest.”

Another silence. This one hurt more.

“Bruce. I’m coming over.”

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say “No” or “Don’t.” Didn’t do anything but drop the comm back onto the desk like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He stood there alone.

The man who taught Gotham to fear the dark now stood powerless against the shadow it had stolen.

He could handle blood.

He could handle death.

But this?

This was void.

And Bruce Wayne had no contingency plan for grief shaped like a missing mind.

──── ୨୧ ────

The sun rose without permission.

Across Gotham, the city exhaled into its usual chaos—sirens, taxis, coffee cups, the sleepy grind of another morning that didn’t yet know someone was gone.

But at 9:06 a.m., Tim Drake did.

He was half-dressed in his dorm room, one hand mid-reach for his tablet, when he noticed the missed calls stacked on his phone screen like a silent scream:

4:52 a.m. – Bruce (4 calls)

4:56 a.m. – Alfred (1 voicemail)

5:03 a.m. – Jason (text: “Answer your damn phone.”)

5:08 a.m. – Unknown GCPD number

He hit play.

“Master Timothy… it’s Alfred. I… I’m sorry. There’s been an incident. It’s Y/N. They were found in Crime Alley last night. We need you at the manor. You were one of the last to see them—please come home.”

He stopped breathing.

Memory rushed in like a flood he wasn’t ready for.

Last night.

You stood just outside the gala entrance, eyes tired but warm. You tugged Damian’s tie loose and made some dry comment about him learning fashion from Bruce. Tim had laughed, and you’d grinned at both of them. Just for a second. That grin.

“Go,” you said. “I’ve got this. I need to head back to my dorm anyway—last gala dance of the season, right?”

So casual. So safe.

He and Damian had taken that as their cue to leave.

And now?

Now Alfred was telling him you never made it home.

•

9:29 a.m. | Gotham Academy Grounds

Damian had only just arrived.

His ride had dropped him off near the Academy gate, and he was heading toward the east wing when he noticed something… wrong.

His communicator buzzed in his coat pocket.

Then buzzed again.

Then again.

He scowled, annoyed at the interruption. Until he saw the message.

“Come home. It’s Y/N.” — Alfred

He froze.

Right there in the middle of the walkway. Students brushed past him, laughing, shouting, alive.

His mind played back your parting words—“I need to head to my dorm anyway.”

He had nodded at the time, smug and satisfied that you’d handled the gala despite Bruce flaking.

But now…

Something in him fractured.

He turned on his heel and began walking back toward the school’s gates without a word.

10:04 a.m. | The Batcave

The manor was too quiet.

Tim entered through the upper floor and instinctively followed the hum of tech down the hidden elevator shaft, down into the heartbeat of the house.

The Batcave lights glowed cold and clinical.

Bruce stood in front of the main console, cowl discarded but armor still on—shoulders heavy, jaw locked.

Jason leaned against a table to the side, helmet in hand, eyes bloodshot.

Alfred sat stiffly on a chair nearby, hands folded, a glass of untouched tea beside him.

When Tim stepped off the platform, no one said anything.

They didn’t need to.

“It’s real,” Tim whispered.

Bruce only nodded once.

Tim’s knees buckled.

He gripped the nearest workbench to stay upright, blinking fast, vision swimming. His backpack slipped off his shoulder with a thud. He didn’t bother picking it up.

Then—

Footsteps.

Rapid. Sharp.

Damian.

He stormed off the elevator like it had offended him.

“What the hell happened.”

His voice cracked halfway through, though he tried to bury it under rage.

Jason moved to intercept, but Bruce raised a hand. Let the kid come.

Damian stopped in front of the console. Saw the footage playing in silent loop.

Crime Alley. Blood. The blinking watch. The dragged smear of a body that wasn’t whole.

His jaw clenched. Fists balled.

“We left. They told us they had to go back to their dorm. We didn’t argue. We left.”

No one responded.

The silence was a verdict.

Damian shook his head—hard, as if trying to rattle the truth loose from his brain.

“No body?” he asked quietly.

Alfred answered, voice gravel-rough.

“Only fragments. Part of the skull. The brain… was removed.”

Tim turned away, a hand over his mouth. He was shaking.

Damian just stood there.

Still.

Staring at the watch on the display.

Your watch.

Still blinking red.

“They were fine. They were laughing. They were—whole.”

He looked at Bruce.

“Why weren’t you there?”

It came out like a blade.

Jason inhaled sharply, but again, Bruce said nothing.

Damian turned away, but not fast enough to hide the wet sheen in his eyes.

“We were the last to see them,” Tim whispered, hoarse. “Do you know what that means?”

No one had to say it.

They all knew.

It meant the memory of your smile would be the last one they’d ever have.

It meant your voice would live in their heads like a ghost.

It meant they had let you walk alone into the dark.

And now all they had left was blood, silence, and a blinking watch that wouldn’t stop calling for help.

──── ୨୧ ────

It was the day after.

The news hadn’t broken publicly yet—not fully. Gotham’s media machine was still running on speculation and half-formed headlines.

“Violent Crime in Crime Alley — Sources Say ‘High-Profile’ Victim.”

“Massive Blood Loss, No Body, GCPD Investigating Ritual Angle.”

But at 10:46 a.m., the truth hit the rest of them.

And it hit hard.

Steph was in the middle of a coffee run when she saw the Bat-signal flare faintly across the WayneComm emergency line.

“Wayne Manor. Cave. Now.”

She rolled her eyes. No context. Typical Bat-style.

Still, something gnawed at her gut.

She balanced her tray of coffees all the way to the manor, boots crunching on gravel with every confident step, humming some dumb pop song under her breath. Just another meeting, she thought. Maybe a mission brief. Maybe B had finally figured out who was sneaking cookies from Alfred’s tin.

Then she walked into the cave.

The air was ice.

Bruce stood still by the monitor. Jason wouldn’t look up. Tim was seated, face buried in his hands. Damian was statue-still beside the watch console, fists clenched so tight his gloves creaked. Alfred stood near the elevator, red-eyed.

And in the corner, a large display screen—

Crime Alley. Blood. Markers.

The Watch. Still blinking. Still searching.

Steph blinked.

Then blinked again.

A step back. Then forward.

“Wait. Where’s—where’s Y/N?”

The silence answered.

And just beside the elevator—

Selina Kyle.

Black coat. Red lips. Arms crossed, but jaw clenched like she was chewing glass.

She hadn’t said much since arriving. Just showed up after Bruce’s call like a shadow at the door.

She didn’t need directions. She knew where the pain lived.

Everyone noticed her.

No one said anything.

But the thought hung in the room.

Why were you there and not Y/N?

You were supposed to host the gala because Bruce pulled out. You were supposed to make the appearance, smile, keep up the illusion of a still-standing family name.

Selina should’ve been with you.

Should’ve escorted. Should’ve backed you up. Should’ve noticed something.

But no one asked.

Not out loud.

Because grief in this family wore too many masks.

The tray of coffee hit the floor.

And then she was on her knees beside it, sobbing into her gloved hands like it would bring you back.

•

Duke had a sense for things—light, shadows, the moods that lived between words.

When he arrived at the manor, the stillness gave him his answer before anyone said it aloud.

He walked into the cave, scanned the faces, and his chest seized.

“What happened.”

No one lied.

Not even Bruce.

They told him the truth.

Crime Alley. No witnesses. No camera footage. Too much blood to survive. No body.

“The brain was removed.”

That last detail—

That’s when his hands trembled.

Not because of gore. He’d seen worse.

But because you weren’t just another sibling. You were present. You listened. You made time for his questions about identity, legacy, shadows, and light.

You had a mind that made space for others.

And now someone had stolen it.

He didn’t cry.

He sat down, quietly, and started flipping through surveillance feeds, timestamps, power outages.

“If they left nothing,” he whispered, “that means they wanted it that way. That’s a pattern. We’ll find it.”

Grief would come later.

For now, he’d find the gap in the light.

•

Cass knew.

She’d felt it hours ago.

The ping. That cold, sharp, too-late red light.

She’d checked the location instantly, heart already racing before the data finished loading.

Crime Alley.

She knew you’d been at the gala. Knew you weren’t supposed to be there.

Knew something was wrong the second it flared.

She called the comm line.

Then another.

Then tried again.

But she was already too far—in Hub City, two hours out even with the fastest route.

She had screamed once—short and sharp—and launched into motion, already suiting up, already on the bike.

But by the time she got the second update, it wasn’t a rescue anymore.

It was a cleanup.

The guilt wrapped itself around her ribs like wire. Still hadn’t let go.

She crouched now by the dimmed display, one gloved hand still resting where the last signal pulsed.

Steph sat beside her, quiet now, eyes raw.

“If I had just—if I didn’t leave…”

Cass didn’t answer.

Didn’t say you told them to go.

Didn’t say you were proud of them.

Didn’t say you joked about dorms and deadlines.

Instead, she stood up. Movements stiff. Precise.

Walked straight past the console to Selina, and stood in front of her like a statue built from everything unspoken.

Selina met her gaze.

No flinch.

No apology.

Just mirrored pain, just as sharp.

Cass didn’t say why weren’t you there.

She didn’t have to.

Her body said it.

Selina didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Just clenched her jaw harder and nodded, like yes—she knew she should’ve been there.

She always knew.

Bruce stepped forward, voice low.

“We’ll find them.”

No one questioned who. Everyone knew.

This wasn’t a mugging. It wasn’t random. This was surgical.

A brain stolen. A body desecrated. A message sent.

“This wasn’t about opportunity. This was targeted. Someone knew Y/N would be alone. Someone waited for the right moment.”

“And someone,” Jason said, voice shaking, “knew how to get past us all.”

Steph looked up. “You think they’ve done it before?”

Bruce nodded once. “Or… this is only the first.”

Cass moved back to the center of the cave.

Her voice—quiet, but firm—cut through the room:

“No more delays.”

“We hunt now.”

──── ୨୧ ────

You wake with a gasp.

Air floods your lungs like water after drowning—sharp, cold, wrong.

Your body arches against the grass beneath you—soft, too soft. The light above is too bright, and it doesn’t feel like sunlight.

You slam a hand against your forehead as pain lances through your skull. Blinding. Like something hot was carved into the inside of your brain and then scraped out.

You can’t breathe for a second.

You squeeze your eyes shut and see red behind your lids.

Panic flares in your chest. You remember—nothing.

A color. A sound. A shape, maybe. A scream—

Then it’s gone.

Your fingers brush something cold and metallic around your neck.

A collar.

You blink. A red dot flickers at the center—glowing. Watching.

You barely have time to register it when you hear the voice.

Soft. Familiar. Somewhere to your left.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You turn.

Your vision blurs at the edges.

Someone’s sitting beside you—legs crossed, concern etched on their face. Familiar. Maybe. But your head is too full of fog and static to name them.

They tilt their head at you.

Your heartbeat’s still trying to climb out of your ribs.

You don’t answer at first. The words feel far away.

But something else answers for you. Something instinctual. Buried.

You shake yours. Lightheaded.

You force a breath.

“Nothing, Mizi.”

The red light on the collar pulses once.

And you smile.

But the pain behind your eyes doesn’t fade.

<<< You are here!! >>> •Note: GUESS WHO’S HERE

And again grief time, more reactions lol, I combined Steph, Cass and Duke parts together (and cut out Babs–) but it seems too rushed but well, it’s too long and make my literally phone lagging. And this is my inspiration if you feel familiar, word count is 7k for both parts what the helly!!

Tagging: @lizzyzzn, @whaaaaaaaaat111, @hai-there-how-are-you, @1abi, @dreamzaremyrealityy, @bugsfruits, @alishii, @ememgl, @cssammyyarts, @kaeyasrose, @cebrospudipudi, @cupid73

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

[rise-my-angel]

"Bastards are no different then trueborn children and don't deserve to be looked down on."

Can actually coexist with the following:

"Bastards cannot be legally trueborn, unless by official royal decree of the King himself, and tricking the realm into thinking your children are trueborn when you have never publically declared them as bastards, so they can inherit over their non bastard relatives, is treason."

The fan discussed moral argument about bastards in this universe are not the same as the in universe legal argument. Stop mistaking these two things and realize both discussions can co exist at the same time and both be correct.

[demonicsuffrage]

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

guys who got abandoned

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking